Mark watched her struggle, once again impressed. She had quite the tolerance for this kind of game playing; masochism did indeed become her. The grim set of her hands, curled up into fists, told him what he needed to know. She was close. He let his hand slip and trailed a wet path down her chin, letting the probe settle on a nipple. Her groan was delicious. There was no question that she would lose this battle. The only question was how lightly he would let her get off, or whether he would let her get off at all. The thought returned his good humour in its entirety. The probe danced to the beat of the music, letting the staccato bursts bounce it back up her body, before it found the same spot on her swollen, rosy lips with which to re-enact its delightful harassment. Soon she would begin to associate pain with pleasure and that would be a big step for her.
The pain was intoxicating. The clitoral stimulator had aroused her to the point of no-return several times but the icy weapon held in Mark’s hand had expertly brought her back on each occasion. He was arousing her to fever pitch. The man was strumming her body like a guitar and plucking at each nerve string with the skill of a Flamenco player. She could feel the tension building within her, yet again. It filled her body with delicious purpose and put pressure upon the all the right places. She was oh-so-nearly there. Just a little bit longer, please. It was not to be. The probe came to rest upon the still tender area of her bottom lip, which had already been assaulted not moments ago. It managed to sit on exactly the same spot as before and the inflamed tissue began to voice its concerns. The weight of the metal ball felt heavier and heavier the longer it remained motionless and if Jenny thought she had suffered before, she was mistaken. Her head shook of its own volition.
For those who haven’t read the first or second books in the series, find more of Jenny’s adventures here: