Blissful Torment

I grab my blue sundress by the hanger and pull it out of the closet. "This one?" I ask.

"Not short enough," he answers.

I pout, then look back at my selection. He has rejected every single one I showed so far, and I did not even bother with the long ones. I bite my lip as I go through them one more time in my head. Do I even have a shorter one? Oh Fuck - I do.

I grab the sunflower yellow dress. It's not just short. It's too small. I watch him from the corner of my eye. He nods. "Really?" I whisper to myself. "Yes, that one." It's not just an answer. It's an order.

When we arrive at the park I am already fidgeting. The hem of the skirt only covers my butt if I stand still. My tits threaten to spill out if I move too briskly. I did not even dare suggest I wear a bra. I am just glad I'm wearing panties, and not a just a thong, or nothing. 

About half the people we walk past turn their heads when they think I don't notice, and try to sneak a peek, and I'm sure they all enjoy seeing my panties on every step that's longer than a tiny shuffle. Not that I could make small steps. He walks fast, and I have to keep up. There's no reason to rush, and I'm pretty sure it's all just a ploy to force me to take uncomfortably long steps.

"There," he points to a bench. It's far away from the barbecue spots and picnic areas, but it offers a wonderful view of the park with its two small ponds and the bridge between the creek that connects them. We sit down side by side. Behind the bench goes the jogging track, and every couple minutes a sweaty wheezing runner runs past us.

"Sit on my lap," he says. His voice is gentle and friendly as always. He does not need to shout or curse, or belittle me. He just says it as if it there was no way it could not be true; I cannot help myself, and my body just wants to comply as if gravity pulled on it. Sometimes it gives me goosebumps.

I want to look around, check whether I'm being watched, but I find myself already standing up and  scooting over. I can feel the coarse cloth of the jeans on my naked thighs as I sit down. I can also feel a hard cock under them, pushing against my panties. I know I'm already wet.

"Slide them off." There are the goosebumps. I hook both thumbs into my panties, and do as I'm told, then hand them over. He reaches around my legs, and undoes the zipper. After some wiggling, I feel a very hard cock between my legs, barely hidden under my way too short dress. He gently maneuvers my body over it, and I cannot help but suck in a breath of air in anticipation. He knows how difficult it is for me to take that fat cock without a bit finger-fucking before to stretch me out. I don't even know who is turned on more by me suffering discomfort when I struggle at the start, trying to hold back my whimpers.

My cunt is halfway down the shaft, I am trying to breathe regularly and relax my tortured pussy, as I hear a jogger approaching. His hands go to my waist, and push me down hard. A yelp escapes my throat as I fight the urge to cry out in pain. Even he gives a small grunt as his cock is squeezed hard.

"You're so fucking tight," he grumbles, part compliment, part complaint.

"Now move those hips. Make me cum." Just mentioning an orgasm makes me want to moan. It's been eight days. I've rarely gone that long without an orgasm. He edges me every day, multiple times. Sometimes eating me out, sometimes fucking me, sometimes fingering, sometimes just telling me to do it myself. I am utterly desperate to cum. He just loves teasing me, frustrating me. I would suck and fuck him every day even if I got to cum! There is no need to make me so horny! But no matter how much I beg, I only get edges and ruins.

As bidden, I move my hips. I can feel my lips not want to let go of that fat cock, but it still slides out easily, already drenched from me being unbearably aroused. By now I have gotten used to going through multiple panties every day. That is, if I even get to wear any.

I push back onto the cock, impaling myself on it. The pleasure is torture and makes me see stars. I find fingers over my mouth. I must have moaned too loudly.

"Sshhhh," he whispers into my ear, his lips caressing it.

I keep moving, and with every thrust it gets easier. Sometimes a runner passes us, and I have to stop, making myself quiver in frustration. It does not take me long to reach a point where I could climax if I just put my fingers on my clit, but I'm not even trying. I know I'm not allowed to. So I obediently keep fucking myself, knowing fully well that I can't cum from it, no matter how horribly great it feels. Finally I can hear it. His heavy breathing behind my back. He is close. I redouble my efforts, clenching my muscles around the cock in me, bouncing on it, forgetting where we are.

I moan loudly as I feel it: His cock enlarges inside of me, pumping hot seed into my pussy. It takes all my remaining willpower to force myself to keep going a dozen more strokes, but if I stop now I will probably not get to cum for a very long time. I must not ruin Master's orgasm!

Then I lean back, exhausted. He is breathing deeply. "Good girl," he whispers in a slightly ragged voice. I know I'm gleaming in satisfaction. We sit like this for a few more minutes. I can still feel the gooey cum inside of me, even if the cock that filled me is shrinking.

"Now let's go home. You've earned an orgasm." He says. I nearly cum right there just from hearing it, and I feel my whole body quiver for a few moments. As I get up, I can see some drops of semen falling down in front of the bench. Then I feel the rest of it starting to run down the inside of my leg. I think I can smell it: My pussy juices mingling with cum. I tell myself it's just my imagination.

He puts his cock back in his pants, then gets up and takes my hand. We walk back towards our home. I cannot help but notice that we're walking exceptionally slowly this time, and when people turn their heads I wish they would just see my panties as before, and not a naked pussy dripping cum.