The Ribbon Test (Part 4)

Time stretches unbearably, every second dragging out like an eternity. I shift, squirming against the soft restraints, but no matter how I move, I can’t ease the tension pooling deep inside me. It’s maddening—the heat, the ache, the unbearable emptiness he’s left me with.  

And he just watches.  

Smirking. Comfortable. Like this is nothing more than a game.  

I press my thighs together, desperate for some kind of relief, but it’s useless. He planned this. Knew exactly how to push me to the edge and keep me there.  

I throw him a glare, but I know it lacks any real venom. He’s won. He always wins.  

My breathing is uneven now, my body tingling, thrumming with unsatisfied need. I bite my lip, trying to suppress the soft, desperate sound that threatens to escape.  

He notices.  

“Something wrong, Baby Girl?” His voice is laced with amusement, his fingers idly trailing along his own thigh—not mine.  

I swallow hard, my pride warring with my desperation.  

I don’t want to give in.  

But I need him.  

My bound hands clench behind me. “Please.” My voice is barely a whisper.  

His head tilts slightly. “Please what?”  

I squeeze my eyes shut. This is humiliating. But my body is burning for him, and I can’t take another second of this torture.  

I exhale shakily. “Please… take control.”  

Silence.  

When I open my eyes, his smirk is gone. In its place is something darker, something dangerous.  

“Say that again,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—but somehow more commanding.  

I shift under his gaze, heat prickling my skin. “I—I need you to take control.”  

His eyes darken, and suddenly he’s over me again, his body crowding mine, his hands gripping my thighs as he forces them apart. The playful smirk is gone.  

“That’s better,” he murmurs. “I was starting to think you’d never break.”  

I shudder as his fingers trail over my trembling skin.  

“Now,” he continues, tilting my chin up so our eyes meet. His grip is firm, possessive. “Let’s see how well you obey when you’re truly at my mercy.”  

His lips ghost over mine, teasing—taunting—before he pulls away entirely, leaving me gasping, desperate, aching.  

“Tell me,” he murmurs, fingers skimming along the edge of my bindings. “Are you ready to surrender completely?”  

I nod—frantically.  

“Use your words.”  

“Yes.” My voice is breathless, raw. “Yes, Sir.”  

His expression shifts—satisfaction mixed with something deeper.  

“Good girl.”  

And then, finally—finally—he gives me exactly what I’ve been begging for.