Cult

21: Scream Ω

Slowly, I glance at it. I don't want to give it so much power by not even naming it, but considering I've never actually seen one in person, I am pretty intimidated, but still curious right now.

I don't know how to pleasure Harry, but I want to. I feel as though I need to reciprocate the pleasure he has given me, but I'm just unsure what to do. My mind wanders to Harry's nonchalant confession about his 'dream' about me, but I quickly shake my head. I've never seen Harry come, let alone felt the cream on my skin the way Harry had imagined.

I take a deep breath and reach my cuffed hand out. Harry's torso is tense, the contour of his abdomen is a series of straight and curved lines glistening with a sheam of sweat. The line of dark hair leading down to his member resembles a wild trail in the Amazon: exotic and natural. 

The now all too familiar sensation of warmth thickens deep in my belly and I'm no longer afraid. Harry's eyes harden as he narrows them slightly, focusing his attention on me.

"I want you to scream my name," he says.

"Why?" I mumble, recoiling my hand slightly. I can't seem to stop marveling at how stiff he still is. How could I have caused him this pleasure? I haven't done anything purposefully.

"Just scream as though you want me to save you," Harry urges. I look up at him, confused, but interested. He has a sort of rescue/hero/villain fantasy. Except I'm not sure if he's the villain or the hero.

Harry leans down on top of me, holding his length in his hand.

"Scream or I'll make you scream," he threatens. 

"Harry, I don't understand," I speak up. 

"Scream!"

"Harry, you're crazy!"

"No, I'm hard as fuck," he corrects me and he moves his hand along his length, pumping himself. He stares down at me, as though the sight of me cuffed beneath him, screaming for him gives him pleasure. 

Harry continues pumping himself as he gazes down at me. He leans down on me, his lips against mine, his breath weaving around my neck and breasts. His breathing hitches as he pumps himself harder. Then he takes my hand and I scream louder.

"Hold it," he  tells me. 

I look down, afraid of it, worried what sort of power it must hold to have been able to crush countless women's pelvic bones.

I touch his tip.

"Grab it! Please," he nearly begs.

Slowly, I take it in my hands and it feels strange, sensitive and slightly cold, but I move my fingers along it. 

"Fuck, that feels good," he compliments. I press my nails lightly along his shaft, going up and down his length. He clasps his hand around mine and shows me how to pump him. 

I try to squeeze my thighs together. Seeing Harry in such a vulnerable state is giving me a strange pleasure. Maybe this is how he has been feeling every time he made me come while I was tied up.

Harry tightens his hand over mine, forcing me to grip him harder. I pump him with his hand guiding mine. Soon enough, I find my own rhythm and Harry moves his hands and closes his eyes, reveling in the way I'm helping him reach his climax. 

I bite my lip and squint at it, unsure if I'm doing a good enough job. 

"Christ, baby, keep looking up at me like that," he urges me and I continue. I'm thoroughly enjoying the way Harry is screwing his eyes shut, completely at my mercy. I have the power. I have the control. And I love it.