MELT

Elizabeth Coldwell

It’s the most devilishly frustrating thing he’s ever done to me. I could almost applaud him for his ingenuity, if only my hands weren’t cuffed in place.

The position I’m in is comfortable—to a point. Bryan took the time to ensure I could hold it for as long as is needed. Neither of us knows quite how long that will be, which is the object of this particular exercise. All part of the learning process, as he trains me to be the obedient little submissive he claims he saw lurking beneath the surface the very first time he met me.

I’m standing perfectly still, my movements constrained by my bonds. A translucent plastic collar has been fastened around my neck, and a length of chain passed through the D-ring at its front. Each end of the chain is connected to thick, padded-leather wrist cuffs, and my hands have been arranged so that they are clasped together beneath my bare breasts, in a position of supplication. This also means my forearms offer some support to my tits, keeping the heavy globes thrust upward and out. Bryan has tested my resolve a couple of times by rolling and pinching my nipples, the guitarist’s calluses on his big fingers stimulating them in all the best ways until the tender buds are ripe and red as summer berries.

So far, I’ve held out, but I can’t take much more of this stimulation. It sends hot, urgent need pulsing down to my pussy, which has been stuffed with a thick silicone dildo that’s held snugly in place by a harness. To complete my ordeal, my legs have been shackled to a spreader bar, but not arranged so far apart that I lose the subtle friction of that big, fake cock inside me. Bryan wants me to be aware at every moment that I am full, plugged to his satisfaction.

In those respects, this is really no different from any other session of bondage training he’s put me through. I’ve learned well, or so I’ve always thought, absorbing the message that obedience will be rewarded, and gratification will be sweeter the longer it is delayed. I’ve discovered a place of what I can only call Zen calm in my head, and the longer I stay still and patient, the more a strange, reassuring feeling of well-being permeates my senses. Lost in that secret haven, I can endure all the discomforts of being restrained, punished, frustrated. In the battle of wills between dominant and submissive, it counts as a small victory.

But today he’s raised the stakes, finding the perfect way to taunt me with the promise of release.

I thought nothing was out of the ordinary as he fastened me into the collar and cuffs, and slid the well-lubricated dildo up into my pussy—though in truth I’m always wet enough to take that fat length without too much additional help from the moment he orders me to start undressing.

Only once the spreader bar had been secured in place did he reveal his master stroke. He left me for a minute or two while he went into the kitchen. When he returned, he brought with him the ice-cube tray from the freezer. An involuntary shiver went through me at the sight, my mind already imagining how it would feel to have one of those cubes played over my sensitive skin as I writhed in my bonds, helpless to pull away.

What he had in mind for me was something less predictable and far crueler. He popped a wine-bottle-shaped cube out of the tray and brought it over for me to see. Embedded in the ice were two small silver keys—unmistakably those to the cuffs that hold my wrists and ankles in place.

“I thought we’d play a little game today, Kay.” My dismayed reaction must have been evident on my face, and Bryan grinned widely in response. “It’s called ‘let’s see how long ice takes to melt.’”

Biting back the groan that threatened to escape from me, I could only watch as he turned the cube this way and that in his fingers, giving me one last lingering look at the keys to my freedom, held suspended in the frozen water. Then he took a double-ended crocodile clip and fed the short length of plastic through one of the loops in my wrist cuffs before clamping each of the toothed clips to the ice cube. This meant that as the ice melted, it would dribble directly into my cleavage, increasing my torment. That’s when I realized he really had thought of everything.

“Don’t worry, I made sure to turn the thermostat right up. The ice will be gone before you know it. Just think of this as a necessary part of the training.”

With that, he dropped a soft kiss on my lips and wandered into the kitchen. The noise of the kettle boiling let me know he was making himself coffee, intent on enjoying his usual Sunday routine of reading the papers with a mug of Blue Mountain in hand.

I don’t know how much time has passed since then. He’s positioned me so I’m facing away from the clock on the mantelpiece. I can’t see how much of the ice has melted; all I’m aware of is the slow, relentless trickle of water down the valley between my breasts and lower, toward my belly. I need it to stop and yet, strangely, I don’t want it to end.

For the first few minutes of my ordeal, things were a blur. The sheer deviousness of my master’s scheme took my breath away. How long had he been planning all this, and when had he frozen the keys? Or maybe the idea had come to him last night, after I’d gone to bed and left him watching the football highlights. I can just imagine him cracking open a beer and chuckling to himself as he thought about the shock I’d get when he revealed the secret of that ice cube.

I think panic may have set in for the briefest moment. Bryan had never before put me in a position where he couldn’t free me the moment things got too much, and I couldn’t quite believe he’d done it to me now. Then I took deep breaths, reminding myself that there were duplicates to the keys. He’d have them handy somewhere, and all I’d have to do was call “Red!” and this game would be over.

But I haven’t used my safeword in any of our training sessions before, and I don’t intend to start today. Now, I am moving toward that place where all is quiet and centered, where the slight burn in my thighs and the strain of keeping in the same position for so long can be ignored. The nagging need to come is another matter. I know that if I keep squeezing my inner muscles around the dildo, I can take myself all the way to the edge, and over it, but Bryan has expressly forbidden me to come without his permission. In other circumstances, I might have disobeyed that command and earned myself whatever punishment was due, but being kept in bondage with that infernal drip of icy water between my tits is already quite enough in the way of punishment, thank you. Not to mention the delicious nipple torment Bryan has returned to administer from time to time.

It might just be my imagination, but I’m sure I can feel the barrel of one of the keys against my skin. Not only is the room pleasantly warm, but the heat of my body is helping the ice to melt faster than it otherwise would. Even so, every minute seems to stretch on forever, time playing the weirdest of tricks on me. I close my eyes and do my best to think about nothing, retreating to my mental oasis of calm and composure.

“How are we doing?” Bryan’s voice is soft in my ear. He takes the ice cube between his fingers to examine it. When I look at it, I can see that only the thinnest remnants of ice now surround both keys, and the teeth of the crocodile clips are almost touching. A few more moments, I tell myself, and this will all be over. Though what might happen when the keys are freed and the cuffs removed is another matter entirely.

Bryan’s question was addressed to himself. I don’t need to reply. He can tell from the flush on my skin and the juices that coat the inside of my thighs just how keyed up I am, how excited obeying him makes me.

“Nearly there now, I think.” He lets the cube fall from his grip, and when it lands, it’s definitely metal that rests against my skin, not ice. Holding my tit in one big hand, he strums the nipple with his thumb like it’s one of his guitar strings.

No longer caring about letting him know how much I need his attention, I moan. Held secure in my bonds, I have happily forfeited all responsibility for my own pleasure. I’m reliant on Bryan, trusting him enough to give me what I need. He knows me so well, and he’ll never push me farther than I’m willing to go. It makes him the perfect Master for me, the perfect trainer, and I want to show him how well I’m learning all the lessons he’s teaching me.

“You look amazing in bondage, Kay,” Bryan murmurs. “And you can’t know how hot you make me, with that dildo plugging your pussy. But I bet you want my cock up there, don’t you?”

“Oh, Sir, please…” I want that more than anything, but I know I won’t get it till I’m free of my restraints. Maybe if I will the keys to fall, I can make it happen by sheer force of concentration.

Bryan plucks at my nipple again. “Maybe I should fuck your ass while your cunt’s still full. How would that be, eh?”

I can’t form a reply. There’s no way I’d be able to take him in my rear hole, not with that big dildo still rammed all the way in me, yet it’s such a hot, dirty image it has my pussy convulsing in little spasms around that silicone cock.

That’s the moment when the last of the ice melts, and the cuff keys drop to the polished floorboards, landing with an audible clatter. Bryan bends to scoop them up. When he regards me again, his smile is positively feral.

“Looks like time’s up. And you’ve done so well. But there’s just one last thing I need to do before you can be released.”

My heart sinks. I’ve waited so long, endured all his torments, and he’s still going to keep me restrained? What the hell does he have in mind for me?

Bryan slides his palm between my legs, cupping my pussy. The movement pushes the dildo just a fraction farther in me, and I know it’ll only take a little more of this stimulation before my long-denied orgasm hits me.

“Come for me, Kay.” It’s an order, not a request. “There’s a good girl.”

He curls his hand up, sliding the chilled keys beneath the webbing of the harness and pressing them to my clit. And I melt.