The BDSM Siesta That Left Me at His Feet

When I finished preparing the food, I was sweating, my pussy throbbing as if someone had left a live coal between my legs. From the kitchen, I had seen them by the pool again: my two friends in the sun, almost naked, and Damián strolling around the garden with that unbearable calm that was driving me crazy. I had spent all morning provoking him, getting myself worked up with him, sizing him up, playing at pushing and pulling, and still he kept moving as if he had all the time in the world.

When he finally went to the edge of the pool and sat down with his feet in the water, I kept watching him from inside. His briefs clung to his body, outlining a relaxed bulge that fooled no one. In front of him, Vera and Lidia chatted as if nothing were happening, their tits almost completely bare and those tiny panties barely covering what they had to. I knew what that did to him. I knew because it did the same to me.

I wasn't going to stay shut inside stirring a pot while desire boiled away outside. I turned off the heat, left everything half-ready, and shot out into the garden, breathing fast. I didn't even stop to pretend to be modest. I reached them, crouched down, and pulled my panties off in front of their faces.

—The food's ready, but first I need cold water —I said—. It's unbearably hot in there… and besides, I'm really horny.

I said it slowly, so they could hear me clearly. As the fabric slid down my thighs, it dragged wetly against my skin and ended up in a heap at my feet. Inside, there was a thick, whitish stain, an obscene trace of how wet I was. All three of them looked at it. Then they looked at my open pussy, swollen and glistening, my lips engorged and my clitoris poking out as if it too were asking for attention.

—Fuck, Clara… look at you —Vera murmured, bending down to pick up my panties.

She touched them with two fingers and sank them into the dampness before bringing them to her nose. The gesture sent a shiver down my spine. I said nothing. I dove headfirst into the pool to put out the fire, though I knew I was going to achieve exactly the opposite.

When I surfaced, he was already standing. He pulled down his briefs without any fuss, without hiding himself, letting out a thick, half-hard, heavy cock that made me squeeze my legs together underwater on pure instinct. He tossed the garment to Lidia with insulting accuracy and dove toward me.

His body collided with mine beneath the water and we immediately began seeking each other out. Thigh against thigh. Belly against belly. My hand brushing his ass. His hand pushing my wet hair away from my face so he could look at me as if he were committing something to memory. His cock, still halfway hard, struck my pubic bone every time we thrust against each other amid laughter and splashing.

Lidia came over to the edge and sat down with her feet in the water, still holding Damián's briefs. She made no attempt to hide what she was doing. She smelled them, squeezed them, and even brushed the fabric with the tip of her tongue while watching us. Vera had disappeared toward the house with my panties in her hand, and you didn't have to be a mind reader to know what she had gone to do.

Underwater, Damián grabbed me by the waist and slammed me against the pool wall. I felt the tip of his cock rub between my lips without entering. It was a brief caress, a precise provocation. I bit his shoulder and opened my legs wider, offering myself. He didn't thrust. He just kept rubbing me that way, with cruel slowness.

—Don't play with me —I whispered in his ear.

—You started it —he replied calmly.

His answer turned me on more than any groping could have. Lidia eventually joined us in the water, and between the two of us we helped drag her toward the center of the pool amid shoves, laughter, and shameless hands. I yanked her thong down while he held her wrists for a second, just long enough to make it clear that her shyness wasn't in charge anymore. She protested for show. She let us touch her tits, let us spread her legs, let us search her.

Our fingers crossed several times underwater, both of us chasing the same cock. Damián's was fully hard by then, swinging between our bodies like a restless animal. Every time we grabbed it, he let out a breath through his nose and clenched his jaw, restraining himself.

When Vera returned with the food ready, she found us still worked up. Damián moved to a corner of the pool to cool off. Lidia got out first, naked and unhurried, water running down her back and her tight ass. I watched her walk toward the porch in that tiny string thong that showed more than it covered, and I had to admit the bitch seemed to know exactly how much she could provoke with every step.

I followed her without getting dressed again. Damián got out naked too and ended up sitting with us to eat as if it were the most normal thing in the world. His cock was hanging relaxed by then, though it was still impossible not to look at it. More than once I caught myself staring there while trying to fake a normal conversation.

The meal, however, cooled in another sense. All four people sitting on that porch knew perfectly well what lay beneath the table, behind the smiles and glasses. But no one made a move. I tried with brushes, with poses, with half-finished sentences. He didn't bite. Or worse: he bit and didn't give me what I wanted. That made me furious.

When I finished eating, I put down my fork and blurted out the only thing that came to me.

—I need a nap. Damián, are you coming with me?

There was an awkward silence, not dramatic, but clear enough. Vera and Lidia looked at me with expressions mixing amusement and suspicion. He took a second too long to stand up. That second pricked my pride.

Even so, he followed me. I led him to my bedroom, closed the French doors, drew the curtain, and lay naked on the bed without hiding a thing. I spread my legs and waited for him, breathing shallowly. I didn't want him to fuck me all the way. Or that's what I kept telling myself. I wanted to push him to the limit, have him desperate, make myself indispensable to him. Keep myself in the driver's seat.

But instead of throwing himself on me, Damián went to the spare bed, lay down on his stomach, and became still. Not a word. Not a caress. Not one damn look.

At first I thought he was returning the favor, playing my game back at me. Then I understood that no—he was doing something worse: leaving me to stew in my own need. Silence and heat filled the room. Completely open, soaked, exposed, I began to feel ridiculous. My pride clashed with my desire, and my desire was winning by a landslide.

Touch me already.

I didn't say it aloud. I bit my lips, closed my eyes, and tried to pretend I was falling asleep. It was useless. My pussy throbbed without pause. I felt his presence beside me as both a threat and a prize. I imagined him getting up, grabbing my thighs, spreading me open abruptly, and driving his cock all the way inside me. I even imagined rougher things. Dirtier things. More humiliating things. Each fantasy made me wetter.

Something even worse for my control ended up happening: I started masturbating by myself. I shoved my hand between my legs angrily, without elegance, almost scratching my clitoris and thrusting several fingers inside me at once. The wet sounds of my own lubrication filled the room. The smell of an aroused pussy began to fill the air. I panted softly, increasingly unable to maintain my act.

Then his hand fell over mine.

I jumped and turned my head. He was still practically motionless, half-sunken into the pillow, with the same unbearable calm. He didn't even look aroused on the outside, and that was precisely what undid me even more. He pulled my hand away from my sex with insulting ease and, without a word, thrust all his fingers inside me at once.

I moaned so loudly that I was embarrassed. He filled me completely. It wasn't probing or a gentle caress: it was an invasion. He pushed his hand as deep as he could, spread his fingers, searched inside me with obscene precision, and began fucking me with them as if he knew exactly which muscle to punish and which one to squeeze.

—Stay still —he said at last, quietly.

That was all. One order, and my body obeyed it before my mind did. I lay on my back with my legs spread and my breathing broken while he worked my pussy without haste and without mercy. He pulled his fingers almost all the way out and drove them back inside me with a hard, wet, precise rhythm. Sometimes he crushed my clitoris with his thumb at the same time. Other times he curled his fingers and tore a shudder from my belly.

I began begging him after the third minute. I don't know how much time really passed because I lost track almost immediately. I only know that every time I felt myself about to come, he changed something. He eased off for half a second. He closed my pussy with his palm. Or he sank two fingers deeper and left me trembling on the edge without allowing me to fall.

—Please…

—Not yet.

The humiliation soaked me more thoroughly than pleasure. I, who had entered that room certain I could play with him again, had been reduced to an open, obedient body moaning his name with my face wet. He remained naked, silent, serene, almost cold, while he brought me to the edge of orgasm again and again only to deny it at the last moment.

When I tried to close my legs, he smacked my thigh sharply.

—I told you to stay still.

He pushed his fingers deeper again and I arched. I felt my pussy swallow his hand, felt wetness run down to my ass, felt my body no longer belonged to me. He began using his other hand too. He spread my lips with two fingers and rubbed my clitoris in slow circles while continuing to pump inside me. The combination split me open.

—Damián… fuck… fuck…

—That's how I like it. Wide open and saying my name.

I wanted to hate him. I wanted to spit something at him. I wanted to order him to stop or fuck me already. Instead, I lifted my hips toward his hand like a hungry whore. He noticed and held me down by the pubic bone, pinning me against the mattress.

—Don't come without permission.

The sentence went through me. Not because it was new, but because in his mouth it sounded absolute. He was dominating me effortlessly, without tying me up, without shouting. Just with his calm, his fingers, and the certainty that he knew my body better than I did at that moment.

He brought me to the edge once. Twice. Three times. Four. I lost count. Each time my belly hardened, my feet curled, my throat filled with moans, and then, just when the orgasm was about to break me, he smothered my pussy with his palm or emptied me from the inside with a calculated movement. I whined in frustration. Literally whined.

Once, he turned me partly onto my side, lifted one leg until it was almost folded against my chest, and kept thrusting his fingers into me from another angle. I felt him reach deeper, brush that spot that completely undid me, and I let out a muffled scream.

—Look at you —he murmured.

He forced me to look down. My pussy was open, reddened, shining, swallowing his fingers with a wet, shameful sound. The bed was a wreck. My thighs were trembling. My face must have belonged to a woman completely defeated.

—You're such a slut —he said, almost curiously.

I nodded. I don't know why. But I nodded.

Then he pulled his hand out abruptly. The emptiness hurt. I thought he was going to leave me like that again. He got up, went to the bathroom, and left me sprawled on the bed, panting and unable to move. From where I was, I saw out of the corner of my eye that he had an erection so hard it infuriated me that I hadn't been able to touch it.

When I heard him leave the bathroom and head for the door, I broke. My body was demanding release with almost violent urgency. I masturbated like a desperate woman, first with my hand and then with the first thing I found nearby: a cylindrical deodorant bottle that ended up between my fingers and then inside me.

I didn't care about anything. Not dignity, not pain, not how ridiculous it was. I shoved it inside myself angrily, wet with my own juices, moving it in and out while rubbing my clitoris like a madwoman. I panted, grunted, insulted myself. I still couldn't come. He had left me so close to the edge that I no longer knew how to get back there alone.

That's when I noticed he was back in the room.

I raised my head and there he was, leaning against the doorframe, watching me with that unbearable half-smile. He saw me open, broken, soaked, fucking myself with that cylinder as if my life depended on it. And he did nothing to save me. Worse: he enjoyed watching.

—Sorry —he said, pretending surprise—. I didn't know you were busy.

I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but all that came out was a hoarse moan. I grabbed his forearm when he approached, not to push him away but to keep him close. His presence finally pushed me over the abyss. I kept moving the bottle inside me faster and faster while my other hand punished my raw clitoris.

—Keep going —he whispered—. I want to see.

That destroyed me. He lifted one leg, then the other, leaving me completely exposed. He leaned over my sex without touching it. I was on the verge of breaking, my pussy swollen, sore, over-open, leaking onto the bed. Then he blew.

Just that. A warm breath over my clitoris and open lips.

My body exploded.

The orgasm shook me with almost obscene violence. I felt a brutal spasm in my belly, then a hot jet shoot out of me, wetting my thighs, the bed, his hand. I screamed through clenched teeth. The bottle fell from me. My hips kept convulsing on their own while I cried from sheer excess.

He didn't move away. He watched me come as if he were contemplating something that belonged to him. I kept releasing spasms, unable to close my legs, unable to hide. That was the real humiliation: not only had he made me come like that, he had forced me to do it in front of him, defeated, tearful, trembling.

—Look at you —he repeated with a broader smile—. What a slut.

Then he opened the curtain and the French doors to leave for the garden, leaving me open on the mattress and still shuddering. I didn't know whether to laugh or kill him. I ended up falling asleep from sheer exhaustion.

***

I woke with my body feeling strange: empty, sensitive, strangely light. I had barely slept, but it was enough. The first thing I felt when I remembered was anger. The second was an uncomfortable certainty: he had beaten me. I could no longer pretend that I was the one in control. He had taken control of me with an ease that completely disarmed me.

I showered in cold water and got dressed. I needed fabric over me after that. I chose a fresh pair of panties and a short, tight T-shirt, the kind that outlines your nipples whether you want it to or not. When I went out into the garden through the French doors of his room, he was in the pool again, this time wearing his boxers. My friends appeared shortly afterward, completely naked, and jumped into the water with him like two playful hyenas.

I stayed outside, watching. From that distance, composed again, I could see more clearly the effect he still had on all three of them. Damián was looking a lot. More than before. Without hiding it. Vera and Lidia, for their part, were trying to maintain a lightness that kept slipping away from them. The atmosphere grew strange on its own, as if we were all waiting for another order from me.

And I gave it.

I took off my shirt slowly and smiled at them.

—My neck hurts. Who's going to give me a massage?

The sentence was a miserable lie and we all knew it. Even so, it worked. We divided up almost immediately. Vera ended up behind me on a lounge chair, with me sitting between her legs. Damián wound up at Lidia's feet, while she reclined on her back on another chair with her legs bent. I told her to sit up properly, that she would have more room to work on his feet that way. He obeyed.

Vera began with my shoulders, and in less than a minute she was kneading my tits with both hands, kissing my neck and biting my earlobe. In front of us, Damián held one of Lidia's feet against his chest while the other rested right between his legs, over an erection growing inevitably beneath the wet fabric.

The scene restored some of my pride. I had set it up. I had put everyone in their place. But the memory of the siesta still lingered underneath, reminding me that control was relative. Maybe that's why it turned me on so much to see him lift his eyes toward me for a moment, asking for permission without asking.

I gave it by letting Vera paw at me shamelessly. My hands settled over hers, encouraging her to squeeze my nipples harder. That was enough. Damián began edging closer to Lidia inch by inch while massaging her foot. His other hand slid over his package in increasingly less innocent movements.

Lidia spread her legs a little wider. Then a little more. She no longer pretended not to notice. Her pussy was exposed, shaved, wet, shining in the afternoon light. He looked at her as if he were dying of thirst. I saw him swallow from my lounge chair.

—Good girl —I told Lidia without stopping my panting thanks to Vera.

And she responded by squeezing Damián's cock through his boxers with her feet until she forced it out through the side of the elastic. His cock sprang free, hard, long, tense enough to ache just looking at it. The three of us exhaled at the same time.

Vera already had two fingers between my panties and was working my clitoris through the lace. I arched, but I didn't take my eyes off them. Damián, kneeling at the foot of the lounge chair, began jerking himself off with Lidia's feet. He held them by the ankles, pressed his cock between their soles, and made it slide up and down with an obscenity so beautiful it left me speechless.

Lidia was masturbating too. One hand was between her legs, sinking her fingers into her own pussy, while with the other she squeezed one of her tits. Her face was that of a saint about to commit a crime.

Vera turned my face and kissed my mouth furiously. I kissed her back, gripping her hair. There was no massage anymore; this was pure groping, pure hunger. I slipped my hand beneath her thighs and found her pussy soaked. She moaned into my mouth, and I returned the favor, rubbing her with two fingers while we kept stealing glances at Damián.

He was close. You could see it in the trembling of his stomach, the way he clenched his teeth, the glistening tip of his cock. Lidia didn't let up. She was squeezing him with her feet as if she wanted to milk him.

And then, just when I saw the exact moment he was about to come for her, I felt something dark in my chest. Jealousy. Pure, animal possessiveness. I tore myself away from Vera almost by shoving her aside, stood up, and went over to him.

—That's enough —I said, grabbing him by the arms and pulling his body back—. You need to relieve yourself.

All three of them froze. Lidia swore. Vera looked at me as if I were insane. He was trembling, rigid, his cock perpendicular, so hard it seemed impossible he could hold out any longer.

—Give yourself a hand —I ordered.

He didn't argue. He turned his back to us, pulled his boxers all the way down, and began masturbating with both hands. It was a brutal spectacle. He gripped himself tightly, stroking up and down as if he were fucking his fists, humping in time with his own hand, panting softly. I called his name, and when he turned his head slightly, I pulled my panties aside and showed him my pussy.

The shudder that ran through his body was immediate.

I brought my friends with me to the floor beside the French doors. While he kept jerking off in front of us, the three of us began kissing and touching each other shamelessly, with no intention of stopping. I threw myself between Vera's legs and ate her pussy with pent-up hunger. I thrust my tongue inside her, then two fingers, lapping up her juices while she writhed and Lidia fondled my tits from behind.

Behind us, we could hear the wet slaps of Damián masturbating and his breathing growing more ragged. We turned almost simultaneously when we heard him moan for real. He had leaned against a tree, gripping the base of his cock with one hand while the other kept pumping.

His orgasm burst out with savage violence. Semen shot in long, taut streams, splattering his abdomen, shirt, and thigh. He came several more times, trembling all over, shooting until he was almost out of strength. It was an enormous ejaculation, beautiful and obscene at once. The three of us watched him in silence for a second, fascinated.

Then I decided. I wasn't going to let him in yet. Not that afternoon.

I stood up, took my friends by the hand, and went into the bedroom before he could recover. We closed the French doors, drew the curtain, and bolted the door. I wanted to sate myself with them. I wanted a safe territory where my body could release without surrendering all its power to him again.

I pushed Lidia onto the bed and sank between her legs without wasting a second. Vera positioned herself behind me, pressing her breasts against my back while sliding one hand between my buttocks and slowly spreading me open. Lidia's pussy was dripping, hot, still trembling from what had happened outside. I thrust my tongue into her as far as I could, and she grabbed my hair with both hands.

—Don't stop —she moaned.

I had no intention of stopping. I devoured her thoroughly, spreading her lips with my fingers and driving my tongue into the spot that made her arch. Meanwhile, Vera yanked my panties down and knelt to lick my ass and then my pussy from behind. The double contact left me breathless. I was eating one while the other ate me, trapped between moans, saliva, and the scent of fresh sex.

When Lidia was trembling on the edge, I turned her toward Vera and lay on my back. I made them climb on top of me. I wanted their mouths, their hands, their bodies over me. Vera straddled my hips and began rubbing my pussy against her thigh while Lidia sucked my nipples with delicious avidity. I slipped one hand between each of their legs and masturbated them at the same time, feeling both of them open and grow wetter.

The room filled with panting, colliding skin, fingers going in and out, tongues. Neither of them was in the mood for delicacy. I thrust three fingers into Vera until she moaned against my neck. I made Lidia come in my mouth, holding her hips as she soaked my tongue. Then the two of them returned the favor, one on my clitoris and the other thrusting her fingers inside me until I ended up writhing on the sheets, dirty, relieved, finally releasing without a struggle.

We came like that, tangled together, more than once. There was no tenderness. There was hunger. There was accumulated exhaustion. There was a need to tear the rest of the day off ourselves with mouths, fingers, and convulsions. When we finally lay there, sweaty and satisfied, the room smelled of sex and victory.

And as I caught my breath among my friends' bodies, I knew the truce was over. He was waiting for me outside. And I wouldn't be able to pretend much longer that I didn't want to put myself, on my knees if necessary, exactly where that siesta had left me: at his feet.