I don't know how we made it through dinner. Or how Sergei made it through the drive home. I fondled and rubbed and squeezed his cock back to erection all the way back. And once we got into the foyer I had him on all fours. I know he was aching. But I was still in a mood. I felt vaguely guilty for "ruining" what Sergei had planned as a nice, romantic evening for us. But only vaguely, and I insistently pushed it away. The real guilt would come after the scene was over.

And the way I was going, that might not be until morning. I'm sure Sergei sensed it too because there was a nearly tangible surrender in his movements now. God, that turned me on. Sometimes, I like struggle. Sometimes, I like acceptance. He always seems to know which to be. I have no idea if it's planned or not, nor do I ask. I just let him amaze me.

Like now, for instance. He was down on all fours, head bowed, in his elegant black and white tux on the floor or our entryway. Because I told him to be there. And he did it. Rather reluctantly, but he did it. I can't explain what it does to me when I see a man - this man - submit for me. I know he doesn't like it. It means so much more knowing that, somehow.

After looking at him for a moment, I order, "Crawl. To the library." My voice is low.

He does so with little hesitation and I'm getting wetter by the minute. I have to get this dress off.

And I have to think. What do I want tonight? I want to tie him up. Of course. Without his clothes on.

I walk up to him and lift his chin. His eyes meet mine and they're impassive. He's waiting so see what mood I'm in. I smile. "Strip." He closes his eyes. Now he's sure he's in for a long night. I stand. "I'll be right back. You better have everything off and be on display when I get down. And don't touch your cock." I turn my back and head up the stairs.

Quickly, I take out my favorite bondage suit (my "torture Sergei" suit he calls it) and slide in. Already, I feel better and more in control. Or more comfortable with my control. I gather a few toys before heading back downstairs. Handcuffs, leather straps, some rope, a gag and blindfold and a spreader bar And a mattress pad.

When I return he's in his on display position - kneeling, legs spread, hands behind his head - like a good little boy. I grin at the sight and reach down to touch myself before beginning. I make myself stop only because I have a long night planned.

I had him crawl to the piano and wait while I spread the mattress pad over the shiny black surface. "Get on it," I ordered. His eyes came up, wide and questioning. "Get on the piano. Now. On your back."

Now he knew what was coming. He kind of stared at it for a moment and then his gaze flickered to me, then the piano again. It was priceless. Awkwardly, he hauled himself on top and lay down. His eyes were wide and concentrating, and he stares fixedly at the ceiling.

"Put your legs toward the keys. Arms off the sides." He slid around until he was how I wanted him and I brought out my restraints.

First, I cuffed his ankles to the legs of the piano so they were spread wide on either side of the keyboard; then I fastened his arms to the front legs. For good measure, I brought out the nylon harness and strapped down his chest and hips. Though I hated to restrict his hips. They were so hot to watch as he moved. I just didn't want him bucking up and down on the piano. No sense in risking it. He could still slither a bit from side to side however and small bucks weren't out of the question.

For a moment, I just gaze at my handiwork. It's quite gorgeous, I must say. Sergei Fedorov, naked, tied spread eagle over his 30,000 thousand dollar piano, glistening nicely, hair ruffled, cock resting against his thigh….And pulling at the restraints. It was like lighting through my body to see that, striking right between my legs. I have to close my eyes for a moment to get control again.

Slowly, I put out my hand and drag it along his body, head to toe, stopping at strategic locations along the way. 'Maggie' he's gasping between moans. It makes me shudder. He's trying to catch my eye, I know, perhaps to make me forget about torturing him. But I ignore him. I will have him tonight.

I bring my panties that I'd had on at dinner and stand at the front of the piano. I push them into my crotch while giving him another visual rape.

He's hard. I smile and twist my fingers in his hair, leaning over him, panties pressed firmly against my wet sex. His neck strains so he can meet my eyes. Before I can let them talk me into freeing him, I lean down and kiss him. He knows enough to let me do the work. He lies there passively while I take control of his tongue, his lips. But he slides his hips back and forth slightly and moans into my mouth.

Finally, I break the kiss and shove my panties into his open mouth. He was expecting another kiss and the betrayed squeal I get is quickly replaced by a low, aroused moan as he realizes I made good on my promise at the restaurant.

I promised him nothing about using another gag, though. So when I shoved my smaller ball gag into his mouth he was less than pleased. He tried to spit it out. That is a big no-no and he knows it. I know he hates to be gagged, but I needed to do it tonight.

I slapped him then yanked his hair until he yelped.

"Do not do that." It was a growl and he countered with pleading, tear-filled eyes not to do this to him. It made his jaw ache and bruised the corners of his delicate mouth. So, just to be mean (and because his look of persecution turned me on so) I buckled the gag extra tight.

A loud whimper and pain-crinkled eyes is my reward. "That's what you get for trying to spit it out," I hiss. He just closes his eyes and let's his head drop. I see him swallow. His erection is once again gone.

I know his balls must be sensitive and full from all the teasing I've put him through tonight. So I decide to see how much more sensitive I can make them. My favorite game is orgasm denial - his - and tonight he is going to suffer for me. I am truly wicked, I know.

I tuck myself into the curve of the piano and begin playing with his cock. He inhales sharply as my fingers slowly begin to caress him and his head comes up. Watching.

Deciding to give him a good show, I lean over and whisper, "I'm going to fuck you and play with you all night long, baby." With all the teasing of the night, it doesn't take him long to get fully erect. "I'm going to jerk your cock, and lick your head, and rub your wide," my fingers begin to crawl up his shaft, "gaping," - they're just under the crown now, and Sergei's eyes are wide and begging for mercy. His hips start to shift, looking for escape. I grin evilly, and place my thumb over his flaring - "piss-slit."

He groans harshly and his hips buck. His head thrashes from side to side as I continue the gentle combing of his most tender spot. I know if I keep it up to long, I'll bring him to tears. And if I rub any harder, I'll bring him over the edge to orgasm. And that would be the end of my fun.

So, I just continue the light massage, all the while talking dirty to him and driving him utterly insane. I love his moans and groans; how he can't speak when I do this to him; how his fists clench and his toes curl; how his mouth opens in ecstatic torment.

I decide to cease my administrations before he has heart failure. He groans for sometime afterward, coming down off the peak of arousal. I know he can't help the rotating of his hips, but I tell him to be still anyway. He reluctantly quits his moving, and I reach out and grab his shaft.

He groans something that sounds like, "Uunngh!" and tries to thrust into my hand.

"Don't move!" I hiss and squeeze his full balls. Not very hard, but I don't have to for the amount of teasing he's been through tonight. He whimpers softly, halting immediately.

I tormentingly slide my hand up his cock, stopping just under his head. I wait three seconds, then slide my hand down. I can feel Sergei trembling at the effort to be still, and there is a constant sound of desperate whimpering coming from behind the gag. His eyes are squeezed shut tight. I keep this up for about fifteen minutes, varying the pressure and intervals between strokes. Occasionally, I'll polish his knob with my palm, sending him soaring to the edge of release, only to remove my hand and begin the maddening stroking after he's calmed down.

He's begun grinding his hips into the mattress pad, helplessly. I remove my hand. The strap across his middle is soaking wet. His entire body is flushed and glistening. His balls are sweating and his precum is hanging from the tip of his cock in a ropy strand. He's making pleading noises from behind his gag, imploring me to touch him no doubt.

Instead, I touch myself and look into his eyes. His look of need and betrayal and unveiled want is so clear I come in seconds. He crams his eyes shut and the strand of precum falls to the mattress pad. Another one is started instantly, and he moans and grinds. His already wide piss-slit is dilated in his intense arousal, exposing the ultra-sensitive inner tissue of his urethra to me.

A cruel idea strikes me, and I leave for a moment. When I return I have my brand new mascara brush. He's still hard and his string of precum has traveled further toward the mattress pad. His eyes are wide, scanning me, wondering what I'm going to do.

But I don't let him see. I grab his nuts and pull down and he yelps. I bring the mascara brush out and skim one edge of his leaking slit with the soft, prickly bristles. Sergei about jumps through the roof. If he weren't tied down, I'm sure he would have. I decided to tighten the strap around his hips before continuing.

For awhile, I work on just the left edge of his slit, ignoring the whimpers that became screams. Then I switched to the right side of his slit. He was crying now, as I expertly kept him on the edge of a huge orgasm. I stop momentarily to let him catch his breath. Luxuriating in my cruelty, I finger myself to another orgasm and bring my finger under his nose. He groans and sobs.

Sergei's cockhead is now purple and tight, swollen in full arousal. I pick up the mascara brush again and I hear what sounds like a scream for mercy. His slit is so wide I can dig the brush into it fairly deep. I do. His pisslips grip the tiny brush, almost burying it, his slit is so dilated. Sergei begs me with every part of his body to have pity. I know nothing has ever been this deep into his slit before and he's breathing harshly.

Slowly, I twirl the brush, the invading bristles irritating the inner lining of his urethra. It's a good thing I tied him down well! He about shakes the piano apart and the animal screams he makes frighten me just a bit.

His piss-slit is puffy and it spasms around the little brush. I remove it and watch with wide eyes. His slit continues to spasm and so does Sergei. It lasts for a few minutes - long enough for me to contemplate calling 911 or something before he collapses onto the piano, still once more.

His balls are drawn up tight to his body and agonized rasps come from behind the gag. Tears run down the side of his face, mixing with the sweat. His cock pulses with his heartbeat.

I don't want him to stroke out or anything, so I finger his soaking hair gently, waiting for him to cool down before beginning again.

"It's going to be a long night, baby," I whisper to him. A raw groan is ripped from the back of his throat. I've never gone this far before for so long. Usually, seeing him in tears is enough to make me melt into a puddle and fuck him silly.

But not tonight. Tonight, all I want is to see him suffer. And the more he suffers, the more aroused I get. So much so that I'm scaring myself a bit. I lean over him and look into his eyes.

"I can't stop," I tell him fearfully. And I can't. He stares at me carefully for a moment through teary eyes, gauging my seriousness. They open wide suddenly in panic and he tries to talk to me urgently through the gag, pulling at his restraints madly.

Unfortunately for him, all his struggling does is turn me on more. I stare sadly into his imploring eyes. "I'm sorry, baby. You'll have to ride this one to the end." He hollers as I bend my head and begin sucking on a nipple. His cock, which had wilted at my declaration, springs to attention immediately and he groans around his muffled pleas.

My left hand finds his other nipple and roams around his torso, tickling, pinching, rubbing. My right hand entangles itself in his hair, pulling and combing. I continue to suckle and massage and soon his cock is drooling again.

His balls are hugely swollen and I rub them with my left hand as he arches as much as he is allowed off the piano. He is so sexy like this, desperate, struggling, helpless. Sweating. Suffering. Achingly aroused but horribly frustrated. And the noises he makes….

I have to come. Right now. I climb onto the piano and lower my crotch onto his gag. I gasp as my pussy touches the gag and I plunge down on it, smothering Sergei. I ignore his thrashing as his air is cut off, but I know this won't take long. I ride him to a quick orgasm. Using him. Torturing him with my nearness, but unable to get at what he wants through the gag. I dismount him. His face is literally smeared with my juices and he's crying softly.

For a moment, I feel pity; then I take another look at his slick, bound body and I want more. I'm quite sure he has no idea anymore what effect he is having on me by wriggling around like that. He's quite firmly entrenched in this world of arousal and pain I have created for him; oblivious to everything else.

With a delicate hand, I reach out and grasp Sergei's cock at the base. He grunts harshly, squirming madly as I brought it up as slow as I could. I collect precum and sweat along the way, which I rub around his gag. Then I go back to his cock. Just the head this time.

I work the glans and slit softly, ever so agonizingly slowly bringing him to the edge. He is writhing and grunting and sobbing uncontrollably by the time he is about to shoot. Pleading with me to allow it. The tension in his body is so great he's shaking like a leaf. One more jerk or rub across his enormous bulging cockhead and he'll come.

So, with a firm, even movement I scrub my thumb along his piss-slit and send him over the edge. With an animal scream, he arches and tenses even more. His balls draw up in orgasm. And just as he begins to come, I remove all stimulation from his body. He's so far aroused that his ejaculation can't be stopped. But he'll get no release from it. Not yet.

I watch as he screams and writhes, sperm splattering his chest and nearly reaching the ceiling. His cock jerks with his spurts. Three times. When it's over he's moaning and crying, grinding helplessly. He's still excruciatingly hard. I look into his eyes and they are pools of torment. So suffering and desperate and there is something in me that snaps. Like I've gone too far and I've seen what I needed to see.

Without thought, I mount him and ride furiously. I don't even know how long it takes, but I come when I feel him spasm inside me. I watch his eyes as we scream at the crescendo. They are blazing, bright and wet. I see sparks and collapse on top of him for a long while. His soft sobbing brings me out of my post-orgasmic bliss and I slide off of him.

His head is turned to the side and he his breathing heavily through his nose, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweat is running off his body; his hair is plastered to his forehead.

Quickly, I untie and ungag him and he stays limp, like a rag doll. I try to crawl on top of the piano with him, but he moves away from me. He stumbles off the other side, putting the piano between us like a barrier. He doesn't look at me. His whole body is shaking from what it's just been through. He can barely stand or move.

But he moves away from me.

I think that's when I know for sure that I've gone too far. Like the time I slapped him with a ring on and split his lip open. This was way too far. For both of us.

It was only five feet separating us but it might as well have been five light years.

Without a word, Sergei stumbled naked up the stairs. I was left standing in the middle of the library, wearing nothing but my tears.

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