Crickets Release - Part Two

Scene 3: The Setup and the Timer

You moan softly against the restraints, wrists spread wide above you, ankles tethered in place. The hood stays on—your world now cast in black, your only tether to reality the pressure of restraints, the scent of your own arousal, and the sound of my breath as I circle you like a wolf.

You’re still panting from that first release. Twitching from the overstimulation. Your thighs are slick. The mess you made soaking into the sheets beneath your ass, a warm, wet signature of surrender. You’re already in that space—and we’ve barely started.

I take a step back to admire you.

Your legs are bent and trembling, thighs flexed, stockings clinging perfectly to your skin, clipped tight to your suspenders. Your G-string, darkened and soaked, is stretched to the side, your lips still glistening from the last orgasm. I chuckle softly—you’re wearing the panties over the suspenders, not under. Easy access. Planned. Intentional. My little brat knows exactly how I like to unwrap her.

I place a timer on the bed frame, face up, screen unlocked, your hood disguising its presence – its silent countdown marking the edge of your endurance.

My eyes move up to your bra. Still on. Barely. Your pierced nipples strain against the cups, outlined like beacons. Your chest is rising fast now—you know I’m watching. You know I haven’t touched you in minutes but you can still feel my attention like heat on your skin.

You gasp—just from the presence of my fingers grazing your shoulder. I trail them downward, soft, almost featherlight, letting the tension grow. You shudder as my hand brushes your arm. My other slides down your thigh, teasing the edge of where you want me most. You lift your chest instinctively, hungry for more, but you know better than to speak.

“Fuuuck, Daddy… you’re killing me,” you whimper, breathless.

I can smell you—rich, heavy, unmistakable. That perfume you only make for me.

“Please touch me,” you moan. “I’m yours, Daddy. This body belongs to you… please…”

“In time, my pet,” I murmur. “Keep begging, and Daddy will make you wait even longer. But keep talking—I want to hear you ache.”

My grip tightens. I dig my fingers into your thigh and under the edge of your bra, possessive now. Claiming without giving. You arch into the contact, mouth open in silent prayer, your whole body begging to be claimed.

I finally lower your bra.

I flick my tongue across one of your nipples—just once.

You gasp, hips jumping, arms pulling at the restraints.

I suck it into my mouth slowly, dragging my teeth across the piercing, biting just enough to remind you who you belong to. My fingers find the other nipple and pinch. You cry out, but the sound is music.

And then the clamps come out.

Click.

“Oh my god—FUCK—Daddy!”

I smile as the second clamp bites down. Your nipples are perfectly swollen, your body already writhing. I test the chain between them—taut, delicate, evil. I grab it in my teeth and pull just enough to make you gasp again. You can’t even lift your chest to relieve the tension—you have no choice but to feel.

And you love every second.

I kiss down your body again, slowly this time. Teasing. Savouring. Your stomach trembles beneath my tongue. My hands slide across your thighs, curling around your quads, fingers grazing your calves. You’re breathing like you’re already cumming—but we both know I’m nowhere near done.

I skip over your centre. Again.

You groan in frustration. It’s exquisite.

I kiss down one leg, tongue tracing the outline of your stocking until I reach your toes. I lick them, filthy and slow, then return up the other leg and repeat. You’re trembling now—desperate, overstimulated, restrained, and still waiting.

Still. Waiting.

I glance at the timer.

Thirty minutes.

Your clit is visibly swelling, your breath coming in sharp gasps. Your fingers curl and uncurl in rhythm with your hips. Your body is betraying you—it wants to cum again, but I won’t let it. Not yet.

I run my tongue over your G-string. The fabric is drenched. Your taste already coating the lace, leaking through. I press my mouth into it and you gasp, thighs shaking violently. Your whole pussy pulses underneath my tongue.

You think I’m going to give you what you want.

I don’t.

I flick the soaked panties to the side and slide my tongue across your folds—one long, slow stroke from the bottom of your slit to your throbbing clit.

“FUCK. Thank you, Daddy!” you scream.

I suck your clit into my mouth for a moment, then stop.

Just enough to make you twitch.

Then I reach up, remove your soaked G-string, and shove it into your mouth.

“Mmphhh,” you moan, surprised.

“What did I say about begging, Cricket?”

You nod, lips wrapped around your own soaked fabric, breathing through your nose.

I slide a pillow beneath your ass and position you perfectly—elevated, open, offered.

Then I reach for the plug.

I grab it between my fingers and begin to pull, slowly. Your moan is instant. Guttural. your ass begins to flutter, tight and hungry. I pull it until the widest point stretches you, then let go—your body pulls it back in greedily.

I spit. Again. Then slide it back in.

Again.

And again.

Each time, your moans get louder.

And finally—I remove it.

Pop.

Your hole clenches around nothing. You whimper.

I slide a finger inside you, slow and deep.

“Mmmm… thank you, Daddy,” you purr. “That’s Daddy’s ass.”

I feed you the plug. “Hold it in your mouth, slut. Don’t drop it.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

You obey without hesitation, sucking on it like a pacifier. Your lips part, and you open yourself to me again.

I lower my head.

And bury my tongue in your ass.

Scene 4: The Edge

Fifty minutes.

You’re panting now. Your thighs trembling. Your clit swollen, visibly twitching. Your lips still wrapped around the plug like a pacifier, cheeks hollowing with every breath. Your skin glistens — part sweat, part arousal — a soft sheen that tells me you’ve been riding the edge longer than most could survive.

“Good girl,” I murmur, reaching out to remove the plug from your mouth. You release it without hesitation, tongue sliding against the jewel like it’s a treat. Your lips are red and raw from biting it. I kiss you — slow, deliberate — and you melt into me with a soft whimper, the sound of pure obedience.

Your head lolls back slightly. You’re dazed. Floaty. Your mind fully dropped into submission. I can see the glassy haze behind the hood.

Time to push you.

I reach for the wand.

You hear the click before you feel the vibration.

Your breath catches.

The moment the Doxy touches your clit, your hips jerk — completely involuntary. A jolt of raw, electrical need shooting through you. You moan, louder this time, hands pulling instinctively at the restraints.

You can’t see my other hand — the one that slides between your cheeks and pushes two fingers deep into your ass. Your whole body tightens around me.

Your scream is muffled — not from surprise, but from surrender. Your body welcomes the intrusion. Your throat opens instinctively, mouth gaping in pleasure as your hips roll between the wand and my fingers.

I curl them. Press against the spot only I know.

Your moans spiral into something unrecognizable — a feral, ragged sound of someone fully undone. Your mouth opens, drool slicking your chin again.

Then I take your mouth with my cock.

One fluid motion — fingers in your ass, wand on your clit, cock in your throat.

You gag immediately, but you don’t resist. Not anymore. You let me use you. You let me fuck your throat as your body quivers under the weight of too much sensation. Spit pours from your lips, and I feel your nose press against my base as you force yourself to take every inch.

You’re not here anymore. Not fully.

But your body knows what to do.

The walls of your ass clench around my fingers, and your pussy gushes — not a drip, not a leak, but a flood. Your thighs clamp down, and I feel the heat erupt across my hand.

You’re squirting. Hard.

I pull out just enough to let you breathe.

You gasp, desperate, broken, lips parted in shock as I remove my fingers and let you ride the aftershocks. Your hips are still moving, unaware I’m no longer inside you. Your body is chasing the high — chasing something to grip, to submit to, to lose yourself in again.

You don’t even realize you’re still cumming.

I tear the stockings — there's no time to unbuckle them. Your restraints stay on. Your toes curl, now bare, and I suck them into my mouth while your body twitches. I lick each one, slow and filthy, until you whimper again.

Then I’m back down your throat.

Cock buried deep. Fingers back inside your ass. Wand locked in place. This time, there’s no buildup.

Just release.

You scream around my cock. Loud. Your throat tightens. Your whole body goes rigid.

I don’t stop. I don’t even slow.

I fuck your face while your ass clamps down on my fingers, and your pussy erupts again — a violent squirt that soaks both of us, streaming down your stomach and onto the bed. Your legs kick. Your jaw trembles.

You’re gone.

Completely.

I pull out again, watching your chest rise and fall in shallow gasps. Your head rolls to the side. The hood is soaked near your mouth from tears, sweat, drool, and cum.

And still — your hips are moving.

Still begging.

Still hungry.

Still. Mine.