Page 22 of Off-Limits

When you’re ready, Blossom. For now, yeah for now this will do… But tell me something. What are you wearing?

Glancing down at Uncle Damon’s shirt wrapped around my body, I find myself feeling like I’m betraying him which is fucking stupid as shit. Gnawing on my lip, I hop up and pour myself another glass of wine before sitting down on the couch.

Positioning his shirt so it’s just covering my naked pussy, I sit the glass between my legs, place one hand on my thigh, while the other snaps a photo. I send it with the caption ‘thirsty?’

His response is immediate.

Touch yourself.

And if I don’t?

Do it now, Blossom. That’s an order.

The dominance rings loud and clear through the text, and I find myself obeying this faceless man that seems to temper my resolve and push me past my limits. I take another gulp of my drink before dipping my fingers in and letting my legs fall open.

I’m not surprised to find myself saturated and dripping all over Uncle Damon’s couch, but there is a part of me that revels in the fact, even if I’m the only one who will ever know.

My phone vibrates again, and I glance down to see another message from him.

Do you know how to make yourself feel good, Blossom? Would you do that for me, make yourself feel hot and needy?

I don’t bother with a reply but he’s right about one thing. I am hot and needy, and it isn’t only from his video or his words, it’s also because I’m sitting on my step-uncles couch, who I’ve fantasised about since I can remember, wrapped in his shirt, finger-fucking myself.

It’s hot.

Fucking volcanic.

Taboo.

But it only makes my body sing louder. I insert two fingers inside and curl them, my pussy stretching to accommodate them. Then I start moving. My hips grind into my hand, my fingers hooking up and feeling that squidgy spot, while my other volleys between pulling on my nipples and rubbing my clit.

My phone vibrates again.

Show me.

Two words. Two fucking words that have my body bowing off the couch, me rubbing my clit and fucking my pussy with my fingers until I orgasm and squirt all over Damon’s lounge.

I let out a cry, chanting fuck over and over again, before I remove my fingers, fix the shirt and grab my wine. This time, when I snap a picture, I position it a little higher. Not enough for him to see my pussy, but a hint of the landing strip I have there and evidence of my orgasm.

The dots appear immediately, and I find myself climbing again.

I need more.

That orgasm wasn’t nearly enough, and as Damon’s shirt rubs my sensitive nipples, I find myself lying back, spreading my legs and pulling the Satisfyer Pro from beside me.

Inserting the suction cap over my swollen clit, I turn it on and make myself come until I can barely see straight, and I’m too sensitive to come again.

I don’t know when I fell asleep, but when I wake up in the wet spot on Damon’s couch, a bout of embarrassment washesover me, and I groan into the dark room before throwing a towel over the lounge and grab my phone.

What am I going to do with you?

I smirk down at his message before replying with something reckless, border lining stupid and something I undeniably can’t promise him.

Whatever you like.

The next fewdays go much the same as the first day I started. Busy in the morning, dead in the afternoon, which is perfect for keeping my mind occupied after my visit to my parents, and radio silence from the Tin Man.

So, I’m currently sitting cross legged on the floor of the office, hunched over with my sketchpad in hand, working on a mural for the workshop office. I have a lot of ideas, but none have seemed to stick.