A Quiet Pinch

“Thank you,” she whis­pered in the dark­ness while reach­ing in for a kiss, sin­cere grat­i­tude tint­ing her voice just like the scent of my seed tinted her breath.

Still dazed from my release, the evi­dence of which now kept warm and safe inside her, I kissed her, not say­ing a word. Instead, I reached up an unsteady hand and found her smooth cheek in the dark­ness and stroked it gently.

With a con­tented sigh, she snug­gled tight into the crook of my neck. I squeezed her shoul­ders and pulled her closer to me and the steady rhythm of her relaxed breath lulled me slowly back to reality.

Then, word­lessly, she reached out her lit­tle hand and found mine, use­less, rest­ing on my chest, and pulled it to rest on her breast.

I smiled in the dark­ness. I knew what she wanted.

I heard a delighted lit­tle gasp as my fin­gers quickly found an erect nip­ple and started toy­ing with it.

I rolled it between my fin­gers. Flick­ing. Pulling.

Lusty lit­tle moans escaped her lips when I squeezed. A sur­prised (but not really that sur­prised) squeal when I pinched.

She has really sen­si­tive nip­ples, that one. A good qual­ity in a woman, for sure.

Pinch­ing. I can’t help myself. I like to pinch. I’m a pincher. That’s what I do.

Well… it’s one of the things I do.

I just hap­pen to have a thing for pinch­ing nip­ples and over the years I have devel­oped a pretty strong grip. I remem­ber one dear friend once telling me in a lit­tle voice that my fin­gers were worse than any clamps.

Grins.

Any­way…

I didn’t let up. I pinched hard.

Harder.

Her head flew back­wards and her back arched. No moan, no gasp; a sharp intake of breath was nearly drowned out by the ruf­fle of the sheets accom­mo­dat­ing her motion. Nearly but not quite.

One heart­beat. Two heartbeats.

Three.

I held the pres­sure and slowly she accepted the sen­sa­tion into her­self and flowed back down. Still hold­ing on to her nip­ple I pulled her to me with my other arm around her neck and shoulders.

She buried her face into the nook of my neck again and I kissed her forehead.

“I love you.”

I can’t remem­ber if I whis­pered it loud enough for her to hear. Regard­less, she didn’t respond. She was focused on engulf­ing the white-​hot sear­ing pain in her nipple.

As her breath became deeper and more peace­ful again I lov­ingly grazed my lips on her fore­head. Then I rapidly dou­bled the pres­sure on her tor­tured nipple.

I felt her stiffen in my embrace and a stunned, pri­mal… some­thing sounded behind her closed lips before she had a chance to open them for a proper gasp. By the time her lips parted, there was no more sound escap­ing her mouth.

Unre­spon­sive to exter­nal stim­uli, save for what was hap­pen­ing to her nip­ple, her body rigid in my embrace, her head thrown back against my arm, she never even made a move to escape from what I was doing to her.

In fact, as she slowly—slower than the pre­vi­ous time—found a new equi­lib­rium with the pain, I kissed her fore­head and her eye­lids and her cheek and I felt her kiss my shoul­der in response.

She kissed my shoulder.

But then again, I was still only using less than half my strength.

So far.

“I can’t take any more with­out scream­ing,” she panted/​hissed/​begged from behind clenched teeth. Mama and papa Dreamwalker, vis­it­ing from Swe­den, were sleep­ing soundly in the next room so I gave her the knuck­les of my hand around her neck to bite on and held her tightly.

And then I pinched with all my strength.