Rules made her wet. Which, she’d found, was a problem when one of the rules that he&rs

Rules made her wet. Which, she’d found, was a problem when one of the rules that he’d placed on her was a strict ‘no touching’ policy. Each time one of the others would slip into her mind, (and, considering the length of the list, it was fairly regularly), she’d get a twinge between her legs and she’d let out a gasp, squeezing her thighs together and trying to hide the flush that rose to her cheeks like wildfire. 

He wasn’t a cruel man, though. At least, not all of the time, and so he’d decided to grant her a reprieve, once a week, where she was given free reign to do with her fingers as she wished. He couldn’t hide the smile from his face as he told her, knowing that her excitement was going to be a physical, arms included kind of thing. The hug nearly winded him, those lithe arms being surprisingly strong. 

And so the Saturday had rolled around, arriving after an agonising wait, each day one where he would tease her relentlessly, occasionally giving her a moment’s permission to touch, rub, tease, before calling out an amused denial, forcing her to shake and tremble and pout, left unsatisfied another night running. She should’ve known that he wouldn’t just give something as powerful as a day free from a rule lightly, but this was an exquisite new kind of torture. 

She woke up late, and she woke with her hand already between her legs, as if her body knew the rule wasn’t in effect before her mind had properly parsed it. She stopped herself, though, on instinct, knowing he might walk in at any moment. Then, as slow as the sun cresting the horizon and shining in through her window, she realised that she was… free. 

And so the hand returned. And it got to work. And she got to work. Twice in that hour. Once more before breakfast. Three times before lunch. Five during the afternoon, and once during supper, much to his amused chagrin. And, in a crazed frenzy knowing the rule would reinstate the instant the clock hit midnight, she managed another five in just four hours. 

She ached. She was sore. She was exhausted. 

First thing Sunday he made her start all over again, her exhausted fingers, her sore sex, punished for their gluttony. He smiled as he gave the order, and, reluctant as she was, she smiled too.