Only speak when spoken to...

I was talkative when we went to bed last night. Saying a whole lot of nothing, if that makes sense to you. I had been talking for about 10 or 15 minutes when he rolled over and said, "I'll tell you what. You lay right there, and speak when spoken too." I nodded, too stunned to argue, or even to agree out loud. We are, after all, amatuers at this, and he was in essence telling me to shut up - something he'd never done before. Then he leaned over me and began to kiss me - my lips, my neck, my chest. And he bit and pulled at and pinched my nipples as he fingered me. When he bit my neck, I was about to come when he spoke. "Don't." Another first - the first time he'd ever told me not to orgasm. He slowed down, ran his free hand all over my body, and then stopped altogether and just stayed there, perfectly still, giving me a chance to control myself. I knew he was watching me, even though I had my eyes squinted shut, biting my lip, my hands fisted in the sheet, concentrating on not coming. Then, his voice in my ear, "Pleasure yourself." I rubbed my fingers against my clit, slowly. "Faster." I obeyed. A few minutes later, I was again ready to come. "Stop. Pleasure me." Again, I obeyed. My hand on his cock, rubbing, faster and faster. "Now, yourself again." Fingers on my clit, tiny circles, fast, hard as he fingered me. "Do. Not. Come." My fingers, now barely moving. He hadn't said I could quit, but I was sure I wouldn't be able to stop myself from coming if I rubbed any harder. His fingers though, unrelenting, moving in and out of me, fast and hard. My eyes squinted shut again, fighting against the wave of pleasure coursing through my body, holding it back. "Please..." My voice sounded hoarse. "Please let me come. Please. Please." I could hear the desperation in my own voice. "Please?" "No." "Please?" "No." "Pleeeease..." "NO. Roll over." I rolled onto my stomach, and he spanked my ass, hard with his bare hand, 8, 9, 10 times, as I fought not to come. "I told you only to speak when spoken to." When he was done, I rolled back over and bit my lip hard, using the pain as a reminder not to speak. He entered me slowly and I groaned, squeezing any muscles I could in a desperate attempt not to come. He rode me harder, and I pleaded to him with my eyes, still biting my lip, squeezing my stomach muscles tight, holding back as well as I could. He stopped, and just stayed perfectly still inside of me when he saw how desperate I was. I was grateful for the moments that he gave me to get control of myself. And then he pulled out and plunged inside of me again, over and over, harder, faster. Finally, when I thought there was no way I could stop it any more, he stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers and said "Now." I must have come five or six times in a row as he rode me - I lost count. I committed his smug look to memory when I finally opened my eyes. We came together the last time, and then he rolled off of me onto his back on the bed. I rolled to him and snuggled against his side, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. And I fell into a deep, quiet sleep.