‘There’s a good girl.’
That’s my mood right now. Denying her that release. Building her orgasm till she’s a quivering, begging, needy mess all over my sheets. I don’t care. I love to see her squirm, I love to see her make a mess. Soak my sheets. Curse my name. I’ll only prolong that edging — and how far can you go, my little, eager whore? Let’s test that theory, let’s push you to the fringes of your sanity and watch as your mind goes feral. Primal. Animalistic. Possessed.
I don’t want to stop there, you know? How sensitive can we go? How long until pleasure becomes laced with pain? How long until you’re not sure of that feeling that curls your toes, that tickles your stomach. You’re not sure because you want so badly to cum, to suck my cock while my hand, resting on yours, trails the vibe over your clit and teases your red-hot slit.
Coming for me once is not enough. It’s not enough until I hear that animal in your cries, those grunts totally unlike the work persona you present. Throaty. Guttural. Angry. What have you got to say? Let’s hear it. Let it all out because I wouldn’t be stopping any soon. Not till you’re spent, till you tremble oh so deliciously and uncontrollably.
Only then, till you’ve soaked your thighs - soaked with sweat, with cum - will I take your face in my hands. This is my favorite part, seeing you come down from the high, seeing your flushed face, seeing you pant like a cat. ‘There’s a good girl. Come back to me.’
