Pull it out for me, stroker boy. I know you love those words, and I can tell that your cock was as hard as a board before I even said them-you’re insatiable that way. I want to sit back and let you do all the work tonight, I want to watch as your hands retrace a path; I know that they’ve familiarized themselves with many, many times.
I like to watch as your fingers slide down the plane of your stomach and the angle of your hips,one hand winding around your cock while the other reaches down and cups your balls with trembling fingers-go on, I know it drives you wild when you tug your sack, and I can’t get enough of watching you torture yourself.
The greatest part is knowing that I have the power to make it stop – the power to ruin your orgasm. I control when you can cum. I can see your toes starting to curl already in your excitement – I laugh and tell you to slow down. I want to enjoy this. I even want to force you to enjoy this: up until a point.
When your breathing becomes more labored and you have to pull your lower lip in between your teeth to keep from whimpering too loudly, I know that you’re stepping closer to that precarious edge, where you’ll stroke that one last time and send yourself hurdling over into that oblivion where your vision whites out and your stomach ends up coated in cum. I know this because I can see it happening. I know this because I’ve seen it before.
You gasp,then one long last stroke down the shaft before I hear your strained voice whisper,”please mistress ,may I cum.”
And at those words I stand up,reach out, and force you to tighten your fingers around yourself, tight, tight, tighter to the point of pain and you cry out,your hard cock softening due to the sudden onslaught of the pressure and the pain of your ruined orgasm.
No, I say. “Fuck you and your orgasm,”as I laugh.
~ Ms Camlyn ~