...He was most impressed by the fantasies of myself with other women he'd drive out of me...
He'd usually wrest out such confessions by bringing me just to the brink of orgasm; maybe he'd straddle my splayed body, kneeling, one hand low between my thighs, one finger, two fingers slightly bent and slowly coaxing in and out of me, his thumb exploring the soft wet folds surrounding my clit in teasing circles, his face hovering just over mine, breath caressing my skin, allowing his full, softly parted lips only a slight brush against my own panting open mouth.
"Oh, poor baby," he'd coo to me, slowly withdrawing his sticky, coated fingers, hovering them with a barely perceptible touch, only at the opening. "Do you want something?"
"Yes!" In again, halfway. "Yes!!"
I arch to reach his mouth as he pulls away, pulls out again. I can only moan, want to scream my frustration as he bends his head down again, sweet breath, that cooing, those seemingly-innocent doe eyes, he's so full of shit, controls me completely.
Coyly, he whispers, "Tell me what you want..." Three fingers now. Deeper. I arch my back, spread my legs wider for him.
"You!" I rasp, ravaged, already, with desire. I recognize the cool look in his eye, power pride- he wants me to beg, to whimper.
"Ohhhhh," he replies with a false sigh, dwelling on the syllable, his hand moving slowly, too, in, out, in, out; his thumb massaging just outside my swollen clit, my nipples erect, I am frantic with desire. "I'm not all you want," he pouts, falsely. "Oh, no. I'm sure of it. Not all..." In, out.
"Touch me, please!" I'm begging. Begging, now, yes, begging.
He leans his head next to mine, mouth next to my ear, the scent from his hair enveloping me. "Tell me what you really want," he purrs, his hot breath a soft, echoing taunt that travels, tingling, from my ear to every extremity.