I want to tell you a story. Put your hand on your cock. Keep it there. Let's see how long you can last.
I want to tell you a story. Put your hand on your cock. Keep it there. Let's see how long you can last.
I'd just stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped low on my hips, skin still damp. I'd taken my time - shaved smooth, dragged the razor slow, careful over every inch. Then I rubbed oil over my skin, between my thighs, the scent thick and sweet, catching in the steam. My fingers slipped a little, lingered longer than they needed to. I felt good. Wanted. Wanting.
I padded barefoot into the lounge, the towel clinging to my hips, already picturing it. Me, sliding onto your lap, wrapping myself around you, hips rocking slow until you couldn't take it anymore.
There you were.
Laid out on the couch. One hand wrapped tight around your cock. Stroking. Slow at first, then tight. More urgent.
Your head tipped back against the cushion, mouth parted slightly, hips shifting in small, desperate movements.
You let out a low sound, the kind of sound that made my body ache, made my pussy clench tight and needy.
You didn't notice me at first.
I leaned against the doorway, watched the way your hand moved along your cock. Long, deliberate strokes like you were savoring every second. The muscles in your arm flexed. Your hips shifted, chasing sensation. You were beautiful like that. Desperate. Unaware. Mine.
"You didn't wait for me?" I said, voice low.
Your eyes shot open. Guilty.
"I - fuck. I didn't think you'd be that long."