He reclined on the bed, legs spread wide. I knelt between his thighs and toyed with his cock, stroking him and teasing him and hurting him. I matched my every aggression with equal kindness, following each twist and pinch with a gentle stroke of my hand, following every strike with the warmth and softness of my mouth. As I played with him, his small sounds became more and more pleading, more urgent, more needy.
“Please?” he whispered.
I wasn’t sure what he wanted, and I didn’t ask.
I leaned over and took the entire length of him into my mouth and froze, motionless. The head of his cock grazed the back of my throat, but I didn’t move. I felt him twitch, fighting the urge to buck his hips up and thrust into me. Good boy — he resisted. He knows he isn’t permitted to thrust when I take his cock in my mouth. He even tried to pull away, sinking his hips down into the mattress, but I didn’t let him go. I slid my hands under his ass and held him to me. His frustration was delicious — so much wanting matched by so much self-control.
When the muscles in his thighs tensed, I dug my nails into his ass in warning. He gasped, but I held him firm, my lips still wrapped around the base of his cock. I didn’t move. When he seemed to get control of himself, when he finally relaxed, I pulled away.
He looked lost, his eyes darting around the room unfocused. He squeezed them shut, took a few deep breaths, opened them again, and focused on me.
“Please fuck me. Please? Please…”
His voice is always low and breathy when he begs me to fuck him. The vulnerability I hear when he asks so sweet, when he pleads, it nearly destroys me, knowing what he means is that he wants some part of me inside of him.
I smiled. He moved to sit up, to get to his hands and knees.
“No. No baby. Stay there.”
He obeyed, settling back where he had been.
I wanted to fuck him that way, right where we were — him splayed, spread wide, unbound, laid out in front of me. I wanted to see every inch of him, drink in all of his expressions, his movements, his sounds. I wanted to make him watch as I manipulated his body, fucked him, owned him. I wanted to watch him as he allowed himself to be manipulated, fucked, owned.
He watched wide-eyed as I put a generous measure of lube in my hand and settled back between his thighs. I stroked his cock and watched him squirm as he anticipated the intrusion he wanted so fucking badly.
“Are you really sure I shouldn’t ask you what you want anymore?” I asked.
I wondered if he remembered the note he sent me after the last time we were together.
“Yes, Ma’am. I want you to… I want to ask… I want… fuck…”
I cut him off, “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to fuck me. Please Ma’am, fuck me. Please fuck me. Please.”
I smiled silently and lowered my hand to massage the smooth skin just below his balls. He moaned softly, wanting more. I put my finger to his asshole, making small circles, tapping, teasing. It didn’t take long for him to relax and it didn’t take much pressure to enter him. He wanted fucked. And god, he needed to be fucked. He was full and swollen and so fucking needy.
I massaged him gently and studied his face, his body, his breathing. His reactions were so beautiful. Seeing him twisted and wanting is fuel to me–the more he twists and the more he wants, the hotter I burn. I thrive on it. I wanted more — more contact, more skin, more pressure. He moaned as I pulled out slowly.
“On your side,” I said. He looked confused, but obediently rolled onto his side and pulled his knees up. He was beautiful there, curled up, completely exposed, and so deliciously frustrated. I curled around him from behind, wrapped my leg around his thigh and my arm around his chest. He hugged my hand to his heart.
Despite the odd angle of my bottom arm, I returned my hand to his ass and easily entered him again. He was open and so willing. I pinned my own wrist between my soaking wet panties and his ass and used my hips to fuck my fingers into him, grinding my pussy against my hand as I fucked him slow.
I felt small contractions building and I slowed down, not wanting him to come. He pulled my hand from his chest and brought it to his mouth, sucking my fingers, bucking his ass back against me. The slower and gentler I fucked, the harder he bucked back, fucking his ass with my fingers, coaxing me to pick up his rhythm.
I withdrew my fingers from his mouth, held onto his hip, and sunk my nails into his flesh. He understood the warning, moaned, and stopped fucking back into me. I took up my own rhythm again, achingly slow and gentle, enjoying him trying to control himself, his body, struggling to stay still.
As I pulled out, he buried his face in his hands. Poor thing. I wasn’t going to let him cum, at least not for a while. I wasn’t done playing with him yet.