I awakened to the recently familiar feeling of a tiny tickling trail on my labia. Groggily, I reached down for an inspection, and surely enough, the culprit is yet another drop of my arousal that had managed to escape my denied pussy. Memories of yesterday's late-night play session flutter across my mind, bringing a renewed wave of arousal and warmth to my sex. I smile, relishing the images and sensations.
***
For the evening, I had purposefully changed into your favourite thong to entice you. Thanks to the past two days of denial, my need to be touched and used by you has been overwhelming. As we sat on the couch, I longed for you to pinch and roll my aching nipples; would have begged for you to flick and spank my engorged clitoris.
You were, without a doubt, fully aware of my predicament. Naturally, that was a cue for my devious husband to deliberately use the knowledge to his advantage and further my teasing. Every time you shuffled around on the couch, a glimmer of hope would kindle in my mind, my need for your touch intensified. A voice silently screamed in my head for you to move beside me and do something,
anything
. Then, a sidelong glance towards you would confirm that you were once again just smugly toying with me, maddeningly adding to my mounting sexual frustration.
I sat in front of the screen, unable to focus on the show, obsessing over when playtime can start for over an hour. At long last, you declared that we should head upstairs to our bedroom. I sprung up from my seat a bit too eagerly, earning a coy smile from you.
In our bedroom, I changed into my red silk nightgown. It has thin straps running over my shoulders leading down to a low-cut v-neck that frames my 34B breasts nicely. My hard nipples showed through the thin material and close fit, where it would follow the curves of my body, down to my waist, and start fanning out to a cute dress of mid-thigh length. I bent down, checked to make sure you were staring and made a show of removing my thong - I would be sleeping without my panties tonight, in your preferred attire for your plaything.
Sleeping commando had never been my habit because it had often elicited a bothersome sensation of wanting to pee. However, I had found that ever since you started denying my orgasms, that sensation transformed itself from one of annoyance to arousal for me. It keenly resembled that mild feeling of desperation felt when you play with my G-spot.
Massaging my G-spot with your finger while stimulating my exposed clitoris has been one of the many sweet torments that you have used unsparingly. You would vary the pace of the assault on my G-spot skillfully while lifting my clitoral hood to gain full access to my sensitive nub. I would be on my back holding my legs up and apart, allowing you to freely rub, flick, tap, lick and kiss my engorged clitoris while your inserted finger worked my G-spot in small firm circular motions. My G-spot would become spongy, filling up with fluids and increasing my urge to squirt.
Yet, while my body is flooded and overwhelmed with sensations, there is always a voice in the back of my mind reminding me that playtimes are brief. You always keep me guessing when the moment comes, when you walk away with a wink and tell me, "We're done." That announcement never failed to reduce me to a dripping wet mess frantically rubbing my thighs together - an act that unfortunately does little to alleviate the intense emptiness between my legs, despite my best efforts.
