Your small hands undo my belt while I watch, lightly stroking your hair with my fingers while you slide the jeans down my waist and thighs, to the floor. I step out of them, and my body is even closer to where you sit on the edge of the bed. You look up at me with naked eyes, asking for permission. My own eyes drink in your lust as I pull myself through the opening in my boxers. Your eyes are on it now, hungry. But you're not allowed to do it unless I tell you to. You're not allowed to do anything unless I tell you to.
With one hand in your hair, I pump myself to hardness. Inches from your mouth, my swelling tool pulses, warm and smooth and stiff for you. Your mouth is open slightly. I watch your tongue move. My hand in your hair holds you while I tease you with my prick.
"Touch yourself," I whisper, and you look at me again with pleading, watery eyes. "When you're ready you can have it."
I see your hands at your sides, floating with uncertainty. "Take off your panties," I say, and you push them down around your sitting hips with a slight squirm that makes me want to throw you back and nail you then and there, but I don't.
"Put your hands between your legs."
You tuck your fingers into your lap, anxiously finding the dampness of your sex.
