We'd met online. You are submissive, I am dominant, together we have been exploring your curiosity about orgasm denial, never meeting in person until last night. Over dinner we both came to realize that what attracted us online is a hundred times more powerful in person. You didn't stay with me last night only because I thought time apart to process our feelings would be wise.
You come into my hotel room the following day with quite a little spring in your step. You're in a navy sundress decorated with tiny white flowers, a deep v-neck showing off full breasts, high-waisted with a skirt that falls well short of your knees and seems to be designed for twirling around.
"You seem in a good mood," I observe.
"I am!" you say. "I feel very playful today. Very feisty."
"Is that so?" I say. You're 29 but sometimes behave as though you were 10 years younger. I take you by your upper arm and pull you close. "I think you need some hands-on care from me, in that case."
You start to speak but I lay a forefinger on your lips. After a moment I run my finger over your mouth, as though I were applying lip gloss. Your eyes close and you melt into me as though on some level at least you know what's coming.
"Good girl," I say, as I lead you over to the bed. "I love your fashion choices today. It's like you read my mind." I open the top of your sundress to expose your breasts. A few touches is all it takes to make your nipples erect. You kick off your sandals and I lift off your dress, seeing that you've come to me with no thong or panties.
"Look at you. Little slut," I say, smiling. Your smooth waxed pussy is already glistening with lust. I carefully set your dress aside and take you close. A few light kisses to your nipples and then I lay your hand on your breast so you can continue touching there. I hold you in place with one arm and start stroking your pussy lightly, very lightly, with just the tips of my fingers. I murmur in your ear, "Don't get your hopes up, you. You are not going to cum today. I know you want to. I know you think you're clever. It's not on the table."
My fingers are wet with the juices from your pussy. I touch you with agonizing slowness. You keep trying to arch your body into my hand for more pressure. I refuse to let it happen. I touch the creases where your legs join your body, and order you to open your legs for me. You obey immediately.
You always obey me immediately.
I trace your labia, then barely open your slit and stroke the opening of your vagina. I run my finger around the hood of your clit, around and around, very slowly. I "accidentally" brush your clit, eliciting a moan. I monitor your reactions closely, your breathing, your whimpers, never letting you get too close to the edge. I know you so well, from months of directing your edging, your masturbation, all online. Touching, pausing, stroking, waiting for you to settle, waiting for you to ask.
And finally you do. "Please, Sir. Please don't do this to me. I'm a good girl. May I cum?"
I shush you. "No."
"Why are you being so meeeeeannn?"
