Connie paid the barista, grabbed the two mochas she ordered, and headed back to her seat. Elliot was waiting for her, all but sulking in his chair. He'd been in a gloomy mood for the past couple of days, and she knew why. She couldn't really blame him.
She reached out to hand him his mocha, but he wasn't paying attention. His neck was craned down, looking at his crotch as if it were missing a piece. Connie smirked to herself before clearing her throat. Elliot finally looked up at her.
"Sorry," he said, before taking his mocha. Connie slid into the seat across from him and adopted a mock frown. She felt a little bad for him, but only a little.
"Don't start that," he snapped, but there wasn't any venom in his words. Connie shrugged and took a sip of her mocha before shooting Elliot a wicked grin. "It can't be that bad." She saw his face darken in annoyance and delighted in teasing him.
"Maybe not for you," he said. "But my balls are the size of fucking grapefruits." She saw him raise an eyebrow, as a question broke through his sullen mood. "What do you get?" Connie looked confused and she waited for Elliot to explain. "What's the equivalent of blue balls for women?"
She considered his question for a moment. "Well," she began. "I've heard the term blue bean, but that sounds kinda' silly to me."
"Blue bean?" Elliot chuckled a joyless chuckle. "Really?"
She shrugged before quietly taking off one shoe and stretching out a foot beneath the table, massaging his balls. "My roommate in college called it pelvic congestion."
"What?" The word came out stifled, and she knew that Elliot was trying to ignore how good her foot felt against his balls. "That's um..." He cleared his throat. "That sounds gross."
"Yeah," Connie said with a laugh. "It sounds like my vagina needs to sneeze, but can't."
It was sort of funny, but Elliot didn't laugh or say anything. He was too busy struggling to maintain some kind of decorum, but Connie knew she was wearing him down. He'd raise a white flag soon enough, and she'd get what she wanted.
They'd started this little game of edging and denial five days ago. Connie had stroked him slowly, whispering filthy things as he groped her body. She'd brought him to the edge of climax time and time again, only to stop and leave him dangling. She'd enjoyed the way Elliot squirmed under her grip and delighted in that sullen look, which clouded his face when he realized that his climax wasn't going to happen.
Elliot was always such an aggressive lover that Connie was looking for fun ways to tame him. Ever the contrarian, she liked to push his buttons, mouth off to him when they were alone, and play coy after heavy bouts of teasing him. Though five days wasn't long by most people's standards, it had been the longest period of teasing she'd put him through. But now, she was ready for him to let out the brute and fuck her right and proper.
The only downside to edging Elliot was that Connie wasn't seeing any action. His denial was her denial. She'd wait until she was back at her place, strip down, and settle into her bed. She'd pull Tumblr up on her phone and cruise her favorite porn-blogs to get off. However, she knew her fingers were no substitute for Elliot's hard cock throbbing inside of her. Unlike him, Connie didn't miss out on orgasms. The problem was they didn't have the explosive energy of Elliot slam-fucking her until her eyes rolled up to their whites.
She massaged him under the table, and when he was too distracted, Connie let a hand creep down her leggings to play between her thighs. She knew no one would notice. It was still early, and the coffee shop was mostly vacant. The morning rush wouldn't be in for another twenty minutes or so.
"How are you feeling over there?" Connie asked.
Elliot huffed and scooted back in his chair, just out of her reach. "Good," he grunted and reached for his laptop. "Ready to get some writing done." He kept his distance from her, sitting awkwardly too far away from the table just to keep out of her reach.
"How long do you think you can hold out?" Connie asked, hand furtively under the table, rubbing her clit in anticipation.
"You tell me? It's your game."
Connie stared at him. Was he really not going to give her what she wanted? She sat back in her chair and let her hand fall away. After five days, she'd have hoped Elliot would be ready to all but rip her clothes off, not pouting and sulking like a goddamn schoolboy.
Elliot caught wind of her frustration and seemed to perk, smiling over at Connie. "Oh," he said, looking over his laptop. "I thought you wanted to play this game? I thought you liked denial."
Connie shook her head, trying not to let on just how done she was with all of this. She felt the words form and let them fly before she could stop them. "Fuck you."
"Not fun anymore?" He asked in a condescending tone. "Because I was thinking we could hold out another week or so. Does that sound alright to you?"
That abso-fucking-lutely wasn't alright with Connie. Was he serious? She couldn't hold out another week!
"Fuck that."
"Fuck that? Oh, Connie," he taunted. "You can hold off another week. If I can, then so can you."
He gave her a triumphant smile before plucking away on his laptop. It was the first genuine smile she'd seen on him in a couple of days and it didn't sit well with Connie. Teasing was always her game, but the idea that she was the one being denied made her want to flip the coffee table! Instead, she kept a lid on her anger and sipped her coffee while thinking cunning, obsidian thoughts. Five days was long enough. She needed to get laid. She needed to feel Elliot inside of her, even if she had to convince him.
Connie pulled up Hangouts on her phone and sent a message directly to his computer. "Another week? Are you sure you can last that long?" Before he could reply, she pulled down on the collar of her shirt, snapped a picture of her cleavage, and sent it to him.
Connie watched Elliot stared at his screen, trying to will him into submission before she sent another message. "Is your cock hard yet? Let me feel it."
She slid down in her chair so that when she stretched, she could almost reach him.
Elliot was still sitting ridiculously far from the coffee table and happened to look down just in time to see Connie's foot feeling blindly for his crotch beneath the table.
He might have thought it was funny under different circumstances. But after being under Connie's thumb for five days, Elliot lost his shit. "Alright!" He yelled, drawing attention from the woman behind the counter. She turned to them, looking curious and a little worried as Elliot shot up out of his seat. "Enough! Cut it out!"
In his outrage, Elliot's thigh bumped the table, spilling his mocha. Connie heard the barista behind the counter make a nasally nervous noise, before rushing over with some napkins.
"Shit." Elliot had caught his mocha before it could make too big of a mess, but where Elliot saw calamity, Connie saw a window of opportunity to seize it before it closed.
"Oh god," she said and gasped. She looked from the barista to Elliot, trying to adopt the part of a concerned girlfriend. "I'm so sorry, Elliot." Her apologetic tone confused him, and he shot her an odd and curious look.
"I'll take those, thank you." Connie reached out and took the napkins from the barista and offered her a slight smile of gratitude before tuning to Elliot.
"I think some of it got some on your slacks." She pointed to a small patch, on his thigh and his eyes followed. "We have to hurry and get it up before it stains." Before Elliot could protest, Connie took his hand and led him into one of the unisex bathrooms in the back, leaving the barista standing speechless.
