I whimper, then realize that’s a pretty accurate description right there. “That’s how it feels.” After a brief pause, I add: “Hot and plump and ... ungh. Needy. It hurts.”
He must be satisfied with my description, because he lets his fingers crawl all the way up and folds his palm over my vulva, applying only the lightest touch to it. I breathe out a sigh.
“Here?” he says, and before I can answer, he has slipped one finger inside my folds.
I
whine
. “Fuck!” I snap, “Fuck this, fuck you, why do you have to ... fuck! ...” My hips push out and tilt backwards, exposing even more of my ass to the darkness, trying to get some gratification out of his ridiculous teasing.
“Is this not what you need?” He moves his finger leisurely, occasionally bending it to brush lightly over my g-spot.
“No! You know exactly what I need, I need more than that, I need a fucking cock deep inside me ... filling me up ...” I moan when he briefly adds a second finger, then pulls away.
“I love it when you beg for my cock,” he says.
I love begging for it too
, is what I want to say, but I bite my tongue and moan instead. “Wouldn’t you rather I was ... ngh, choking on it?” I ask, choking instead on the words as I speak them. “Convulsing on it and ... dripping on it and ... ah, and gagging on it?” I’m making myself moan with the ideas my own words conjure up in my mind; my body is squirming against nothing.
“Hm,” he says, but rather than say anything useful, he shifts over from where he’s lying next to me on the bed and kisses me deeply. By the time he stops again, both of us have forgotten what I said before.
“Stay on your knees, babe,” he says when he feels me relaxing. “I don’t want you rutting against the mattress like some horny animal.” Which, he’s completely right, is exactly what I’ve been wanting to do. I make the effort to push my hips out farther again, the sense of being exposed intensifying once more.
“Well then fuck me!” I demand, aware that the logical line of argument is weak at best, but not caring. ‘Well then fuck me’ seems about the most logical reply to any statement he could make right now.
Once again, he twists his hand in my hair and I arch my back; as I do, my breasts come into contact with the linen sheet below me. Hypersensitive as they currently are, the touch feels good on my nipples, and I start moving my torso in tiny circular motions to drag them softly across the fabric. It takes him a few blissful seconds before he realizes something’s going on.
Then- “What the hell are you doing?” His hands wander again, exploring, seeing by feeling. “Are you -- fuck, are you teasing your tits right now?” He sounds incredulous. I am too proud to answer. He sneaks his hand underneath one of my swinging breasts, takes the tip in between his fingers and twists lightly. I know that it is hard to his touch.
“Well you certainly are resourceful,” he comments. “I wonder what else you can do if I just don’t fuck you anymore.”
I know he isn’t serious. It’s a game. He loves sex way too much to be serious. I know this. But it doesn’t stop my stomach metaphorically dropping through the floor at the threat, arousal mingling with dread. I feel a familiar tightness in my chest and know I’m close to sobbing.
“Why?” I whine, even as he fondles my boob. “Why won’t you just give it to me? God, baby, I want it so bad, I need it so bad, please ...”
Again, his fingers rub over my entrance. “That’s it, baby,” he says, “Keep telling me how much you need my cock. I’m not going to give it to you ... but you make it so fucking hard when you beg me like that.”
Yeah, there it goes; air is leaving my lungs in a series of dry, exhausted sobs. “Fuck you” is all I can manage to say through my teeth while I vividly picture his flushed, swollen penis probably pointing straight at me not half a yard away.
He hums contentedly to himself again. “Oh, you love hearing about how hard my cock is, don’t you,” he says, and he sounds
so evil
. “Sooo fucking hard, babe. Mmm, and it’s throbbing, too, just like your desperate little cunt ... Hard and big and throbbing and all ready to go deep into that soaking wet pussy of yours ...”
“
Please,
“ I pant, “please let me have it, please let me touch it, please, please, please, please ... please ...” Another sob escapes me; it’s not so much that I’m crying as more that my body is completely wrecked and out of it.
“And how would you feel,” he says, and he is now breathless too, “If I told you that I’m touching it right now?” I groan. “That’s right baby, I’m stroking my cock, right here ... right next to you ... listen ...” I hear the characteristic
