C is for Control

The TV is on in the background, but you don’t hear a thing.

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels.com

Other sounds in the room…

  • Clocking ticking off the seconds
  • The air conditioning cycling on and off
  • The house creaking as it settles
  • The cat stepping past the couch
  • The breeze blowing the tree around in the back yard

all are outside your focus of attention.

I’m not even sure that you hear the sounds that you are making, the groans and the breathing that speeds up and slows down each time I take you to the edge.

And stop. And resume.

I know that you’ve long lost count of the number of edges. The sweat is pouring off of you as I stop once again and you open your eyes for a second. As you glare at me, I laugh and you shake your head.

“This is good for your self control,” I say through a laugh. And all of your senses come down to my touch, the strokes on your cock, the slippery sound of the lube on my hand and the burning desire to come.

And just as you tell me to stop once again, I stroke twice more lightly. Just enough…the dribble and the frustrated groan tell me that I am, indeed, still in control.

Wicked Wednesday

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