My pants are off before he gets there. I’m on the bed and half asleep, half watching TV.
In less than 4 minutes I have even less clothes on but he is still almost fully clothed. His jeans are open, his cock is out. He is standing behind me and I am on all fours facing away from him. He has a condom on and I think he’s going to put two fingers in and then give me his cock.
Of course I’m wrong. I partly knew I would be.
The bed is a hotel bed, it’s high, the perfect height probably. He has his hands on my hips, gripping me but caressing me. I want him in me but he’s not moving.
“Ask for it. Tell me you want my cock”
“Ask, for it” he says again, calmer, even more resolve in his tone. But I know he’ll have to make me. I push back a little, trying to see if I can catch the tip of it. I can’t. He holds me in place.
Please – I know I barely whisper.
“Oh I think you’ll need to do better than that” again he says with a menacing calm that makes my cunt ache with want. I look back at him over my shoulder, through my hair. And again I squeeze out an agonised, the very littlest please that I can manage.
“Say it again, louder” and one of his hands moves from my hip to slide up my back, pushing me forward into the bed. My arse up, ready for him. I can’t take it, I need to feel him push his cock inside me. He’s won. I squirm under him and eventually it escapes my lips; Oh god please, please give it to me. I am angry saying the words, defiant. But we both know he’s won and I’ve gotten what I wanted.
He’s not a masochist or a machine, how much longer was he going to be able to stand there with a primed cock and my glistening, swollen pussy inches from him. So he pushes into me, measured, controlled, rhythmic and satisfying. And I buck back against him so relieved to be filled.
I love this dance. I hate asking for anything, I hate being made to wait and I love this torture when someone can meter it out like that.
All day long I have thought about how he made me beg for it. How excruciatingly delicious those few moments were. Just imagining his calm voice, the menace, imagined or real, that lies in its softness. I have played this in my head all day and this little vignette is what is going to help me come in about 40 seconds. It can’t be faked, it can’t be manufactured; you either have the ability to make me feel it or you don’t.
He has it.