“Do you wish I was forty? Fifty? Eighty?” He groans. I nip his ear. “Will you fuck me when I’m a GILF, puppy?”
“I’d fuck you until your knuckles went white gripping your walker, boss.”
I let out a breath of a laugh. I nibble his jaw. “You’d be so lucky. Pull these down.” I snap a finger against the rim of his briefs. He pushes them off his hips, leaving them bunched around his ankles. His cock stands stiff and eager at attention.
“So eager for me. Horny bastard.” I trace my fingertip slowly—so slowly—from the base of him to the tip.
His face is beet red, the veins in his neck rising to the surface. He’s in delicious agony, and he fucking loves it.
And my deep, dark secret?
I love it, too.
I rest my head on his chest. I can hear his heart ricocheting wildly. I take my time with him, slowly grazing my fingertip up and down the length of him. The velvet hard skin. He’s slick with his own pre-cum, and it makes it easy for me to tease him like this. When I reach the head of him, I swirl my finger around the red, slick tip. He chokes.
His eyes shut tightly, eyebrows twisted. His legs begin to tremble.
I bite my lip. “My sweet, shaky boy. Is this too much stimulation? Too much and not enough all at once?”
I pull his earlobe between my lips and suck lightly. He loves dirty talk, so I sigh here contently. “I’ll tell you what. If you’re very, very good and if you can take these thirty-five strokes without coming…I’ll give you a reward. I’ll put my lips on you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I wrap my fingers around him, gripping. He groans. I start to stroke—slow, long pulls. “God. I bet that would feel like heaven to your poor, abandoned cock. How many sucks do you think it would take? Two? Three? Before you popped off? You wouldn’t last a second. Oh, shit. I was supposed to be counting, wasn’t it? Hmm…should we just start over? One…two…”
By the time I get totwenty, he’s trembling. I’m testing his limits. I know this because he always holds off begging as long as he can, but now the word finally falls from his lips: “Please…”
I let out a content hum. “What’s that?Please? Please what?” I stroke him with one hand and move the other hand to his mouth. He opens for me and I press my fingers past his lips. I hook my hand on his jaw. “Please tighter? Faster?”
I tighten my grip and start to pull him in rapid, slick strokes. He groans, protesting, but his pleas for me to slow down come garbled with my fingers in his mouth, and I pretend I can’t hear him. “Just like that?” I ask. “Is that what you’re saying? More on the head?” He’s leaking badly now, the achy muscle throbbing in my grip. His breath shakes, eyebrows furrowed, tryingso hardto be a good boy. If things get too intense, he has safe words he can use—the trigger phraseredto get me to stop at any moment. But he won’t. He begs, complains, whines, because he loves it.
He loves the way I ruin him.
“Thirty-two,” I count my strokes. “Thirty-three…wouldn’t it be so sad if I stopped right now? Dorian and hisblue, blue Christmas…”
“Fuck!” The threat pushes him over the edge. He shoots and I immediately pull my hand away. White, sticky splashes of Dorian hit my dress, his stomach, his thigh. His cock flexes angrily and his hips rut forward, but there’s nothing but empty air. He has more to give. He wants more. But without any friction, he can’t properly finish himself, and he hangs on that agonizing edge.
I drop my hand from his mouth, move it to his throat instead. I grip and his pulse jumps against my fingers as he struggles through the ruined orgasm. “Mmm,” I hum. “Iwonder what’s worse. Not coming for a whole week…or coming just enough to get a taste of what you’re missing?”
His eyes roll into the back of his head. “Fuck,” he swears again, this time under his breath.
I grin. “You made a mess on my dress, bad boy. What are you going to do about it?”
“Clean it up, boss.”
I don’t have to tell him what to do. He knows. He gets up, briefs still tangled around his thighs, and falls to his knees in front of me. His strong hands grip my legs. He drops his head in my lap. I feel the wet heat of his tongue through the fabric of my dress as he licks his spilled seed from me.
I weave my fingers through his hair. “That’s it…there’s my good boy…”
He moans. He nuzzles between my legs. His nose dives underneath my dress and his dark, trim beard prickles against my inner thigh. I hear him inhale deeply. He wants to taste me, but can’t—won’t—without my permission.
The thought is tempting. Teasing him has gotten me worked up, and the damp fabric of my panties kisses my swollen cunt. I pull his hair, lightly tugging the roots. Encouraging him closer, until he’s smothered against my panties. I feel the hard bridge of his nose nuzzling my clit, and we slide together. I grind my clothed pussy against his face, the energy between us sloppy and frantic.
“Dorian?”
“Yes?” His voice is tight with desperation.
I rake my nails down the nape of his neck. “It’s time for me to go.”
He groans. “But you just got here.”
“How much more time do you need? Thirty minutes? More like thirty seconds, am I right?” I nudge my leg between his and feel his cock against my ankle. He’s stillswollen and hard and when I rub my foot against him, I’m rewarded with a shudder. “Too bad. I’ve got plans.”
