She lay there helplessly, she was so weary from the entire day of being edged, teased, denied. He’d carried her to the bed an hour ago, and slowly undressed her, taking the massage oil and rubbing it into her entire, aching body.

But slowly, he’d focused his efforts, his fingers lingering more and more between her legs, slipping in and out of her in a way that made her want to sob with desire. And then, just her clit, nothing but that now, twenty minutes of masturbating her so far, and he showed no inclination of stopping. 

How did he know, just when to slow down? Or to pinch harder to stop the edge slipping over. She didn’t care anymore, nothing mattered, nothing existed, apart from that desperate unmet need, the ache, and his fingers.

Leave a Reply