Tease Ch. 02byMs_Jane©
And so ...
I'm hoping that having read the first part of this, you're now distracted and aching with need. As you should be, it has been far too long and an email, however long and detailed (as you so enjoy) is hardly compensation for the real thing.
So where were we? Oh yes, you were playing with your cock, balls and arse for me. And for yourself as well, don't try and pretend that you aren't enjoying this. I know you are. Quite apart from the physical pleasure, you enjoy the touch of shame and humiliation and the thought that this entertains and excites me, as well as you. Not as exciting as it would be to have you here, now, to touch and to tease, but I'll take what I can get.
Do you like being teased?
Of course you do. Even when you're doing it to yourself, to my instructions. And so, back to those instructions. I hope you've managed to keep the mood you were in for part 1. Perhaps you should read that again, just to be sure. Slowly. And following the instructions again ...
Is your cock still hard and wet? If not, then I suggest you get it that way, fast. Close your eyes for a few minutes, think of being in that leather armchair, legs draped over either side, leather skirt and boots on, eyes closed, stroking your cock for me. There aren't many better sights than that, as far as I'm concerned. Stroke your cock the way you do when I tell you to keep it hard. Remember the time you got me to lie back on the couch and watch you, how excited I was, as you teased yourself and played the whore for me.
Or think of something else, if you'd rather. The time you got me to do the same, under threat of punishment if I stopped, until I got so wet that I could hardly feel it. Was that the time that you sat me back in a chair and slowly, painfully, but so pleasurably pushed all five fingers into me? I do know that I was dripping wet -- even more so after you rewarded me for being good by presenting your arse for the same experience. And you took it so easily too ... of course, my hand is much smaller than yours. I expect that I could fit more than my fist in your slutty, greedy arse by now. Or perhaps you're out of practice and we'll have to start again. One careful finger, two, with plenty of lube, three, watching your cock slowly drip. Perhaps one day I should just milk you dry like that ... not touch your cock at all but just play with your arse until there's no more come left.
I do want to make you come from being fucked, after all. I love the thought of driving my cock (or that vibe you so enjoy) into your arse, over and over, at just the right angle for you, with that look on your face that says "don't stop" ...
Don't stop yourself, you know I want that cock hard and wet. And I do hope that you're fingering your arse as well, reminding your body of how good that can feel. How very good it feels when I'm fucking your arse with a vibe and sucking your cock at the same time.
I'm sure your cock is wet again now. And are you close to coming? How many times have you come, in the past weeks without me? Three times? More? Less? Of course I've come countless times, but it's either that or be locked up for multiple homicides, so it doesn't count. I know you can go without (sadly) but I cannot. At any rate, how much do you want to come now?
Part of me wishes you would wait. Wishes you would tease yourself now and for the pages after this, because I fear that once you do come, the desperation will disappear and with it, the drive to have it -- and me -- in reality. Although I know that you want to make me come, that you enjoy it very much, it's not quite enough to get you through my door.
Do you have the discipline to play this game and then wait for my fingers to do the stroking, my lips and mouth and throat to drag your come from your cock? Hopefully I'll find out in person, soon enough. If you don't, perhaps I'll get to punish you. I'd enjoy that -- and so would you, I know. While you don't enjoy certain types of pain, there is some pain that excites you.
My punishment fantasy? Let's see ...
Still stroking your cock and arse, I hope, just enough to make this decision hard for you ...
A punishment would need to be something that strained your control to breaking point. I do like hurting you and that does get me some noise, slapping your cock feels very good (but I've made you come from that, so perhaps not the best thing to start with). I do love the thought of restraining you on my bed, hands secure above your head, legs spread (either with a bar or with cuffs above your knees, then your knees pulled up and held at that point by rope through the bars). In that position, I can do what I want to you. You have no control, you can't distract me from what I want by using your talented fingers. I can kneel above your face, tease you with the smell of my pussy, so wet and wanting to be licked. I can lower myself enough for your tongue to just reach me, licking what you can, little sounds of frustration as I stay almost out of reach. I could use that cock gag on you, make you fuck me with it, grinding against your face, using what I want.
And I can spank your pretty arse if I like, enough to get it red and sore. Squeeze your balls and make you wince or groan, just a little. Finger your arse and then fill it with a plug or a small vibe, open it up a little. Enjoy your tongue some more.
And watch your cock alternately twitching and dripping, ignored, untouched.
Blindfold you, gag you (perhaps with my wet underwear), then play with your arse. Fingers first, squeezing lube in. Stroking and teasing your balls as well, of course. Using a vibe, finding the setting that sets you off, then slowly fucking you with it. Or the strap on, enjoying how it feels for me as I slowly stroke into your arse, every movement sending waves of pleasure through me. Mmmm. Particularly with you restrained. Of course, you'd have to suck my cock first, like a good slut. I could start by letting you set the pace and then perhaps get a little impatient, decide that I'm going to fuck your throat, take what I want. You can't stop me physically after all -- although you know you can always ask for mercy. But I don't think you will, you like to be forced, just a little, trying to control your gag reflex, drooling and struggling for breath, your arse filled with a buzzing vibe, your throat full of my cock. Enough to make you struggle, pant, make a little noise. Then between your legs, your arse propped up to exactly the right position for me to fuck you. No carpet burns this time, I can take as long as I like. No gag now, I want to hear you beg. Will you beg for your cock to be touched? Or beg for me not to stop, to keep going just as I am? You know that this will make me come, hard, time and time again, the physical feelings, the rush of control, the beauty of your body underneath me and knowing that I can take what I want and that you love it.
I do want to make you come like that. Or perhaps with my fist. I could see how many fingers you could take -- one hand? One hand and a few fingers beside that? Stretch and fill your arse, make you groan. Think, now, about how that feels.
Do you like having my fist in your arse? Such a slut you are and so fucking gorgeous, particularly like that, cock streaming pre-come, body rigid, your arse flexing and moving around my fingers. Oh, if you're going to come, perhaps it should be like that. As long as I have that little breathy whimpering soundtrack that I so enjoy. As soon as I tell you to play with your cock, or call you a slut and a whore, as soon as more than a few fingers go into your arse, with perhaps a slap on that gorgeous skin to accompany it, you go into a different place. Whether it's real or a performance for my benefit, I don't know. I suspect a combination of both, you play the writhing slut for my benefit, but knowing how it affects me and feeling what I'm doing to you helps the slut to emerge. Love the times you sit me in a chair and play the reverse cowgirl, stealing kisses over your shoulder, grinding your body against me, up and down. Or turn around and present that pretty arse for me, open it up with your fingers, or toys, body moving back and forth as you enjoy my watching you.
Is all of this punishment? Well, if you've already come, why should I suck your cock for you, why should I touch it at all? As much as I enjoy doing so, of course. Or scratching it, or slapping it, rubbing the wetness all over the head and stroking until you pull away enough to let me know you're close to coming, so I can wait for a little while and then do it all again.
I hope you're doing that to yourself now. Getting close to coming, playing with your cock, imagining it's my fingers that are caressing you. Or, as I said, that I'm in the room, watching your performance, that I'm so wet from it you can smell me from the other side of the room. That you want me to come closer, so you can touch me, taste me, and so you're enticing me, playing the wanton slut, showing me what I'm missing.
Oh, I know what I'm missing.
Do you remember what you're missing? Do you want it -- want me?
And if you're good, ah ... if you wait to come, what then? Is the play any different? Do you want it to be?
There are so many different things I want to do and try with you that there aren't enough years left for the world to do them in. I try to be gentle, but I don't want to be. I want to bend you over and fuck you hard in a public place. I want to drive my cock into you while I slowly take away your air, bring you close to orgasm then drive you through it into exhaustion and bliss. I want to have you show off for me in a sleazy sex store or an adult theatre. I want to whore you out and fill you up with come and then take you home and clean you and fuck you and suck you in my shower under warm water until you come, shuddering and groaning for me. I want to tie you up for a day and see if I really can make you come more than once, more than twice. I want to take you out and show you off and tease you through dinner and drinks until you are wild to take me home. I want to make you lose control and be rough with me and take what you want, which just happens to be what I want as well.
I want to leave marks. I want to wake up with you and go to sleep with you. I want to take you out openly and have people be jealous of us both, so clear is it that we can't keep our hands off each other.
I know that I can't have what I want and I try to be patient, sometimes successfully. Mostly not. At least here and now, you're mine, doing what I ask, because you want to.
Have you decided? Can you wait to come?
What is reward, then?
Perhaps reward is what you ask for. What would you ask for, I wonder?
I can be gentle, when asked. Excrutiatingly so. Or if not gentle, at least patient in this arena. I do love sucking your cock, after all. An hour of that, with you in a comfortable position and me enjoying feeling and watching you.
Imagine that hour, as you gently stroke your cock yourself. I might need to restrain you, I know that you feel the need to make me come and use that as a distraction, take the focus away from yourself. But perhaps I want to focus on you, re-learn your body after too long away from it, too few times with it over the last few months. Every movement, every minute shift in posture, the way your cock grows and swells in my mouth, the taste of your pre-come, the way your balls move and shrink as your cock grows harder and redder and more ready. The jerk of your hips as you warn me to stop, or the single murmered word. Over and over and over again, the warmth of my mouth or the feeling of my hands, a scrape of teeth to further excite, swirling my tongue around the head of your cock, sucking hard, then fucking you with my mouth.
Pushing you towards the edge, deciding that it's time to release you. Loving the frantic way you try to resist or control or restrain yourself, wanting to come so much but also wanting to prolong the moment or moments forever, every nerve twitching, your cock a hard throbbing mass of feeling that draws together everything from your head to your toes. That moment on the precipice that lasts and lasts and builds your orgasm until it can't be held back unless I stop.
And saying "Yes, come", pushing the button for your release. "The little death" the Greeks called it, and sometimes that's how it feels -- we both know it's most usually the end of our play, so the taste is bittersweet. But I enjoy every noise, every movement, each second of lost control, the come in my mouth and throat, the momentary abandon that seizes you. The look on your face, the sound of your voice, the stillness afterwards. Oh, I'd like to keep you tied up and rest you and then do it again. And again.
Or perhaps gentleness is not what you want as a reward.
Still reading, my love? Still stroking? Or have you come sometime in the last few pages, between the combination of imagination and sensation? I hope you've licked a few drops off your fingers as you lie back exhausted, if so. And I hope you're planning to tell me the truth, when next we meet.
Because irrespective of what you have done, I will get to choose what to do to you and with you. I think it's my turn.
I know you will want to make me come, as I've said -- and don't worry, I look forward to that. Just as you enjoy my strong desire for you, I too like to be desired and wanted, of course. But more than my body's needs have to be assuaged right now. I love the way you make me come. But I need to touch and taste and control your sensations as well. And if there's only time for one?
What would you pick?
Do you want to lick my pussy, creamy and wet and ready for your touch? As is every part of my body, aching for it, my lips parched for your kisses, my ears, my neck, my breasts, nipples hard and throbbing, my back wanting to be scratched, my legs to be opened and held there, my body wanting your weight on me, your fingers inside me, making me move and demand and explode, over and over, until I try and crawl away from you, shaking with happy tiredness. That smirk on your face, which I tolerate after all because it's a happy smirk and I like making you happy -- also I'm sated, free of tension, full of bliss.
Or should I take you roughly, use you hard? Deny you the pleasure of making me come, except from your mouth (if you're lucky) or from my cock pushing into your arse and filling me at the same time. Pinning you down, fucking you hard, dragging you towards coming without any choice. And if you're taking too long, grasping your cock hard, hurting you just enough to take you over that screaming edge, your come on me and on you, smeared on my fingers and licked off by your hungry, compliant mouth. Oh, how I miss your mouth.
Should I dress you up, corset you with fabric or rope? Of course, if it's rope, I have to blindfold you and gag you to avoid said smirk (less acceptable at the start of play, unless I want you to top from the bottom). Give you a choice as to costume and role, have you play pony for me, oh, how I miss my pony and all those silent affectionate touches.
Would you pick being restrained and teased, fucked and fisted, or sucked until you come? Would you struggle with your bonds, want to be overwhelmed or spanked, try and distract me with caresses and every trick you know?
Would you strip as soon as you come through the door, or kneel? Or hug and kiss and not want to let go for those few minutes, to let both our bodies relax with each other? Explore what's new, drag it out with a cigarette or a drink, or push me against the nearest wall and reacquaint yourself with my body as well. It is a little different from the last time you touched it, after all.
Would we stay in or go out or both? Give me the pleasure of watching you eat and drink and know you're coming home with me (delayed as that might be by a little in car teasing). Too cold to hook you up in the outside room, thank goodness for my heating and that hot shower that never runs out of water. Would you lie me back in bed and tell me that you're going to make up for all the missed weeks and frustrations and try and dozen different toys, knowing full well that your lips, tongue and fingers are what make me come hardest and fastest and best. And your cock of course, feeling it against me, knowing that you are enjoying what you are doing.
Would it be a scene, with costumes and toys and props, perhaps my camera for either of us to frame the fantasy in reality in front of us? Or a frantic, fingers in your hair, clothes pulled off, struggle for equal control of pleasure and desperation for urgent relief, until we are both calm enough to choose play.
The truth is, of course, that what will happen is an unknown until you walk through the door. I never tire of you, although sometimes I wish I could. Anything we do together is exciting and satisfying, everytime I see a new tiny piece of the puzzle that you are, which appears to be a million piece puzzle, rather than something I could do in an afternoon. Everytime I do something a little different and watch or feel your reaction, everytime I feel your body shudder and taste your come and know that it's something that I made happen, against so many of your instincts and inhibitions.
And so -- did you come? Do you want me?