Teasing and Denial

It starts with a text. Or an email. You've emerged from your self- imposed wilderness, brushed off the cobwebs of your sexual desire. Back to the games we've been playing for long enough that we know the moves that excite us both. Teasing and denial is one of those games, one that can be played anywhere and anytime we both have a few hours to spare.

A coffee shop, somewhere in the city. By the time I hurry there from work, you've ordered for me, you know what I like. A table far enough away from others that all they will see is our hands, entwined on the table. Just another couple meeting for a coffee. Admittedly, I prefer the booth seats that allow my hands and feet full rein, a bathroom close by where I can send you. But otherwise, it doesn't matter where we meet. Just that we do.

We talk, for a while, of inconsequential things. Our lives, what's been happening for you at home, for me at work. And I'm waiting to see what it is that you want from me this time. I know it's not play, at least not conventional play. If you'd wanted that, I would have had a text last night, asking whether I could be free today, at home. No, this is something different.

Teasing and denial.

It's not my favourite game. Oh, don't get me wrong, I enjoy the power rush that comes with making you wet, making you beg. But I love the times that I have you restrained and naked on my bed far more. Or at least naked. Here, I can't touch, except secretly. The only weapon I have at my disposal is my voice. But somehow that's enough.

I think you like the potential for humiliation, for exposure. The public game. The secret nature of it all. It makes your cock hard and wet. Your skin pale enough that I can see every slight flush of arousal or embarrassment. You sit there on your chair and ask me to excite you, in a public place, knowing that there is nowhere for us to go for me to play with your cock until you come.

So all there is, is a table, two chairs, forgotten coffees and my voice.

It doesn't really matter what I talk about. I can talk about the times that we have played in the past, the things I most enjoy, the things I want to do to you. The things I want to watch others do to you. As long as you're in this mood, I could say "the sky is blue" to you in the right tone and you'd be wet. But I think I can do better than that.

"You're such a pathetic slut. You get off on the thought of melting into a puddle for me, here and now, don't you?"

Yes, you are a pathetic slut and so responsive. That gorgeous flush starts on that pale skin, from your neck up to that golden hair.

"Did you play with your cock before you came here? When was the last time you came, let me guess, you've been tying your cock up again and fucking yourself with that vibe."

Yes, definitely, that was a flush, as you murmur yes miss, and look shyly at me from those blue eyes.

Shy my arse of course, but it's part of your game and so appealing. Your back is to the rest of the room, deliberate on your part of course. I decide to move next to you, rather than opposite you. You deserve to be teased properly, I have nothing important to do this afternoon. Nothing that could be more important than making your cock hard, wet and sore.

"Do you like having me closer to you?" I turn towards you slightly and look into your eyes. My knee lightly brushes yours. You are very still now. yes miss, i like it

"Oh, so do I." That knee nudges yours again. "Put your hands on the table for me." Hands on the table, loosely held together, head slightly bowed now. One of my hands on top of yours, my left hand drops down on your knee. I can see the rest of the room, you can't. I know that no-one is looking at us – and is unlikely to. We're both so discrete, look so normal. A little odd together, today I'm in a suit and you're in your own work clothes, loose trousers, t shirt, sneakers, the world's ugliest hat (in my opinion, although some of my opinion is aired just to make you laugh).

My hand is still just sitting there, on your knee. I know you want it to move.

"Is your cock wet now slut? Is it hard?"

yes miss

"Why?"

A genuine question on my part, I like being teased to a certain extent, but only with the fully knowledge that I'm going to be touched and licked until I come, over and over.

you know miss

Ooh, lazy. And to some extent, deliberately inciting me.

"I think you can do better than that. Why exactly is your cock wet and hard? Just from talking to me?"

because of what you're saying. because your hand is where it is and i'm thinking about it moving, about it touching my cock. because you're humiliating me in a public place

"Honestly slut, I'm hardly humiliating you. Yet. Is your cock tied up, under those trousers?"

no miss

"Well, I want it tied up. Now."

I knew I'd been carrying that hair ribbon around in my bag for some reason. Just the right length. I pull it out of my bag with a flourish and lay it on the table. You just look at it for a moment and breathe in, slowly, then out again.

"Do I have to spell it out to you? Has all the blood gone to your cock, leaving none for your brain? Take the ribbon, go to the bathroom, tie up your cock, come back here. And make sure that pre-come stays on your hands for me. I want to smell and taste it when you're back here at the table."

You get up for me, your usual graceful self. Take the ribbon, go to the bathroom. While you're away I amuse myself thinking of all the things I'd like to do to you and who else in the café might enjoy them too. Sigh. And I go and order two more drinks for us, from the pretty waitress in the corner.

You're walking back to me now. A little stiffly, a little less graceful. I know your cock is hard and wet, that my hair ribbon is wrapped around it, around the base of your balls. You prefer something tighter than a ribbon can manage, but this is unexpected enough and public enough to take you off balance. You sit back down.

"Legs apart slut. I don't want you rubbing them against your cock like some cheap little whore looking to come."

Ooh, a slightly shocked look there, but your legs go apart. Of course, that gives me better access too, as well as making the fabric across your cock just a little tighter, easier to see.

"I hope those fingers are nice and wet. Elbows on the table, hands out for me."

Your fingers smell of come. I put my hands around them, lick one or two, smudge some on my own fingers.

"Clean them off now slut. With your mouth."

You do so, obediently. Looking into my eyes as you do, not so shy now. A little show for me.

"Perhaps I should find something in my bag for your arse as well. Of course I don't have any lube with me, but that should stop a slut like you."

You flush again; I see your shoulders move slightly, you shift in your seat. Delightful.

whatever you wish miss, i'll do whatever you ask me to do

"Yes, of course you will. If I told you I wanted you to play with your cock now, would you? Here in the café, sitting in this corner, with people over there? Would you play with your cock, with those nice hard balls, squeeze them hard for me, rub them till they were raw? Would you do that?"

yes miss, do you want me to do that miss?

"Not yet slut, you might come and you don't have permission to do that. Not while we're here. Maybe not even for the rest of the day."

And there's the denial. Perfect combination, for you at any rate. I drop my hand back down onto your knee, lean in to talk in your ear. I can see the waitress coming over with our coffees, the perfect time for this.

"Slut, you are in a public place, but that doesn't change what you are and what you want from me. If I wanted to right now, I'd send you into the ladies, follow you in and put you down on your knees where you belong. Make you lick me until I come. Maybe I should leave you in there, see if someone else needs a little stress relief today. I could hire you out – as long as that's all they wanted. A cunt licking slut to use."

The drinks arrive. I thank the waitress, smile at her, since you seem unable to react appropriately right now.

Your eyes are shut. I'm not sure if you're imaging being locked in a toilet cubicle for use by harried female office workers – or perhaps the male office workers – either way I'd enjoy it. Or maybe you're trying not to come.

"Still wet slut?"

yes ...

That was more of a whimper this time. You shift slightly in your seat, and my hand grips your knee, hard.

"Sit still slut, that was your instruction. I expect to be obeyed. You are not to come. Are you close to coming?"

miss, my cock is hard, if you touch me i will come, please

You know how much I enjoy being asked, that "please" certainly pleases me. Just as it pleases me to deny you of course.

"No, I don't think I will touch you. If you want to come, you'll have to do it without my hand. I'm sure you can think of several ways you could achieve that, you're a resourceful and single minded slut after all."

I get a slightly reproachful look at that. But you know as well as I do that you don't need your cock touched in order to come – and after all, the ribbon is touching you. You do need some intense stimulation – of your balls, or arse – but that's fairly easy to provide. If you had permission to come, which you don't.

"Drink your tea."

You try and distract yourself – and gain a little time – pouring your tea, adding honey. The fact that you spill just a little, that your hand is not quite steady? That's a gift, one that I will savour later on.

I'm drinking my own tea, enjoying my own stimulation. Wet myself, watching you struggle with your cock hard and wet. Lift my cup to just below my mouth, look in those beautiful eyes again.

"If you were allowed to move, could you come?"

It's a perfectly valid question really. I suppose you could rock back and forth a little, without much notice from others.

"Or I suppose you could turn towards me a little, drop one hand into your lap and squeeze your cock and balls. Would that make you come?"

yes. yes it would make me come, it would only take a minute, please let me come for you

"I think you can ask more effectively than that."

I want to hear you beg. I am so tempted to send you home dripping, to have you beg me later for release, to draw it out so much that I get one of those lovely unexpected visits, when you're fragile and vulnerable and completely desperate to be fucked and humiliated, on multiple levels. When you really want me to be cruel, when you ask me to hurt you.

I am so wet now. This is when it works for me, when you want it, when you're asking for it, raw voice, face tight with strain.

"Well, I'm waiting. If you want to come, here and now, if you want to come for me, then you need to ask me very nicely. "

I don't want you to grovel, I do want you to ask.

please miss, i'll do anything, please touch me

"What if I don't want to touch you? What if I want you to come without being touched?"

i don't know if i can, i want to do it for you.

"Rock in your seat. You heard me, rock forward slightly, put some pressure on those balls. Not enough to come, though. "

You obediently move back and forth a little, not enough to be all that noticeable, although if the waitress walked back, she'd wonder what on earth your problem was. You're breathing harder now, your hands holding my right hand.

"Are you enjoying that?"

Yes

Exquisite. Voice tight and raw, lips thin, forearms flexing a little, your hands holding mine tight. I lean back in to talk in your ear, I know you like the intimacy of that.

"Slut, I think you can come from that. As much as I want to find a dark place to push you down on all fours and have you spread your arse for me to play with, or to push you face first against a wall, bite your neck as I squeeze your cock and balls from behind, I think you can come from just this little bit of pressure. Just from thinking about my fingers, or my fist, pushing into your arse, the fullness of it, the pain and the pleasure of it. Or my lips on your cock, sucking hard, using my teeth just a little. I think that you can come from thinking about having me spread across the bed, your tongue on my clit, fingers in my cunt, making me come over and over, until my whole body is shaking. I think you can come from thinking about being dressed as a pony, put on parade for me. I want you to come for me, here and now."

You're moving much more now, I don't care who sees what at this stage. You're saying please, please, please, over and over, my left hand is on the back of your neck, pushing just that little bit and you're grinding your balls into the chair, trying to come, wanting to come.

"Perhaps your cock needs a good whipping to remind you to be obedient in future and to come when I tell you to..."

The grip of your hands goes very tight, your body very still, a quiet moan from behind your teeth, eyes closed. Your body is spasming as you come, I can feel it, through the hand on the back of your neck, the grip of your hands, your ragged breath. You're breathing like you've run a race and as you open your eyes again, your face is dazed and slack with the force of your release.

I lean my hand into yours, we whisper thanks to each other. And I hope I get my chance to come, very soon.