Your Choice

As your hand touches your pussy, you shiver. All the images of the past few hours come back. The bathroom, the breeze on your nipples, the parade through the restaurant, the stories of him, Megan's blush, your wetness then and your wetness now, as your fingers slide through it, softly inside of you and out again, towards your clit and back again, over and over and over.

You look at Bill as you feel your orgasm building. Are you using him now? He never gave consent to this blatant exposure. It feels wrong somehow, and therefore so, so good. Your breathing intensifies. Keep quiet. Oh, this is it. So close. You like to scream, talk dirty, fuck Bill, but there is no sound. Just him, sleeping, and you, edging.

You want to come, and that is exactly what you want: you want to want to come. More than anything. Edging till the end of times. Forever close. Your legs start to tremble. It's like you're coming, but you're not coming yet. A helpless cry is stuck in your throat. The chair is wet. Goosebumps all over your body. Your face red.

And then, by accident, a moan escapes your mouth.

You freeze in shock from the sound you made.

And while you are sitting there, legs wide open, fingers in your pussy, finger on your clit, never closer to an orgasm, Bill opens his eyes. And you look into them. And they widen. His pupils become smaller. And you feel yourself drowning.

Drowning in the white of his eyes.