He pauses his strokes, watching me intently, the silence loaded, building the tension until I whimper.
“Soren, please…”
“Not yet.” His voice is rougher, more focused, like a predator toying with its catch. “Slide two fingers inside yourself. Fuck them in and out, but match my pace. Don’t get ahead of me.”
On screen, he resumes stroking his cock, slow and teasing, his chest rising with controlled breaths.
I push my fingers into my pussy, feeling the stretch, the wet heat enveloping them. I thrust in time with him—deliberate, agonizingly slow—my breaths coming in short gasps, body trembling.
He reacts in real time. “That's it. Deeper. I can hear how wet you are. You don’t even try to hide it. Look at me while you do it.”
Everything slows after that.
Every instruction spaced out.
Every pause deliberate.
My breathing fills the silence between his words—uneven, unsteady. I feel it all—every shift, every reaction, every second stretching tight with anticipation.
He notices everything.
“Don’t move like that,” he says quietly at one point. I freeze instantly. “Wait until I tell you. You don’t move unless I say.”
My body aches with it. The waiting. The control.
My thoughts blur, narrowing down to him—his voice, his timing, the way he watches me like he’s right here, not miles away.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do.
“Tell me what you want.”
My throat tightens. “I want—” I stop. The silence stretches.
“Say it,” he says.
“I want you.” The words come out shaky. Immediate. Honest.
His gaze darkens. “I know. I can hear it in you,” he says. A pause. “But you don’t get everything you want. Not until I say.”
My breath stutters, the tension continuing to build, the coil in me tighter than ever. Everything in me pulling toward something just out of reach. “I—” my voice breaks. “I need?—”
My eyes remain locked on his, the intensity pulling me under. I stop initiating, just responding—fingers pumping faster as he dictates.
“Add a third. Stretch yourself for me.”
The fullness makes me moan loudly, hips grinding against my hand, clit throbbing under my thumb.
The edge builds steadily, my skin flushed hot, breaths ragged, muscles tensing as climax looms. “Soren, I’m close... so close…”
“Stop.” His command is sharp, deliberate. He halts his own strokes, cock twitching untouched. “Hands off. Now. Don’t move.”
I freeze, every muscle locked. My breath coming fast now, shallow—my body suspended on the edge of something I can’t reach.
I whine, pulling my fingers away, slick and glistening. My pussy clenches desperately, the denial wrecking me—body shaking, tears pricking my eyes from the frustrated ache.
“Please, Soren… I need to come. Let me... I'll do anything you want.”