💄 WHO WANTS TO PLAY TODAY 💋

🫦 The room is dim. Just the low amber glow from one lamp and the heat of your
breath already thickening the air.
You’re on your back , thighs parted enough that the vulnerability hits before
my hands even touch you. I don’t speak. Words would ruin it. Instead my palm
settles heavy and warm at the small of your back—claiming the space first,
letting you feel the weight, the control, before anything more intimate begins.
🎇 Oil drips slow onto the cleft of your ass, then my fingers
follow—deliberate, unhurried—tracing the sensitive seam until your hips give
that first helpless twitch. I wait. Let the anticipation coil tighter. Only
when your breathing turns ragged do I press one slick fingertip against the
tight ring and hold it there. Not pushing. Just resting. Letting your body
decide how much it wants to open.
When you finally relax—just a fraction—I slide inside. One long, smooth inch.
Then stillness again. You clench hard around me instinctively and I feel every
flutter, every tiny spasm. My free hand strokes down your spine, slow,
possessive, grounding you while the single finger curls—patient,
searching—until the pad brushes that small, swollen place inside.
The sound you make isn’t loud. It’s broken. Raw. Almost surprised.
💄 I don’t rush. I stroke there with the lightest pressure at first—small,
lazy circles—like I have all night to unravel you. Each pass makes your thighs
tremble, makes your cock leak steadily onto the sheet beneath you. I add a
second finger only when your hips start lifting, chasing the touch without
shame. The stretch is fuller now, hotter, and when I crook both fingers against
your prostate again your whole body arches like a bow pulled tight.
Every stroke is deliberate. Firm but never rough. Just enough pressure to make
pleasure spike bright behind your eyes, then ease off so you’re left throbbing,
aching, desperate for the next wave. Your toes curl. Your fists grip the
sheets. Your moans turn into these quiet, helpless whimpers that make my own
pulse kick hard.
💞 I lean down, lips brushing the shell of your ear—my voice finally, low and
dark.
“Come for me like this. Just like this.”
One more slow, dragging stroke across that swollen gland and your body
locks—every muscle seizing at once. The orgasm hits deep, different, rolling
out from the inside like a tide you can’t fight. You spill hard, untouched,
shuddering through pulse after pulse while I keep that steady rhythm, milking
every last tremor until you’re gasping, oversensitive, trembling.
Only then do I ease my fingers out—slow--- I press a single kiss to the back
of your neck.
💥And stay quiet again.
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