usually so good at taking direction.”
He shuffles and makes this adorable little clucking noise at himself, the way people do when they’ve just fumbled something really easy and obvious. Then he just stands there and waits, and waits, for me to make my next move.
For some reason I’m certain that when I turn the base of this little ridiculous pink thing, it won’t buzz to life. There’ll be no batteries in it, he’s never used it, it was a free toy for girls who buy books that are only meant for them.
But I’m wrong. It hums away merrily the moment I turn it on, and I feel his mortification press against my skin, sticky and delicious. It presses again when I step forward and whisper as close as I can get to his ear: show me where you touch yourself with it.
Of course he won’t, I know he won’t, but I also know that he doesn’t have to say it at all. The little shuttered gasp he lets out when I pass the thrumming tip over his shoulder and down the inside of his arm gives me all the information I need.
He likes it everywhere.
I let it slide down his suddenly very thin tank top, clinging briefly to the poly-blend before finding that little hard nub—the one that’s pressing eagerly against the material. So easily worked up, so sensitive—he gasps again when I let the vibrator trail over the jumping muscles of his stomach and ever down, down, down.
He knows where this is going to end up, I’m sure he does—he’s vibrating too, with tension. And when I get to the twisted heavy shape of his cock, pressed tight against the material of his trousers, he lets out a low groan that makes my clit ache in sympathy.
I don’t even have to get the vibrator that close. Just a light slide around his upper thigh, a twist beneath the buckle of his belt, and he sucks his lower lip into his mouth. He mmmpfs for me.
“Does that feel good?” I ask, but only to be cruel.
Before taking pity on him and inching that maddening buzz over the thick shape of his prick, through his trousers.
His eyes close. I don’t think he knows he’s rocking his hips toward me and my devilish little sex toy, but either way he’s doing it, and he doesn’t stop—not even when I pull back.
“Is this what you do when you’re alone?” I ask, and this time he surprises me. He answers in a broken gasp, “Yes.”
I don’t think such a simple word has ever had this profound an effect on me. The urge to push my hand inside my knickers threatens to overwhelm me and I suddenly need that buzz all over my body, right now.
“What about here? Do you touch yourself here?”
I press the vibrator to his balls, firmly. Almost like an admonishment, I think, though he doesn’t take it as such. He widens his stance, instead—almost unconsciously.
“Maybe,” he says. “Maybe a little.”
“I bet it feels so good buzzing you all over when you’ve got your hand on your cock, am I right?”
Before he can reply, I push said buzzing thing right between his spread legs.
He moans helplessly before I’ve even got it pressed tight to his flesh—his trousers are pulled taut and I have to work to get it in there, to get it flush against his perineum. But when I do finally get it, when I rub the thing nice and firm in the place he clearly likes it, he grunts and shivers.
His face is a picture of lust, hanging and absent, no longer looking away but looming over me. I missed out, the last time, on seeing him all body-shocked like this, but I revel in it now. His slick lips, parting. Those low lids lying heavy over his deep chocolate eyes. The way I can almost see his sighs wavering out of him.
And then beneath it all that steady buzz, prickling through my fingers as though it’s already on my clit. Already sinking into my slick cunt.
“Is this what you do?” I ask, as I trail it back over the hump of his balls again.
“I don’t remember,” he replies, but he still jerks forward, when I suddenly remove that nagging pleasure.
“If you tell me, maybe I’ll keep doing it,” I say. “Maybe I’ll unzip your trousers and run this thing all over the slippery tip of your cock. What do you say?”
He says unnnhhh, apparently.
“Or maybe I’ll just stop it altogether.”
I take a step back, and his expression snaps to attention automatically. He even reaches a hand out, as though he’s going to dare to pull me back.
“Please,” he says.
I lick the tip of the vibrator, and he groans. That lust-blank look comes back to his face.
“Please what?”
“Please just…”
He searches the room for inspiration.
“Do you want to come?” I ask, even though it’s blatantly obvious that he’s gagging for it. It’s obvious because I am too, and he’s just me, mirrored.
“Yes, of course—”
“Then show me how you like it.”
His face scrunches up in frustration. His shoulders bunch up.
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not? I bet you get enough practice. How many hours have you spent in here, doing yourself?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“What about if I tell you my business first? Think that’ll make it easier?” I ask. I take a teasing step closer to him. “I masturbated yesterday, thinking about you. I fucked myself with something thick and fat, while rubbing my clit. I imagined it was your hands, and your cock. I came twice, thinking about how I’d probably have to instruct you. Boss you around. Then torment you until you gave it up to me, like you’re going to give it up now.”
He’s breathing hard by the time I’m done. His hand is at his zipper, just hovering there.
“I do it…I sometimes do it three or four times a day.
“I’ve done it in the shop, too. I did it while you were on the phone with Barrett and Bates. I came so hard that my knees buckled when I thought about you telling them that they simply weren’t satisfactory.”
His words come out in a breathless rush, as though it’s not really him talking at all. At the end, he swallows thickly—like everything just vomited out.
Me, on the other hand—I’m holding my breath. I’ve been electrocuted by his words about coming and masturbating and three or four times a day, and it seems incredible that I even manage to talk again at all. Never mind actually getting the following words to burst out of me:
“Now get on the bed, and show me how you do it.”
He does so immediately. No protestations, no hesitation. He’s even unzipping
