I can hear you laughing with the guys downstairs. It’s the last game of the night, and you and your companions in your ears obviously clearly aren’t having the easiest time as I can hear you shouting random instructions from upstairs.
It’s Friday game night, a link to family and friends across the country, and a ritual I have no interest in disrupting. When you begun, I hear upstairs for my Friday spa night. I run myself the warmest, bubbliest bath, apply a hair mask and sink into the water. Each game lasts around 45 minutes. I know once I’m done here, I have around 25 minutes to myself.
Your house is warm, especially so after a bath. So as I lay on your bed, basking in my post bath relaxed state, I catch you saying something over your headset. I don’t even catch the words, it was just said in a particular way. Assertive, slightly arrogant? Either way, it’s not long before I find my hands between my legs.
After some gentle teasing of my clit, as I think about you being slightly arrogant around me, I check my phone. 15 minutes. Easy.
I’m not stingy with the lube I use to counteract the post bath dryness. I know I’m not going to be especially gently with myself in the end, which I’m only too happy to enable. It starts out slow, intense, with the pressure on my clit strong. I think about that face you pulled in the kitchen earlier when I said something sassy, and you pulling me back to tell me I’d pay for that later. I think about what would have happened if you forced me to your knees in the kitchen.
But as my motion quickens, so do my thoughts as they move from reminiscing to the fantasising.
If I was on my knees, I’d want you to force your way into my mouth. I want to know how your hands feel as they tangle their way into my hair and you use your grip to control my pace. One on the back of my head, one on my throat, holding my mouth still so you could push your way as deep as I could take before pulling my head back. And again. Over, and over, and over again until my spit is dragged in streaks from my lips by your cock.
You’d stroke my hair. You’d tell me I was so very fucking pretty, staggering each word against the rhythm of your controlled motion. It’d get to the point where you couldn’t maintain that control, and your movement gets as ragged and unpredictable as your breathing. In your own little world.
It’s only when I think about you pulling my head back to come all over my already messy face do I feel myself hurtling close to orgasm. Tension, then release, managing to contain the majority of the noise that runs alongside my orgasm, it’s over all too quickly.
I catch my breath, dozy, as the sound of the door opening disturbs the moment I’m relaxing into.
‘You look very adorable. Hope you weren’t too bored this evening whilst I was gaming,’
‘I managed to keep myself out of trouble.’ I respond with a grin.
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