Make it up to me [M36/F30] [Mdom] [edging] [FaceFucking] [Denial] [twist ending]

You were a brat today.

Don’t give me that look—you know exactly what I’m talking about. The way you snapped at me in the kitchen, the way your eyes rolled when I asked you to grab the wipes from the car. You’ve been on edge all day, and I let it slide. I didn’t press. I didn’t say a word.

But now? Now you’re climbing into my lap like you didn’t spend the last ten hours testing my patience.

I had the controller in my hand—mid-game, headset on—and suddenly there you were, straddling me, fingers trailing up my chest like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t spent the whole day pushing me away just to try and pull me back in now.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked, not moving a muscle.

You gave me that coy little smile, the one you know I like. The one that says you want to pretend you're sweet, even when you're being anything but.

“I just… missed you,” you said, biting your lip like that made it all better.

Missed me?

I didn’t say a word at first. Just stared at you, letting the weight of the day hang between us.

Then I gripped your hips—tight enough to stop you from grinding against me—and leaned in close, voice low, steady, and without a hint of invitation.

“You don’t get to act like that all day and then climb into my lap like nothing happened.”

I let the silence stretch for just a beat before I finished.

“Get off. You’ll earn me when I say you have.”

You pouted—of course you did—and got up without a word. No argument, no snark this time. Just that little slump in your shoulders as you turned and walked back toward our bedroom. I watched your ass for a second as you left… and yeah, I adjusted myself through my sweats. You climbing into my lap might’ve been unwelcome—but it didn’t mean it wasn’t hot.

Still, I turned my focus back to the screen, let the controller settle back into my hands. My jaw flexed. I could still feel your weight on me.

A few minutes passed. Maybe five. Then I heard you again.

Soft steps.

You came back slower this time.

Didn’t say anything—just eased up next to me, those fingertips gliding over my thighs like you were testing the temperature of water. I didn’t move. Just leaned around you slightly, kept playing. You weren’t in charge here.

“Who are you playing with?” you asked, voice casual, like nothing was happening, like your hands weren’t inching dangerously close to where I was still hard beneath the fabric.

“Some random people that were on,” I said without glancing up.

“So… no one we know?”

“Nope.”

You stood up straighter then, stepping directly into my line of sight. The screen disappeared behind the soft curve of your stomach as you raised your arms, stretching like you were stiff—like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.
That shirt of yours lifted just enough to tease the edge of lace beneath it. Just enough to let the scent of your skin hit me. Inches from my face.

I Exhaled once through my nose….But I didn’t look up.

Not yet.

You lingered there a second, still standing in front of me, stretching like your little performance might distract me enough to forget what this was about. Your shirt had tightened just enough across your chest that I could see the shape of your nipples pressing through, begging for attention.

But I didn’t pause the game. Didn’t give you the satisfaction.

When you realized I wasn’t going to bite, your arms lowered and your voice dipped, trying a different tactic.

“…Where did you put my toys?”

I didn’t even look up. “Away.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I couldn’t find them,” you said, softer this time, a little unsure.

I shrugged. Still didn’t break eye contact with the screen. “You weren’t supposed to.”

You stayed quiet.

You knew what that meant. You knew I didn’t just stash them somewhere out of sight—I hid them. Buried them in a place you wouldn’t think to look. Not because I was being cruel. Not because I was mad.
Because you hadn’t earned them after your little attitude today. 

I could feel you staring at me, hoping I’d say something more, hoping I’d crack. But I didn’t. I just kept playing.

Petty? Maybe.

But I wasn’t here to reward bad behavior.
You wanted release? You’d have to work for it.

“Can you help me out?” you asked, a little too sweet, like I might forget how the day went if you softened your tone enough.

I glanced at you—just once. Then turned back to the screen without a word.
You let out a sharp breath through your nose. Frustrated. I could hear it.
I knew what was coming before you even moved.

You turned like you were going to walk away again… but you didn’t take a single step. Instead, you stopped just in front of the TV, bent at the hips, and—slow as hell—started peeling those leggings down your thighs. The fabric clung to every curve before it gave way, revealing the soft rise of your ass, the thin line of your thong nestled perfectly between your cheeks.

Fuck.

You were trying so hard.

I didn’t stop playing.

But I did adjust myself again.

You caught that.

You turned your head, looking at me over your shoulder, expecting that reaction to be the tipping point—that maybe this time you’d finally get what you wanted.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not yet.

…You were close, though.

And I could see it starting to dawn on you…
You weren’t going to be getting me inside you because you just because you were hot.

You were going to get it when I said you deserved it….

You didn’t say anything.

Didn’t pout. Didn’t beg.

You just stood back up, and without a word, you circled the couch—slow and deliberate—like you were done chasing and ready to flip the game on me.

Fine.

You want to play? Let’s play.

You stretched out along the length of the couch, lounging like you were getting comfortable, but every motion was calculated. Your back faced the TV—your legs extended toward me—but your focus wasn’t on the screen.

It was on me.

You propped yourself up just enough on one elbow, your eyes locked on mine, even when I refused to give you more than a glance. You weren’t in my lap anymore, but I could feel you—feel your presence radiating like heat on my skin.

Your legs shifted slightly, brushing the edge of the cushion, not touching me… just close enough to threaten it.

Then I saw your fingers.

They started near your knees. Light. Lazy.
Just the pads gliding over skin like you weren’t thinking about it—like you weren’t about to drive me insane.

I didn’t speak.

Didn’t look fully.

But I could feel it. Feel the air change as your fingertips traced higher. Slow. Teasing. Daring.

You worked up your thighs, nails lightly dragging along the sensitive skin, and I saw the way your hips shifted—barely a grind against the couch cushion, but enough that I knew what you wanted. What your body was aching for.

Still, you didn’t slip under what little fabric covered you.

That thin strip of your panties stayed exactly where I’d left them when you dressed earlier, but I could tell by the way your thighs parted just slightly… you were getting wet.

You wanted me to notice.

You needed me to.

And I did glance again.

But that’s all you got.

Not a word.

Not a hand.

Not even a shift in my breathing.

Because this wasn’t for you. Not yet.
This was for me. Watching you start to come undone—so desperate to be touched you had to touch yourself giving me a show… and not even that would be enough.

You kept your eyes on me like you were in control, like every move you made was deliberate… but I saw it.

That wasn’t confidence anymore. That was need.

Your thighs pressed tighter, then spread wider along the couch, opening yourself just enough to draw my eye—but I still didn’t fully look.

I could hear the way your breath hitched.

Your fingers danced higher now, past the crease of your hips, brushing just over the edge of that soaked little scrap of fabric. You circled slow, teasing yourself through it, like you were trying to pretend it wasn’t getting to you.

But it was.

You shuddered when the pad of your middle finger grazed right over your clit—even through the panties. That one tiny stroke had you twitch, legs flexing, your hips giving a desperate little roll into your own hand.

You gasped.

Your mouth fell open, lips parted like you forgot I was even in the room.
Still, you tried to play it cool. You let your hand fall away for a second, like you needed a break—but your fingers were trembling now. And when they returned, you didn’t tease anymore.

You pulled.

That moist cloth slid aside, dragging against your skin until the fabric barely clung to your hip. You exposed yourself slowly, like the act alone might earn you something.

And then you touched.

Your fingers slipped between your lips, gliding through your wetness like it was second nature, like you were made to do it. One stroke. Two. You moaned—loud. No hesitation. No shame.

You weren’t teasing anymore.

You were needing.

And I still hadn’t said a word.

You didn’t stop.

You couldn’t.

Your fingers slid back and forth between your lips—slow at first, gliding through that wet heat with just enough pressure to make your thighs twitch again. You weren’t teasing now. You were working yourself up, trying to find a way to get something that could replace the feeling of your hand, -my mouth, my cock—but there was nothing that could.

Still, you tried.

Your breathing deepened, then quickened, chest rising and falling as your hips started moving with each stroke. You let your legs part wider, the soles of your feet pushing into the cushions as you gave yourself the space to grind against your own hand.

I heard that soft, breathy whine escape your throat—the kind that happens when you're too far gone to hold it in. The kind that makes my jaw clench and my cock throb against my sweats.

You didn’t care that I was still playing. That I hadn’t said a word. You kept going.

And then, like you couldn’t take the heat building under your skin another second, you reached for your shirt.

You yanked it up over your breasts, letting the hem bunch high on your ribs, leaving nothing hidden. Your nipples were hard, flushed, desperate for attention, and I watched as your free hand moved from your stomach to cup one of them—then squeeze.

You moaned again. Head tilting back against the cushion, throat exposed.

You pinched that sensitive little peak, and I saw your hips stutter, your fingers moving faster now between your soaked lips. You weren’t just playing anymore. You were chasing.

And god, you were close.

Your thighs were flexing, trembling ever so slightly. Your chest heaved, lips parted, breath coming faster and harder as your body fought to hold itself together.

But I still didn’t stop you.

And I still didn’t touch you.

Because I wanted you right there—teetering on the edge, soaked and swollen, dripping for a release you weren’t allowed to take.

Not yet…

Your pace picked up.

The slick sound of your fingers moving between your folds was impossible to ignore now, even over the noise of the game. You were so wet it echoed between us—every stroke spreading more of that heat across your skin. Your breath came in stuttering gasps, your back arching off the couch as your fingers circled tighter, faster, desperate for that final spark.

Your other hand rolled over your breast, palm grinding into your nipple, squeezing, tugging—anything to take you over that edge.

You were trying so damn hard to hold it together, but I could see it unraveling. Your thighs started to shake, little tremors running up your legs. Your body was betraying you, hips thrusting upward against your hand like it wasn’t enough—like no matter how deep you pushed, no matter how fast you rubbed, it still wasn’t me.

You whimpered.

“Fuck…”

It was broken. Needy. Raw.

And then finally, your voice—shaky, breathless.

“Please… come help me finish.”

I looked over—once.

Just a glance.

I took in the sight of you, half-naked and wrecked already. Panting. Dripping. Your fingers still buried between your thighs, your skin flushed and your eyes wild with need.

Then I turned back to the screen.

“Help you how?” I asked, my voice calm, flat, with just enough edge to make your toes curl.

You hesitated for half a second after I asked. Like you were trying to pull yourself together enough to form the words. Like your body wasn’t already shaking, thighs trembling, lips swollen and glistening with need.

Then, soft—barely above a whisper—you spoke.

“I need your fingers,” you breathed, “or your mouth… just—something. I’m so close, Greg, please…”

I glanced at you again. Just once. Just long enough to see your hand working faster, your chest heaving with each shaky breath, your nipple pinched tight between your fingers. Your face was flushed, your mouth open, gasping for air like you’d been drowning.

But I didn’t move.

Didn’t answer.

I just let that silence stretch between us again, let it press on your chest like a weight until you were the one who cracked.

Your fingers kept moving, hips lifting into every stroke—but it wasn’t enough. You knew it. I wanted you to know it.

“Please, Greg,” you said again, voice breaking now. “I need you. I need you to push me over—I'm right there. I’ve been trying, but I can’t… not without you.”

I shifted slightly on the couch, still not turning fully toward you. My cock was rock hard under my sweats, throbbing, aching—but this wasn’t about me.

Not yet.

“I want to hear it,” I said, voice low, slow, deliberate. “Tell me how badly you need it. Beg for it.”

You blinked fast, breath stammering out of you, and for a second I saw you struggle—not with the words, but with your pride.

Then I watched it snap.

“I need you so bad,” you whimpered. “Please, Sir… please just touch me. Just for a second. I’m aching—I’m soaking wet—I need your fingers, your cock, anything, just—please. I can’t take it anymore. I need to cum and I need you to be the one who makes it happen. I’ll do anything, just… please.”

You were a mess now. Eyes glassy, chest flushed, hips grinding into your hand like you were trying to fuck air.

And still… I didn’t move.

Because you weren’t done yet.

Not until you were shaking with desperation.
The second I took off my headset and set it beside me, you lit up.

“Finally,” you probably thought. You straightened your spine, your breath caught, and your thighs clenched like you could already feel me inside you.

But then you saw my face.

And your breath hitched for a very different reason.

No smile. No softness. Just control.

“Get over here,” I said, calm, firm—like a man giving orders, not an invitation.

You moved fast. You didn’t dare hesitate, not with the way your body was screaming for attention. You climbed into my lap in one desperate motion, straddling me high on your knees, your tits in my face, hard nipples brushing just above my lips.

I didn’t lean forward.

I didn’t bite.

Instead, I grabbed your hips—tight—and held you still.

“You need to show me how bad you need it,” I said, dragging the words out just enough to make you ache. “You better convince me you’ve earned it.”

You let yourself sink lower, your soaked panties pressing against the thick outline of my cock beneath my sweats. You felt the throb immediately—deep, heavy, primal—and it made your hips shake.

Your body took over before your mouth did.

You started grinding on me. Slow at first. Desperate and smooth. Rocking back and forth with those little gasps catching in your throat as the pressure found your clit again.

You were soaked—absolutely dripping—and each pass of your pussy over my length left a wet trail behind, soaking through the cotton like you were trying to stain it.

Still, I didn’t lift a finger.

I didn’t buck. Didn’t help.

“You don’t sound convincing that I should give it to you,” I said flatly, my voice cold and unmoved.

And that’s when you broke.

Your grinding didn’t stop, but your whole body trembled. You grabbed my shoulders, your voice cracking as the words came rushing out like you couldn’t hold them anymore.

“Please, Sir—please, I need it so fucking bad. I need your cock—I need to feel you inside me—I can’t take it anymore. I’ve been trying, I’ve been good, I’ll do anything you want. Just—please, let me cum. Let me have it. I’m begging you—I’ll ride you, I’ll suck you, I’ll let you use me however you want—just take me. I need it. I can’t breathe—I need you to fuck me, now.”

Your hands clawed at me as your hips rocked harder, grinding yourself raw through your panties, whimpering, gasping, completely undone.

You were sobbing the words now, completely lost in it.

“Please, please, I’m yours—yours to use, yours to fill—just give it to me. I’m ready, I can’t—I can’t hold it anymore. Please let me cum, please fill me, please—Sir—”

You shook in my lap, hips spasming, your orgasm trembling just beneath the surface.
And still… I didn’t move.

Because you hadn’t earned it yet. So I’m not going to push you over the edge. 

Not until I said so.

Your hips were grinding against me like your life depended on it.

Soaked panties dragging over my cock, your clit catching the seam of the fabric with each thrust. You were a mess—face flushed, lips trembling, moaning my name like it was the only word you knew.

And your body… your body was seconds away from betraying you completely.

Your thighs were quivering. Your breath was ragged. You were right there—on the cusp, riding the wave.

That perfect moment, that one desperate breath just before you came—
I moved.

I grabbed your hips and lifted you off me, just like that. Ripped the rhythm away. Left your hole throbbing, soaking through your panties, empty.

“No—no—no—” you whimpered, hands reaching for me, trying to drop back down into my lap.

I leaned back, planting myself into the couch, letting you hover there for one split second—your body twitching in midair—before I pushed you back onto your feet.

You stumbled slightly. Shaking.

Panting.

Broken.

You looked at me like I’d just torn the air from your lungs. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from the sheer denial of release.

And then my voice—calm, commanding, cold.

“Get on your knees.”

You didn’t move fast enough, so I spoke again—sharper this time.

“Now.”

You dropped -too fast to be graceful. You were trembling, panting, your whole body humming with the ache of what I’d just taken from you.

“If you want to cum,” I said slowly, “you’re going to earn it with your mouth. You’ll serve me. You’ll satisfy me. And when I decide you’re ready…”

I leaned in just slightly, lowering my voice to a dangerous whisper.

“I’ll use your body to wreck you.”

You whimpered—hands trembling as you reached for the waistband of my sweats, your entire body a portrait of desperation and obedience.

And still, I hadn’t even touched you.

Not really.

Because this wasn’t about you finishing.

This was about reminding you who you belong to.

I didn’t help you.

Didn’t lift a finger.

I just leaned back, spread my legs wider, and looked down at you.

“Take it out.”

Your hands were shaking as you reached for my waistband, fingers fumbling as you peeled down my sweats and my boxers in one clumsy pull. My cock sprang free, thick, heavy, aching—and your mouth dropped open.

You let out a sound. Half whimper, half moan.

But I didn’t wait for your worship.

I grabbed you by the hair.

Fisted it hard and yanked you forward, shoving the tip straight into your mouth.

No warning. No buildup.

You choked instantly, saliva flooding your tongue as you gagged around the first thrust.

I growled, not with anger—but with possession.

My cock slid deep into your throat, the piercing dragging past your lips with that perfect stretch I knew you missed.

You tried to hold still.

You tried to take it.

But I didn’t let you.

This wasn’t for you.

This was for me.

I started using your face the way your pussy wished I would—slow thrusts at first, then deeper, harder. I kept one hand tangled in your hair, the other braced on the armrest for leverage as I started to fuck your mouth like it was just another hole.

I didn’t give a shit that you were gagging.

Didn’t care that your eyes were watering, tears streaking down your cheeks.

You wanted this.

You asked for it.

And now?

You were getting it.

Your throat tightened around me again, and I growled.

“You’re gonna make me cum before you even get yours.”

You tried to shake your head—tried to protest—but I didn’t stop. I thrust, deep, hard, until your nose pressed against my pelvis and you whimpered around the length of me, drool leaking out the corners of your mouth, running down your chin, dripping onto your bare tits.

You looked wrecked.

Eyes glassy. Hair tangled in my fist. Your nipples stiff, your aching hole twitching with every use of your throat.

I held there—cock buried to the base, your face pressed into my lap—as I whispered:

“You’re not gonna cum until I’ve finished using every fucking inch of you.”

I didn’t let you breathe.

Not properly.

Not more than what you could gasp through your nose in shallow, frantic bursts between thrusts.

I held you there, your lips stretched wide around the base of my cock, your face shoved into my lap like it belonged there. Like that was its only purpose.

You gagged again, throat constricting around me—and fuck, the way your body reacted… thighs twitching, nipples rock hard, drool dripping thick and slow from your chin—it only made me want more.

I pulled back just an inch, then slammed forward again. Deep. Fast.

You choked, your entire body flinching as I bottomed out.

And I kept going.

Shallow thrusts, then deep again.

Then again.

Then again.

Your eyes were red, mascara running. But you didn’t pull away.

You couldn’t.

You were mine.

My good girl. My hole.

Nothing but a throat to fuck until I was ready to do more.

I looked down, watching the mess I was making of you—my cock glistening with spit each time I dragged it from your mouth.

Your tits bouncing with each thrust. Your hands clenching into fists on your thighs, right where I trained you to keep them.

You weren’t touching yourself.

Not even trying.

You knew better.

You were too fucking focused on taking everything I gave you.

I held your head still and started thrusting faster. Harder. My hips snapped forward, smacking against your face, your nose buried at the base of my shaft as I fucked deep, again and again, with no concern for how much you could take.

And still, you stayed there.

Obedient.

Broken.

Perfect.

Every few strokes, I’d hold deep… let you squirm, let you panic a little as your throat stretched and convulsed around me, then pull back and slap your tongue with the tip, watching the ropes of spit cling from your lips to my piercing before I shoved back inside.

“I’m not stopping until I feel your fucking throat milk me,” I growled, my voice raw with need.

You whimpered, gagged, sucked harder.

You were all in.

Your whole body begging—shaking—not just to be used, but to satisfy.

You wanted to choke.

You wanted to be nothing but a mouth for me to cum in.

And I wasn’t there yet. 

Not even close.

I pulled you off with a fistful of your hair, your lips clinging to my cock until the last possible moment. A thick string of spit stretched between your tongue and my tip before it broke, landing across your chest.

You gasped, panting hard, mouth open, your chin dripping. I let you catch half a breath.

Then I leaned in.

“Now that you know what I’m after…” I murmured, eyes locked on yours. “Show me you can earn this.”

You didn’t hesitate.

One hand wrapped tight around the base of my cock, holding it steady like it was something sacred—something that could save you if only you worshipped it well enough.

Your other hand? It dropped between your thighs without shame. You didn’t ask permission.

You needed it.

Your fingers slid over your slit like they knew exactly where to go—right to that swollen clit, soaked and desperate, slick enough that the softest touch made your thighs quiver. You whimpered as you touched yourself, your whole body already teetering again.

Then you dove back down onto my shaft.
You took me in—slow, deep—your mouth wrapping around me like a perfect fucking seal. Your head started to bob, steady at first, then faster, your hand stroking the base in rhythm as your lips dragged over every vein, every ridge, the piercing catching on your tongue just right.

You moaned around me.

Vibrated against me.

And fuck, I felt it.

You pulled back for a second, strings of spit clinging to your lips, gasping as your fingers rubbed faster, hips bucking against your own hand.

“Please…” you whispered. “Please, I need your cum—I want to taste it—I want to swallow every drop. Please, Sir—please, use my mouth. I’m so close—I want to cum with your cock in my throat.”

Then you took me again.

Deeper this time.

And it only got filthier.

Your grip tightened. Your fingers worked yourself into a frenzy as you bobbed faster, sucking me like your orgasm depended on it—because it did. You moaned again, and I felt the sound in my balls, thick and primal.

You broke away a second time, panting, spit smeared across your face, your thighs visibly shaking.

“Please let me have it—I’ll be so good—I’ll swallow it all, I’ll keep sucking even after you finish, I’ll beg for more. Please, I need it.”

And fuck… the way you looked then?

Eyes wild. Face soaked. Your fingers blurring between your thighs while your lips parted again, begging for me to give in…

It wasn’t just your pussy that was throbbing.

My shaft was too, -aching for my release. 

You looked up at me, completely wrecked. Lips glossy, chin soaked, eyes rimmed with tears and streaked makeup, your tits bouncing slightly with every breath as your fingers never stopped their rhythm.

You were seconds away.

I could see it in your thighs, the way they twitched uncontrollably.

The way your hips rolled harder into your own hand—desperate, wild, filthy.

I gripped your hair tighter and fed you my cock again. Slow at first, then I let you set the rhythm—let you earn it. You bobbed your head with purpose, your lips stretched wide around me, hand stroking the base in sync as you sucked me like your world depended on it.

And then you moaned.

Low.

Long.

Like you were trying to hold your orgasm in your throat and keep it from spilling out.

You were close.

I could feel it.

Your pussy was soaked—you were grinding against your own palm like you were fucking it—and I could see your wrist flexing harder, faster, chasing the edge with my cock filling your mouth.

That’s when I felt it—my own release crawling up my spine, heat coiling in my core, cock throbbing in your mouth like it couldn’t wait another second.

I pulled your head all the way down and held you there.

Buried.

Pressed.

And let go.

My orgasm tore through me in thick, hot waves—pumping deep into your throat as you whimpered around the stretch. You didn’t pull back. You didn’t spill a drop. You swallowed it all, throat working, sucking, milking me through every last pulse until I was spent.

Your lips still sealed around me, your fingers still working your clit.

And just as your thighs clamped tight and your whole body shuddered toward that long-denied climax…

I grabbed your wrist.

Tore your hand away from your pussy, dragging it up to my thigh and holding it there.

You gasped, body convulsing, mouth popping off my cock with a broken whimper.

“No,” I growled. “You don’t get to cum yet.”
You choked out a sob—your entire body trembling, clit aching, cunt pulsing without release.

“Good girls don’t cum without permission,” I said coldly, brushing your saliva-slicked cheek with my fingers. 

You gasped as your mouth slipped off my cock, chest heaving, throat sore, your face a wrecked, perfect mess of spit, smeared makeup, and desperation.

Your body was trembling—legs spread, clit throbbing, your soaked panties still pushed to the side, slick and useless.

You caught your breath, just barely, and whimpered through it:

“Please… please, Sir—I’ve been a good girl. I took it all, I swallowed, I didn’t stop—I just need to cum, please let me—please fuck me—”

I didn’t wait.

I leaned in, grabbed the back of your hair, and growled right into your ear—

“Shut your mouth.”

You flinched.

But you didn’t stay quiet.

“No—please, just use me—just use the hole between my legs, I’ll take it, I swear—I’ll let you finish again if you need to—just please let me cum too—”

And that’s when I moved.

I stood up in one fluid motion and threw you from your knees onto your back. Your legs went into the air, thighs splayed, your spine hitting the carpet with a grunt.

Before you could recover, I grabbed your ankles—tight—and forced them open, spreading you wide, displaying every inch of your soaked, needy hole.

“You don’t listen well, do you?” I snarled, staring down at you, body flushed, breath ragged.

“You want it so bad… you’re so fucking desperate for something inside you?”

I leaned in, face close, holding your ankles high and wide like I was about to take you apart.

“Fine.”

I spat down—once, thick and wet—landing directly between your swollen lips, mixing with the slick already dripping out of you.

“I’ll shove something inside you.”

Your legs trembled in my grip, thighs still parted, your soaked pussy glistening in the low light. You thought I was about to fill you—thought your begging had finally broken through.

You were wrong.

I reached down, grabbed the waistband of your panties—those pathetic, soaked scraps barely clinging to your hips—and ripped them in one hard pull. The fabric tore straight through, the sound sharp and raw, making you gasp.

But you didn’t get a second to react.

I balled them up in my fist, shoved your thighs open wider, and without hesitation—forced them inside you.

Your body arched, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as the wet fabric filled your gap, soaking up everything your body had worked so hard to build. Every drip of arousal, every pulse of need—stolen.

You reached for me—your voice breaking.

But I was already on top of you.

I slammed my hand over your mouth, pressing down hard enough to keep your protest sealed beneath my palm.

“I told you to shut your mouth,” I growled, my lips hovering just above your ear.

Your eyes went wide, legs shaking violently as your orgasm died inside you. Trapped. Denied. Absorbed by the soaked panties buried deep in you.

I held you there for a moment—long enough for the ache to settle in. Long enough for you to feel that desperation gnawing at your gut, clawing for release you weren’t going to get.

Then I pulled back.

I hooked my fingers around the edge of the thong—still wedged deep—and dragged it out.

Slow.

Wet.

The fabric clung to your walls, slick with everything your body had begged to give me. It made a sound—obscene, humiliating—perfect.

You whimpered when it slipped out, strings of your own slick stretching from your lips to the cotton.

I didn’t say a word.

I just shoved them into your mouth.

You blinked hard, jaw dropping just enough before I stuffed them in—forcing you to taste yourself, smell your own need, feel what I took from you.

“Now,” I said coldly, standing tall, staring down at your wrecked, shaking body.

“On your knees.”

You rolled over, trembling.

“Turn around.”

You obeyed instantly, moving like a woman possessed, like the only thing anchoring you was the sound of my voice.

“And spread yourself.”

You placed your face against the floor and reached back—still gagged with your soaked panties—grabbed your cheeks, and pulled them wide, exposing your pussy and your ass, glistening, swollen, pulsing.
You were silent.

Breathing hard through your nose, tasting your own arousal, arms trembling as you held the position.

“You’re going to wait,” I said, voice low, deliberate, like I was savoring every word.

“Right there. Just like that. Until I’m good and fucking ready.”

And you stayed.

A trembling, dripping, gagged little mess—used and aching and completely mine.

You knelt there, legs spread wide, arms reaching back to keep yourself open—your soaked, swollen hole on full display, trembling, pulsing, empty.

You looked back at me.

Eyes glassy.

Face flushed.

Panties stuffed in your mouth, lips stretched wide around your own taste.

You watched me with that desperate, hungry stare—like you thought I might give in, might finally reward you, might crawl behind you and fill you the way you were silently begging for.

But I didn’t move.

I sat back on the couch—slow and calm—and let my eyes drag over every inch of you.

God, you looked perfect.

Your thighs shaking. Your lips glistening.

Your little hole twitching as it waited for something—anything.

And when our eyes met?

I smirked.

I adjusted myself slowly, hand gripping the thick, heavy length of my cock through my sweats, right where you wanted it. My shaft throbbed at the sight of you. I wanted to fuck you so badly my whole body was tense.

But not yet.

You weren’t done waiting.

I let you hold the pose, kept you right there—exposed, aching, wrecked—every muscle trembling, every nerve screaming.

Then, without taking my eyes off you, I leaned to the side…

And picked up my headset.

The one that hadn’t been muted.

Not once.

And with a calm, steady voice, I said:

“Hey guys, I’m back.”

Your eyes went wide.

Your breath hitched through your nose, and
I watched the humiliation flare across your face—pink cheeks turning scarlet as the realization hit you all at once.

You’d been gagged with your own soaked panties, dripping, twitching, spreading yourself… and they’d been listening.

The whole. Fucking. Time.

And now?

You weren’t just desperate.

You were exposed.

-Exactly the way I wanted you…