He tells me I tease.
Not that I *am* a tease.
But that I tease.
“You’re different than…”
He is explaining but the words are lost on me, because my attention is fixed on his cock. He quirks a grin at my distraction and raises a brow. Wrapping his thick fingers around the base, he continues speaking and begins to stroke.
I watch, fascinated, as pieces of his broken-breath statements –
and that’s what they are; simple statements about the way he experiences me, the way he experiences Us, ways that are different from what he’s known before –
reach my ears in snippets.
Your hands, my God…
Sometimes I’m right there and then you STOP…
I don’t have a lot of orgasms, but I want to cum, oh do I want to…
Later I will parse these phrases and we’ll discuss the deeper implications, but right now all I need to know is that these are words of admiration, not admonishment.
And I *do* know.
He’s not complaining.
I know he’s not complaining.
What he’s doing is feeling my hands on his body through his own touch while I watch. I know he is. I know it in the way his breath catches, in the way his shoulders arch, the way his cock juts forward while he recounts the things we’ve done.
The things we’ve done differently.
I watch, rapt, as he continues his devotional disquisition, and I can tell how aroused he is. It’s in the way his belly contracts, the way his legs shake. In the gravel of his voice.
It’s in the purpling of his veins in his neck and his shaft, in the blush spreading across his chest as he fights both for and against orgasm.
He loses track of his words as he strokes his cock for me, his syllables giving way to sighs and groans, and I know that he’s close, that he’s hit his edge, that he really wants to cum. It’s the roll of his eyes, the tensing of his hips.
His eyes meet mine, seeking assent. May I…? is written in his sloe-eyed gaze, but the answer is Not yet. He has a ways to go before he reaches the point of no return.
And I always know exactly when that is.
It’s in the way his balls draw up toward his body, full and tight and trembling. The way his eyes roll back and his chest heaves.
It’s in the way his eyes beg, the way his body trembles.
But there is one thing that stands out above the rest. One thing that tells me he truly can’t wait a single second longer. One thing that is his final ‘tell’.
More than anything else…
…it’s in the way he bites his lip.