Late summer. Morning sun soft on still-tan sleep-warmed skin.
Words of want greet my still-sleepy vision as I loll toward consciousness.
“I want to cum,” he says via text.
But he can’t.
Timing. Schedule constraints. Psychological need refused by his body, he’s stroked himself raw through a morning full of desperately-hard but cannot reach completion.
Oh, but he wants to.
And I know he wants to.
So, using my knowledge – knowing he has responsibilities to attend to that will force him to wait several hours before touching himself again, and also knowing how that delay will intensify his desire throughout his wait – I make him want a little worse…
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