Fuck yourself, he said.

I arrive, already wet with anticipation. I’d told him this morning about the dream I’d had the night before. Actually my exact words were, “What is the ruling on orgasms in sleep?”

“Did you have an orgasm in your sleep?” he asked.

“No, but I sure tried. It felt like all night long. It was frustrating as fuck.” I paused. “But when I woke up, I saw that you hadn’t texted me hello yet, so I thought, “free orgasm time!” and got Baldy (my fave vibe) out. Because end-runs around “no orgasm without permission” rule, right?

Not right. I couldn’t make myself do it. “You’ve ruined me!” I wailed (in text. I’m sure he heard the edge of hysteria there.)

“Such a good girl!” he said. “I believe I will reward you tonight when you come over.”

Well damn…it’s been awhile since I was rewarded for good behavior (boy was I glad I didn’t just persevere with that Baldy orgasm!)

He took me down in the basement. He made me crawl around. He made me beg. And finally, he sat across from me, stroking himself, watching me: “Fuck yourself.”

I had my favorite glass toy. He directed every part. “Faster. Deeper. Slower.” Then, “Turn it around, use the knobby end. Push the bulbs in slowly, slowly, and pull them out. I want to hear them pop out.”

F-u-c-k….I don’t know if I can recall a more erotic image than looking down and seeing those round bulbs extending the lips of my vulva as I pulled the toy out of my body. Maybe it was the look in his eyes as they traveled from between my legs to my face and back. And it is not my own body suddenly that I am thinking about, it is his. The bulging of his cock, the fullness of his lips, the naked desire in his face. Although I have been frustrated all morning with no orgasm, my orgasm is suddenly not the point.

“Fuck yourself,” he said. And I did.

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