I can’t believe I’m doing this—my fingers move slowly to the very top of his inner thigh, brushing his crotch, and I feel him jerk under my fingertips. Again I brush against his erect cock which is lining a matter of several inches down the top of his trouser leg now. Surprising myself, I let out a gasp, and stare straight at him. He holds my gaze for a few seconds, then turns back to paper shuffling, his entire face the colour of the juicy inside of a watermelon. Maybe there’s juice at the end of his cock now, there, under my flexing fingertips? Oh, fuck! What if there is?
Buzz: “I’m waiting. Do you want me to end the punishment? Altogether? You know what I mean by that.”
My rather empty stomach curdles as the words scorch themselves into my consciousness. Immediately I reply: “It’s coming” and wish I hadn’t.
Buzz: “The photo, or his cock that you’re teasing so naughtily? You’re a BAD girl. Now be a good little love slave and SEND THE FUCKING PHOTO!”
I’m totally wired now; the looks that Mike keeps giving me, the knowledge that his cock is rock hard under the table because of the way I’ve touched him; the shot of fear I get every single time my phone vibrates. There has to be a way of doing this.