After a relaxed, sweaty day on the holiday island we head to the bedroom and I pull the mosquito net down around the bed while Michelle makes herself ready. I get an idea of what’s in store when I see her advancing towards me with a bottle of moisturising lotion. Oh, coolness. This is going to rule me.
Michelle gives me incredible pleasure with her hands. It’s amazing. All she needs is a handful of lotion and a comfortable place to lie down and I am soon in heaven. I kneel on the bed above her, legs apart, my face hovering over the garden of sights and smells made by her face, her breasts and her armpits. She takes hold of my cock with her moistened left hand, starting with her palm on my glans and her fingers tickling the head. Her other hand is used to grab my head when she wants to kiss me.
Slowly she plays me, twisting her hand gently but firmly around my cock, until I am close to orgasm, then pulls back and start running her hand down to stroke my balls, and if I am lucky, my arse. I squeal and whimper like a schoolgirl each time I get close. Then she begins running her fingers very gently over the shaft, head and glans, using the lightest of touches that make my almost hyperventilate with anticipation, before grabbing hold of the shaft again and twisting hard, rubbing all the most sensitive areas at once and making me cry out with pleasure and frustration. I gyrate like a belly dancer in an effiort to get more stimulation. She’ll pull her hand away, mockingly, making sure I cannot.
“Sweetheart,” she’ll say. “I love playing you. You’re so sexy when you’re like this.”
Then she’ll start up again.
After about fifteen or twenty minutes of this she’ll suddenly say: “that’s your lot, sweetie.”
I do not get to come.
Now it’s time for her orgasm. She’s usually pretty wet by the time I’m allowed to put my hand or tongue down there.
If she wants me to masturbate her, the drill goes like this: find clitoris and rub steadily with two fingers. Really, that’s all. In terms of playing her I feel like a punk rock bassist who only knows three notes, especially compared to her virtuoso performance on my cock.
But if I try anything else, like playing with her labia or stretching her mons, she looks at me like I’m a slice of rock melon and says: “hey, what are you doing? Do it properly.”
I raised this with her, not so long ago, and used my punk rock analogy. “Darling, is there anything else I can do? All I do is rub. You seem so much better at it than me…”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “You are good at it, trust me. And I like punk rock better than symphonies, anyway…”
I suppose I should just do as I’m told. I really like making her come.