With a slow turning twist, my fist and wrist determine to draw you down, your bare shoulders rubbing against the polished hard wood door of our Corinthian suite, as you give way to my insistence, slowly squatting lower, and lower, until your haunches rest on the back of those high heels.
Your sash-bound wrists remain tied and held high above your head by my outstretched left hand. My weight leaning in against the door and pinning you there.
I let go my grip from your mane and withdraw my open fist, deliberately spreading my hand over the swollen crotch of my jeans to slowly rub my palm against the full outline of my swollen cock, and right before your eyes.
Groaning with arousal my graveled voice confesses: “I want you fox” and I hear your surrender catching in the heave of your chest and the sensual sigh of your throat.
The gusset of that Stella body rubs and cuts into your crotch as your thighs spread a little wider allowing a little more of your gentle weight to sink lower on your haunches. Your eyes drawn to the thick outline of my hardened cock, knowing I’m commando beneath the denim of my lowcut jeans.
If you’d thought you were already wet with the waiting, now you confess your sex is soaking. I feel your wrists wriggling where they’re pinned by my grip, straining against their binding, telling me of their instinct, their wanting, aching to touch yourself and sooth the tightening that’s tingling inside you; but you can’t.
My open hand draws up onto the waistline of my jeans and I begin to tug at the waistband button, popping it open and slowly teasing the zipper downwards with my forefinger and thumb.
Deliberately, my eyes look downward, searching for yours, and you sense my watching you from above, you tilt your head to find me, your bright eyes come climbing up from my crotch to join with the light of mine.
The connection between us is incredible, intense, the fusion of our inner light and energies, a Tantric tourniquet twisting, binding us together, the tying of two.
We hold each other in the conduit of our eyes, peripherally you’re aware of my free hand slipping inside my opened jeans and feeling for the warm girth of my aching, wild cock, trapped tight against my thigh and straining to be set free.
Savoring the moment, I gradually reach my free hand deeper inside my lowcut jeans, disappearing from our view, my forearm stretching against the open fly, threatening to pull the waistband down further off my hips.
The shape of my eyes alters with the tinniest of changes, my inner light brightens, a spectral prism of intimate details only you would ever catch, decipher, and understand.
Your lips lick with the loving thought of my hidden hand cradling my throbbing cock, and your sex feels ever heavier, squatting low on your spread wide haunches, flowing with unprecedented wetness, a monsoon flooding from inside that has you groaning with wanting your own hands free.