Grateful…Brink

Dear Butch,

There is this small window of time that I wish I could nestle in for a lifetime.

(Sounds romantic doesn’t it.  Well, by now my dear reader, you should know romance isn’t my forte.)

The moment right before I explode in orgasm all over your fingers/tongue/dyke cock.  My fingernails dug into your skin, if they aren’t cuffed down, and my hips arched.  Every inch of my skin begging for release.  Muscles are tight and strained as I try to hold back until approval is granted.  You make me beg for permission, telling me I could do better.  Telling me I must not really want to cum with my lack of effort or formality in my plea.  And just when I start to shake and tears well up from the pleasure, you lean down with your mouth pressed against my  ear and whisper the magic word.

“Cum.”

You never fail to bring and hold me to the edge.  To the point where I start to doubt my ability to hold on for dear life much longer.  The point of no return drawn out into almost painful seconds and if I have truly been a dyke cock tease, a full minute.  You always know when I honestly can no longer sustain my balance on the brink of ecstasy.  I am not sure how you know, how you resist, how you can be so amazingly cruel.

For this fabulous skill, I thank you.  At least now I do, I may change my mind later tonight when I find myself begging for your whisper.

Love,

Femme

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