Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I want to give her space to play exactly how she wants to play. Space to surprise me. To take what she wants.
My interest in introspection dissolves the second she turns on the toy. Who the fuck cares about a deeper explanation for my enjoyment?
A gorgeous woman—my gorgeous wife—is about to fuck herself while I watch.
What's not to like?
"I bring my toys with me everywhere." She says it matter-of-factly. As if it's obvious. As if any reasonable woman travels with sex toys. As if only a truly ridiculous, self-involved, idiotic man would object.
That's true.
Only an asshole insists on being the sole source of a woman's pleasure.
But I understand the impulse. I want to toss that thing aside and fuck her instead.
But I want to follow her instinct where it leads to more.
This defiant, difficult, assertive side of her—
I fucking love it.
Daphne spreads lube over the head and shaft of the toy; then, she positions it between her legs.
She falls back onto the mattress as she teases herself with the head.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Again.
Then, slowly, she penetrates herself. Only the head to start. Then another inch. Another.
Then she pulls back and pushes it inside again.
She doesn't use the full length. Only the first few inches. I'm sure she'd explain it in scientific terms, but at the moment, I don't give a fuck about the reasons.
Only the experience of watching her fuck herself.
Her head falls to one side. Then the other. The one with the mirror.
Through the reflection, she makes eye contact. She studies my expression. The need in my posture. The bulge in my slacks.
She needs encouragement.
So I give it to her. "Don't stop on my account, princess."
The pet name makes her purr. It suits her too. She's regal and poised and demanding as all hell. A princess.
So often, people use it as an insult. To say someone wants too much or isn't willing to work. But that isn't it.
Daphne expects a lot because she wants a lot.
Because she gives a lot.
She looks back at me for one glorious moment, then she gives into her desire. Her eyelids flutter closed. Her hand moves with more purpose. She fucks herself with the toy as she toys with her nipple with her free hand.
Again and again.
Until her breath hitches.
Until her toes curl.
Until her lips part with a groan.
She's close, but she's not there. She can't get there from penetration alone. Even with the vibrations.
She brings her other hand to her clit, and she touches herself exactly how she needs, long strokes of her finger as she fucks herself again and again.
She works herself through her orgasm, moaning low and deep as she comes.
She pauses for long enough to catch her breath then she fucks herself again. No teasing this time. Straight to what she needs. The in and out thrusts. The long strokes of her finger.
She comes quickly, her expression filling with bliss and need and tension and releasing until it's only bliss. Until she's a puddle on the ground.
Relaxed, spent, at peace.
She turns off the toy and tosses it aside.
I wait for her to catch her breath then I answer the dare she issued.
I stay in front of the bed. I stay positioned so she can watch in the mirror, and I strip out of my tie, shirt, shoes, slacks.
The boxers.
She sits up straight, and she finds a position leaning against the headboard.
She reaches for something and tosses it to me.
The lube.
"Bad girl." The words fall off my lips. Pure instinct. A visceral need to play this game with her.
That perfect defiant smile spreads over her lips.
She doesn't say game on because she doesn't have to. It's written all over her face.
Her eyes travel down my body and settle on my cock as I squeeze just enough lube for just the right friction.
She stays there, watching the action with wide-eyed wonder as I stroke myself.
I try to start soft, but I'm too revved up, and she's naked on the bed, flushed and wanting and daring me to come for her viewing pleasure.
I don't have the patience for soft.
Or teasing.
Or build up.
The second I make eye contact through the mirror, I give in to the need coursing through me. I tighten my grip. I move at just the right speed.
I come far too fast.
But she doesn't mind. She watches wide-eyed, like she's taking notes, like she's committing every moment to memory.
She stands and offers me a tissue and watches as I clean myself.
"So this is game on, huh?" Her eyes meet mine. "Whoever breaks first loses."
"How do you define breaking?"
"Touching below the waist." She presses her lips to mine. A soft, slow kiss. One with the perfect mix of promise, heat, affection.
Then she pulls back, slips into pajamas, gets ready for bed like this is any normal night.
Like she isn't driving me out of my fucking mind.