I wrap my hand around my cock and stroke slowly.
All three attendants step back from the table in synchronized movement. Leaving her spread open, and untouched, and visibly aching.
Beautiful.
The blond one produces a white silk robe. They help her sit up—she's unsteady, disoriented—and guide her arms into the sleeves.
She doesn't want the robe. She wants their hands back on her body. Wants someone to finish what they started.
I can see it in every line of her posture. The way she sits too still, thighs pressed together, trying to create friction. The flush that hasn't faded from her chest. The rapid breathing that has nothing to do with exertion.
They tie the robe closed. Cover her completely.
Then the dark-haired attendant's hand slips beneath the silk.
I zoom camera two.
His hand moves between her legs. I can't see his fingers but I can see the movement of his wrist. Slow circles. Deliberate pressure.
Scarletta's head falls back. Her mouth opens. Her hips roll forward into his touch as the other two hold her up.
Finally. Finally they're giving her what she needs.
His other hand covers her breast through the silk. Squeezing. Thumb circling her nipple.
She's going to come. Right there in the middle of the room with three strangers pleasuring her like it's their job.
Because itistheir job.
My hand moves faster on my cock. I'm close. Too close. But I can't stop watching.
The attendant's wrist moves faster. More pressure. Scarletta's thighs start to shake. Her hands grip his shoulders for balance. Small sounds escape her throat—need and shame and surrender all tangled together.
She's almost there. I can see it. The tension building in her body, the way her breathing goes ragged, the moment before?—
She bites her lip. Hard. Her whole body goes rigid.
And she holds it there. Trembling on the edge. Refusing to fall.
The attendant keeps touching her but she's fighting it. Fighting her own body's need to release.
Denying herself.
Jesus Christ.
I come so hard my vision goes white. Hot semen spilling over my fist, my cock pulsing, her name almost escaping my throat before I catch it.
"Good girl," I breathe instead. "Such a good girl."
Saving herself for me even when she doesn't know it yet.
My good little slut.
She's going to be the death of me.
Or maybe I'll be the death of her.
