This woman threatens to undo all of that with a single touch.
Yet here I am, offering myself to her like a lamb to the slaughter. Albeit, I am a wolf in lamb's clothing, to be sure, and I have to believe she's smart enough to know that.
I can't hold back another hiss of pleasure as her hot, small hand glides down my shaft, where she squeezes, pulses her hand up and down a few times, and squeezes again at the thick root of my cock.
She bites back a little smirk of victory at the hiss. Her tongue slips over her lower lip, vanishes. Her gaze fixes on my cock as she slides her touch upward, pulses another series of short, soft pulsing strokes at the top, twists a few times, and then gives me another plunging caress.
I have to close my eyes and breathe carefully to restrain my reaction, which is in itself a reaction, I suppose.
Another slow stroke, and then another, and now my stomach hollows out, my heartbeat slams in my chest, and my hips want to move, to push into her touch. My fists tighten as every impulse I have is screaming at me to flip her beneath me and make her scream my name until she’s hoarse.
Instead, I hold absolutely still, barely breathing as she caresses my length slowly and steadily, the liquid-smooth caresses of a woman who knows what she's doing and enjoys doing it.
"You're toying with me, Brys," I say. "You play a dangerous game."
She inches my underwear down past my hips with her free hand, one side and then the other in turn, back and forth, until I can wiggle them lower and kick them off.
"Considering how we met, I'd say courting danger is rather appropriate," she says.
I grit my teeth, catching a groan before it can escape, but my hips betray me, lifting on their own, pushing me into her hand.
"It's okay to like it." Brys shifts upright, sitting beside me with her legs crossed; I catch a glimpse of black panties between her thighs, and my gaze catches there. "Iwantyou to like it."
I say nothing, molars grinding around a growl as she feathers several swift, shallow, loose-gripped strokes around the head of my cock, and my eyes close of their own volition. Instantly, my mind's eye is awash with images of Brys standing in front of me in her bedroom, nude and sensual and startled. Enormous breasts sway with her shocked gasp, mini-quakes shivering fat and flesh. Thick pink nipples stand on end, turgid and plump and begging for my mouth, surrounded by wide areolae a few shades of pink darker than her nipples.
I knot my fists into the blanket at my sides in an increasingly vain attempt to stop myself from tearing her shirt open so I can bury my face between those monster tits of hers.
"Tell me exactly what you're thinking right now, Jakob," Brys smirks at me, licking her lips, glancing at my cock, and then back at me. "I may just decide to have mercy on you if I believe you to be genuine and honest in your answer."
"I was thinking that I'm approximately twelve seconds away from ripping that fucking shirt right off you so I can sink my face between your breasts."
"It's the only shirt I have at the moment," she says. "So maybe don't literally rip it."
"I was thinking that I've never seen tits as incredible as yours."
"You saw them for two seconds. And I have a hard time believing that, Jakob. A man like you surely must have a Rolodex full of women with silicone G-cups on speed dial."
"I do not have a Rolodex at all, and I certainly do not have any such list." I swallow hard and pause to catch my breath as Brys slides her fist down my length, her touch skating down further to cradle my balls in her palm. "And while I donot discriminate against women who choose to augment their bodies as they see fit, if I did have a list, women with silicone G-cups would not be on it."
"What about natural G-cups?" She licks her lips again. "Mine aren't that big, so don’t get too excited. I'm just asking."
"I couldn't care less what letters or numbers one uses," I say, "it's about aesthetics. I personally prefer to look at natural breasts, no matter the size or shape, rather than obviously fake ones. Vaguely gelatinous basketballs do not do it for me, I’m afraid—though I am not judging anyone who possesses or appreciates them.”
"Typical man," she mutters. "Nothing on the brain but tits."
"You're jerking me off, Brys." I arch an eyebrow at her. "I'm supposed to be thinking about loss indices?"
"If you're thinking about loss indices while I'm jerking you off, Jakob, then I’d take it as a compliment."
She cradles my balls in one hand, massaging them gently, rolling them in her palm, scratching delicately with her fingertips, tracing veins, and making my cock pulsate with tight heat; her other hand glides in slow rhythm on my shaft, thumb smearing over leaking precum.
Fuck.
I can't control myself much longer.
"I'm not following," I say through clenched teeth. "How is that a compliment?"
"It means you're trying not to come, which means I'm doing a good job jerking you off."
