Who knew that counting could be so damned hot?
He lives a long way away so we talk on the phone. He’s deliciously dominant and enjoys controlling me. He tells me to masturbate with a powerful vibrator that he knows will make me cum quickly.
He tells me to start counting for him. He can hear in my voice when I’m getting close and he tells me to stop.
After a little pause I’m instructed to continue. If I mumble or get the number wrong I have to start again, much to his entertainment. Sometimes when I’m really close I can’t count at all and he gently prompts me.
“Thirty one. Good girl.”
He tells me not to cum yet: that it’s really important that I listen to what he’s saying and don’t cum until he says I can. You can imagine the effect that has.
“Stop. Turn it off.”
I’m beginning to whine now, like a puppy. I want to be a good girl and turn it off. And yet I so want to disobey and just cum.
Then he tells me to pay close attention. That when I get to twenty he wants me to cum for him. But if I make any mistakes on the way I’ll have to go back to one. Do I understand?
“Here we go.” I think, as I concentrate and work to keep my focus on the numbers. I’m sweaty and desperate and apparently I say sixteen twice. More whining from me. But I know what I have to do.
Eighteen…. Oh my god I’m nearly there
Nineteen…. a flicker of doubt: will I actually be able to do this?
Twenty…. “Now cum for me Ruby.”
The. Best. Orgasm. Ever.