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human dog ashtray

Two scenes taken three years apart

Watching your eyes glass over as I guide your hips to track my knee.

Slow, heavy friction.

Making you grind against me until you’re shivering, until the heat is soaking through your lace,

ruining it.

Holding you right there on the absolute edge.

Your breath is hitching, your body begging to just lean into it and drop.

Then, a sudden, heavy pressure from my hand against your hips, shoving you back and forth just an inch.

"I didn't give you permission."

Watching you try pathetically hard for me. Your chest heaving, desperately trying to swallow down a sob, your whole body trembling when i shoved you away. You dont get to touch me until you beg good enough.

Trimming the distance again just to whisper against your ear, letting you feel the vibration of my voice.

"Look at you. So pathetic when you’re desperate."

Watching the flush spread rapidly across your cheeks, down your neck.

A slow, dark smile before my hand moves back to the scruff of your neck, gripping tighter this time.

Pressing my forehead against your shoulder, not daring to look up until you allow me to.

Feeling your fingers weave tightly into my hair, tilting my head back just enough to force my wet, blurry eyes to meet yours.

I’m already shivering. Soaking through my clothes, ruined just from the weight of your stare.

You guide my hips, making me ride your thigh, forcing me into a rhythm that burns after 3th hour.

Grinding against you until my breath is completely ragged again, my hands trembling where they’re pinned beneath your palms.

Right when I’m about to tip over—right when I’m losing my mind—you freeze. Again. My tears falling. Your hand presses flat and heavy against my hip, stopping my movement entirely.

"Don't move. You didnt deserve yet."

Your voice is so quiet, but it paralyses me.

I go completely still. I know its better to obey you, my chest heaving against yours, desperately trying not to chase your friction. My body is practically weeping for it, begging.

You tilt your head, looking down at me like I’m nothing but an explicit playground.

"Look at the mess you're making," you whisper.

My face burns hot, a deep crimson spreading down my neck. It’s so embarrassing to be seen like this—so completely undone, so pathetic under your gaze. But I can't look away.

Then, you grip my hair just a little tighter, pulling me right back down onto you.