the specific thing about watching you touch yourself is knowing you’re not going to get there. you know it too. your fingers moving inside your boxers. rubbing your clit in those circles that are almost right but never quite. your hips grinding forward trying to get more friction. trying to find the angle that works. your face doing that thing where you’re concentrating so hard and still coming up empty.
the frustration building. that whine starting low in your throat. your fingers moving faster like speed is going to fix what technique can’t. feeling yourself get wetter and still not getting any closer. your pussy so ready and your fingers just not enough.
until you stop pretending. until you pull your hand out and just look at me. wet fingers and all. the face you make. part defeated. part desperate. part already knowing exactly what you need.
“i can’t.” so small. “i can’t get there. i need you.”
sliding my hand inside your boxers before you’ve finished saying it. two fingers finding your clit immediately. the right pressure. the right circles. feeling you gasp and press into my hand within seconds. feeling how wet you are. how long you’ve been trying.
“i know.” so warm. feeling you clench desperately around nothing as my fingers work. “your fingers never know how to finish it, do they?” watching your face change completely. “only mine do.”