#handplay

I've been really enamoured for quite some time of the idea of being teased far beyond my limits but not having the permission (or capability, if bondage is involved) to touch either myself or the other. They can still touch me, though, running their fingers through my hair, pulling ever so slightly, cupping my cheek, letting their finger trace over my lips but not quite slipping inside, walking down my neck, my shoulders, my chest, my sides, my hips with their fingertips, stopping just before where I want it so badly. My breath is coming in quick, short gasps as they move in close, almost - but not quite - pressing their body against mine. Their hand is on my knee, sliding up my thigh agonisingly slowly, getting so close before turning away at the last possible instant to wander over my hip, all while whispering in my ear how good it feels but also how I'm not allowed to touch, not yet, not until they say so. They continue the teasing for as long as they can draw it out, fully aware that I'm quickly becoming lust-crazed, unable to think about anything other than them. Then, finally, when they give permission with a single whisper, any semblance of my sanity disappears; I slam my body into theirs, practically feral, ripping through any clothing they might be wearing, needing more, more of that beautiful touch so badly I can't wait for another instant. They've worked me up into a primal, animalistic craving for touch and now they're getting exactly what they asked for, what they crafted over many long, agonizing minutes of teasing: a creature of pure need.