You drag your thumb smoothly up the face of your smartphone and the waves of vibration get more intense. He lets out a surprised "ngh-!" and claps one hand over his mouth while the other hand flies to his lap. 

"Baby, please--"

"Shh."

You tick the vibration up a notch for just a moment before dragging it alllll the way back down to a low, steady thrum. He gasps as the tension melts away and he collapses into the table, exhausted, fucked-out, edged. He closes his eyes, forcing tears to gather on his eyelashes.

Your own dick twitches at the sight. 

"I'm seriously gonna have an accident," he warns, voice low and strained. It's practically a groan. "I can't hold it much longer."

You both know what he means by "accident." You reach out to hold his hand, which he takes with gratitude and blows out a long breath, trying desperately to ground himself.

"Hold it. You're doing so well, you only have a little longer to go."

"I'm still so fucking close."

Shit. You try not to squirm in your own seat as you nudge his mostly-full, still-hot latte toward him. He doesn't even look, just shakes his head.

"I can't, I gotta focus--"

He draws in more long, trembling gasps and blows them out slowly. You stroke the back of his hand with your thumb. The two of you sit like that for a minute, alone in your quiet corner of the cafe, until he seems to regain control of his body. He wipes his face with a sweater paw, sits up, and takes a sip of his drink.

"Gooood job." 

He gives you a teary, pleading look and speaks with a whine so tiny you can hardly hear what he's saying. "I can't take it anymore."

"You can do it. Just a little longer."

You can tell he disagrees, but what can he do? 

The two of you get to talking about your individual and mutual plans for the weekend; the chores that need doing, the books you're planning to read, the meals you want to share. You wait until you're both finished with your coffee and he's distracted talking about a project to open the app again and push the vibrator back to full power. You catch him mid-sentence. It's so cute, the way his breath hitches. He stammers through the rest of his thought as quickly as he can and clamps his mouth shut. 

You pulse the vibrator up and down, up and down, and his back arches, pressing his ass down into the vinyl cushion of the booth seat like he's hungry for more. He rides the sensation in silence for a minute before his expression changes. You know the look intimately; he's about to cum. You turn the vibrator off but you know you pushed it too far.

"Baby. Now. Now." He's panicked.

You move to stand, to take him to the bathroom, but it's too late.

"I'm g-- I'm--"

He's a good boy and white-knuckles the edge of the table with both hands as he cums untouched. He trembles, bites his lip, and gasps as he looks down helplessly at his lap, watching his hips grind into the seat and his legs twist harder in attempt to give him the friction he needs as his load releases into his boxer briefs, one agonizing spurt at a time. When it's finished, he stills, gaze fixed on his lap.

Oh, the poor thing. You almost give him your sympathy, almost apologize, but god, it's all too hot. You can't help yourself. You decide to push it just a step further.

"What happened, baby?"

His chest heaves and all at once he folds his arms on the table, lets his head in fall into them, and cries.

You move to his side, both so you can comfort him and so you can hide him from view in case anyone walks by. You check over your shoulder to confirm: the barista is busy washing dishes with her back turned to the whole cafe. There's no one else here. No one could possibly see either of you unless they walked all the way to the back of the room, and behind your frame no one would see him or what the two of you were doing until you moved out of the way. It's completely safe. There's no doubt in your mind.

You stroke your boy's back with your fingernails and assess the damage. The wet spot on his jeans is sizable, visible, undeniable. And his cock is still rock-hard and twitching. The ruin provided no relief. 

He's sweating. Heat radiates from him like a furnace.

"What happened, baby?" You whisper.

"I ha-had an accident..."

You coo and pull him to rest his head on your shoulder. "It's okay," you reassure. "You're doing so well. You're so perfect."

"How am I-- how am I-- how are--"

"Shh. Don't worry about that now. Just keep being good for me." It's all you can do to keep yourself from bending him over right here and now, but you manage to contain yourself. Instead, you gently stroke his cock through his pants, and he's immediately moaning a stream of barely-audible begging into your ear. 

"I need it. I need it. Baby please, please, please I need to cum, please--"

"Fuck," you groan, and take one of his hands to guide it to your own crotch. He gets the message and paws at it. 

"Oh god, baby, ohhh god--"

Fuck, he's so desperate. 

Fuck, it's making you desperate.

"Listen." You grit your teeth and speak in a murmur. "I'm gonna take my jacket off and you're-- fuck-- nnh you're gonna put it on, okay? It's long enough to cover your accident. You'll be quiet and wear it just-- hh-- long enough to get back to the car and then you can take it off and be as loud as you fucking want all the way home." 

You grab his thigh, hard, and pull away to look into his eyes. "And then I'm gonna pin you down and make you fucking cum, you hear me?"

"Uh-huh. Uh-huh."

"Let's go."

You both straighten yourselves up and in no time you're a perfectly innocent-looking couple with dirty dishes to drop into the bus bin on your way out of the cafe. The door rings as you open it.

"Thanks for coming in!" The barista calls over her shoulder.

"Later!" You hurry your boy out the door. 

He looks adorable swimming in your jacket. He walks ahead of you, giving you a moment to pull out your phone and tap around on the screen without him knowing. His knees buckle slightly as the vibrator switches back on and his legs cross as he turns to shoot you a look, but you're right there in an instant, turning his shoulder and marching him urgently forward, then opening the passenger door for him and guiding him to sit. His head is thrown back and his eyes are glazed over by the time you have the car started.

"Drive, fuck, get us home," he pants, broken moans finally loud enough to fill the car. 

"I don't care how close you get or how many times you cum, you sit on your hands until we're home. Now."

He obeys. "Drive. Dr-- oh fuck, drive! Aah--!"