Oh, to have someone humping my thigh, and just when they reach the height of their neediness, when they cling to me even tighter, when they canāt help but wildly rub themselves against me, grinding their hips with such a fervour that I have to grip their waist just to hold them steadily on top of me⦠I tell them not to stop.
āNo, donāt stop love. You feel good, donāt you? Go ahead. Keep on humping. Get out all of your needs until youāre satisfied. And when youāve cum, still donāt stop. Do you understand me? Are you going to be good for me?ā
Given such explicit permission, they wouldnāt be able to withhold themselves. Already so wrapped up in their own pleasure, they wonāt be able to thing clearly as their body shakes into an orgasm. Itās as their chest rises and falls and their sex pulses from the satisfaction that they can yet again feel my grip digging into them, reminding them of my command. Being such a good dear, they would keep up the speed, immediately feeling the overwhelming jolts of pleasure pushing them forward.
Oh, they can whine, cry, beg for me to let them stop, telling me itās too much, too overwhelming, that they canāt handle how it feels, but my hold wonāt loosen. Theyāre stuck there on my thigh until Iām satisfied. It would only be a few moments before that overstimulation was replaced with regular pleasure, so Iād have them do it again. And again. And again. Repeatedly cumming, melting into a mess right in front of me, humping, grinding, and shiveringā Yet they continue. They push themselves to fall apart even further, all because they want to be good. And what could be sweeter than that?

















