I was reminded yesterday how ruined orgasms work.
We’re on vacation. Intense hotel sex, yelling our heads off. The next room pounds on the wall, which sends him into overdrive. The world hears him cum.
He flips me over and starts stroking me like he means it. It’s feels odd being unrestrained. I ask permission to play with my nipples. Granted! I warn him I’m close. He says stop talking.
Still sweaty from the fuck, he grins as I get closer and closer. It’s been weeks. I’m so fucking excited to cum! It’s gonna be massive.
He reads me like a book. At the worst possible moment, he stops. Jerks my hands away from my nipples. Pins my wrists to the bed. Sits on my thighs so I can’t thrust. He’s so much stronger.
A single pathetic ribbon of cum dribbles out. As I writhe and shriek, I feel a blindingly powerful orgasm well up, then slowly slip away. It’s agonizing. Profoundly unfair. For a second, I hate his guts.
When it’s over, he releases me. I’m almost in tears. Never been hornier. Never more humiliated. He leans over, cups my face in his hands, and smiles like a sadist.
“You’re welcome.”
Evil grin.
