Her hand movements were controlled.
It was deliberate in a way that felt almost cruel.
They teased without mercy, slow enough to make every second stretch, yet steady enough that she never truly stopped.
It was intentional and calculated, like she knew exactly how close to the edge she could keep me without letting me fall over it.
After a while, she finally wrapped her hand fully around my shaft.
The moment her fingers closed in, my breath caught. She began moving it up and down, not rushed, and not hesitant either.
Her grip was confident but gentle, firm enough to be felt but soft enough to drive me insane.
It was the kind of touch that told me she wasn't guessing anymore. She knew.
"So?" she asked quietly, her voice low and playful. "How is it? Are my hands making you want to shoot out that white stuff?"
The way she said it sent a shiver through me.
Her hand didn't keep still for long.
