She continued the rhythm with her right hand, but her left hand, the one cupping my balls, began a new form of exquisite torture. Her thumb started tracing the delicate, sensitive seam beneath my shaft, a light, teasing pressure that made my hips instinctively buck.
"You like that, big boy?" she whispered, the question muffled as her face moved close to my hardness. The warm, strawberry-scented air of her breath brushed the head of my cock, sending an electric shiver through me.
She took her right hand away for a moment and leaned in, not to kiss, but to press her oiled, fragrant breast against the tip of my erection. The sudden, smooth friction of her skin against mine made me gasp.
"So hot, so hard," she murmured, using her fingers to lightly brush the sensitive ridge of the head, never quite grasping it again. Her eyes held mine, teasing, challenging, utterly dominant. She was drawing this out, savoring the control she had over my mounting urgency.
