Permission to cum

Your hand hovers... it waits. Not for habit, for me. You can't stroke without permission anymore. Your cock twitches and your hand just stays there, waiting for a voice it belongs to. My voice. You already know that feeling. That ache. That need to be told exactly what to do by a woman who owns every inch of your pleasure. I don't just tell you when to stroke. I take ownership of every twitch, every throb, every drop that leaks from you while you obey. My rhythm. My rules. Your body answers to me before your mind even catches up. You'll hold it. You'll edge. You'll stop when I say stop and stroke when I say stroke. And you'll thank me for every second of denial. By the time I count you down, you'll be shaking. Dripping. Completely mine. Your thighs trembling, your breath caught in your throat, your entire body begging for a word I haven't said yet. And when I finally say it, when I finally give you permission, every single drop belongs to me.