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Let me edge you. Fully clothed. It doesn’t matter, you chose the ensemble after all. Let me touch you through your pants, feeling how hard I know I make you, bringing you right to the brink of expelling every last ounce of that infatuation down your inner thigh.

Let me edge you. In my expensive lingerie. Black lace stage curtains against a pallid backdrop. Sheer stockings and ridiculous heels. Beautifully objectified. The embodiment of teenage angst in a coupling of adulthood, grinding inappropriately through our underwear. Short blonde locks a tangle in one fist, trim physique a crutch for the other.

Let me edge you. Naked. On your lap, my hands wrapped around you, top to bottom, covering every single inch with precision until you’re dimly aware that you’re about to erupt. Your balls heavy with cum, tiny beads of fluid seeping from the tip of your fully erect cock that is throbbing in anticipation of my lips around it.

Your body a god before me, and I your dutiful servant. Pleasure from obedience. Getting everything I want, a goddess of exploitation. Practiced good girl manipulation.

Let me edge you.

NSFW: yes

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