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She won’t.
“I’ll stop right now…just say red.”
Her eyes find mine in our shared reflection. She opens her lips as if she’ll speak, but then she presses them together instead, her pussy squeezing around my fingers as another wave rolls through.
“Have you ever seen such a greedy little whore? How many times are you going to come?”
She stares at herself, wide-eyed, as the pleasure sends her through the spin cycle over and over. I rub her soaking wetness and push my fingers up inside her.
“Oh, god—Jesus!” she cries, knees bending, body twisting away.
I yank her back against my chest, fingers hooked in tight. I pump into her pussy, my palm slapping against her clit. Her little clit has gone erect, and I feel it nudging against my palm, red, swollen, pierced with that thin silver ring…
“You’re not done—you can come harder than that…yes, you can…look at yourself…”
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror instead—hers wide and glinting with tears in her flushed red face. She’s begging, pleading, lips moving silently.
I have no mercy. Not for her, not when I can see what she truly wants.
“Come for me,” I order.
She covers my hand with hers and presses it hard against her clit, her thighs clamping while she turns and looks directly into my eyes. Her whole body convulses, wrapped snake-like around my arm, her legs crossed with my palm gripped tight against her cunt.
She seizes a handful of my hair and kisses me as she comes, her tongue thrusting wet and hot. She’s shaking and clinging to me, moaning into my mouth. She comes and comes, her body wrapped around my arm, clenching, squeezing, pulsing, as each shuddering wave rolls through.
Even after she’s finished, she still twitches with aftershocks. It takes a long time before the trembling completely stops.
I stroke my free hand up and down her back, her face turned against my neck. She won’t look at herself at all now; she’s too embarrassed.
When at last we untangle, I pull my hand out of her pants, wet and marked with red prints from the seams of her jeans. I cup it over my nose, inhaling her scent. Then I grab her and kiss her again so I can taste it with her mouth.
“Who was in control?” I demand, not letting go of the back of her neck so she has to keep looking at me from only an inch away.
Her eyes drop down in shame.
“You were,” she murmurs.
“Did you ask me to stop?”
She shakes her head within the short bounds it can move.
“Did you want me to stop?”
Her eyelashes flutter as she glances up at me, and her heart pounds against my chest.
“No,” she whispers.
“Then who was in control?”
She shakes her head slowly, looking into my eyes. “I—I’m not sure.”
“When I told you to come, did you come because I made you…or because you wanted to?”
“I had no choice,” she gasps.
My leg slips between hers. Even now she can’t stop—she presses against my thigh, letting out a low, urgent moan.
I grip her hair and give her head a little shake.
