The art of dry ejaculation

Twenty minutes later I was close to fucking coming and still, Vincent wanted me to do something else, after prepping me and pouring an insanely large amount of oil in my hole, he still looked ready to do just more.

His fingers wrapped firmly around my upper arm. “Come.” Vincent

physically walked me over to the chair. “Sit,” he commanded. I sat—and started leaking. Son of a bitch. How much oil did he fill

me with? I shifted awkwardly. Thank God the chair was leather

because I was pretty fucking sure that oil stained.

Vincent gave me a look that said, “stay fucking put,” then turned and

walked over to his worktable. He picked something up. I couldn’t see

what. Looked like some kind of small hand tool. But what would he need a

friggin’ tool for? Legs closed, cheeks clenched to slow the flow, I

gripped my boner and anxiously stroked. Freaking hell, he needed to come

so fucking bad, he headed back over and set the thing down, then motioned to My

cock. “No. That’s mine.”

Good God, why the hell did my stomach just flip? I should want

ownership of my own fucking dick. And yet, just the thought of Vincent

claiming it as his made my blood pump hotter than ever. He released my cock.

“How do you want me this time?”

“Hands behind the chair.”

I sat up straight and wound my arms around my back. Vincent promptly tied my wrist to the chair, not that it could hold me anyway, if I really tried. Two limbs officially out of commission. Vincent stood and sat down in his own leather chair, turning to face me directly. He wheeled his seat closer till our knees touched. Even through Vincent's jeans, I still felt the tingles. The tingles of physical contact with my mate.

Vincent tapped my knee, snapping me from my thoughts. “Okay, ko.

Now drape your legs over the armrests.”

I eyed the padded supports on either side of my chair, not happy

about exposing my leaky ass. Up went one leg, and then the other. Cool air

kissed me right where it counted.

“Good,” Vincent murmured, his hot gaze roaming. Along my spread

thighs, over my junk, till finally he noticed my mess. He smirked a

little, but that was it, his thoughts seeming pretty involved elsewhere.

“Hmm.” He leaned in and gripped my hips, then tugged my ass right to

the edge.

I stiffened. Aw, shit, even more exposed. Vincent diabolical of giving me a cure was unfolding.

Vincent grinned and rubbed my mouth. “Yeeaaah... Just like that.”

“If you say so.” I could feel the heat climbing up my neck. My hardon, however, stayed nice and stiff. Because, yeah, this setup was kind of embarrassing, but it was also, well, kinkier than shit. Which I loved

because this was sort of like a sub and Dom relationship, and I loved it so much.

I shifted against the back of my chair. Now that my torso was

halfway down the seat, my underarms were propped atop the armrests. Not uncomfortable, per se, just that much more restricting.

Vincent eyed my legs where they draped over said supports. “Hmm.

Yeah, I definitely need to tie those down.” He pulled another drawer open

and fished out some duct tape.

My eyes flared wide. His mouth dropped open next. “Duct tape?”