Two Weeks

He'd been edging for more than a week. I told him that he couldn't come until we connected on the phone so I could hear his orgasm, and orchestrate it. I didn't tell him about the 'orchestrate' part, but I'm sure he assumed it.

His instructions this time were to edge for me for 15 minutes every day, and report in when he was finished. His report was to consist of one sentence about something good. Anything good. Not just how amazing it felt to stroke his eager, heavy cock and feel the virtual but very powerful reins I had on his orgasms, just anything good. He had fun with alliteration, run-on sentences and ellipses, because he's intelligent and has push back - my favorite kind of man.

The amount and intensity of his work caused him to miss completing his task a couple of times, but he doubled up the next day and did 30 minutes. Because this man loves to follow directions, and he loves to edge. Especially for me.

We kept missing each other's phone calls. He's a busy man. I have a lot going on, too. He would find a slice of time and call me, right when I was in the shower or didn't have my phone next to me. Twice I was in a public situation not at all conducive to the type of conversation I wanted to have with him.

So another entire week went by, making it two weeks since he'd been allowed to come. He told me his sleep was restless.

The last time I missed his call, the message he left was short, and his voice sounded tight. He is usually pretty brief with his phone messages, but this time I detected a slight tortured quality. Or perhaps I imagined it...because I enjoy thinking about his willingness to go through a bit of torture for me.

"Hey there. Just thought I'd call and say if I can get that permission? Uh...yes. So I guess I'll talk with you later. Okay, bye."

Only 14 seconds of message, but the need was unmistakable.

Then a text the next day...
How's your morning going? May your boy toy have permission, please?

I texted back...
Call me, I want to hear you come.

After several minutes of no response, I dialed him. He's on the east coast while I am on the west, and we have discovered that texts are neither reliable nor immediate.

He picked up. Yes, he wanted to come. Yes, he was in a place to enjoy that. I told him to take his cock out and start stroking it slowly. We began to discuss what we wanted to do with each other the next time we were together, but it was more like a replay of our favorite moments from the last time we enjoyed each other's company. There was talk of restraints, rope, flogging and of course, fucking.

When I mentioned my hands around his throat, that was the point at which his voice rose about an octave, almost to a whimper. I told him to take his other hand, grab his balls and pull them down. The groans that came out of him when he complied were like an auditory crème brûlée for me. So delicious.

I gave him permission to come. He started stroking in earnest, and became louder, building up to the exact crescendo I wanted to hear.

Then the phone went dead.

What fucked up timing is that? I thought. Like bringing the spoon of crème brûlée right up to my mouth, close enough to smell the warm toasted sugar and the vanilla creaminess...and then snatching it away. Fuck!

I was fairly sure I'd just missed him come, but there was nothing to be done about it but wait for him to call back.

The moment the tune began to play, I swiped the phone and answered.


"MA'AM!! I didn't come yet! I didn't come! May I come?! Please, may I come?!" He sounded boyish, pleading and definitely tortured. Fucking hot.

"Yes! What a good boy you are, waiting for me! Come for me now." Then I painted a scene for him.

"You are on your knees with your hands tied behind your back and your cock is inside me, fucking me. My hands are on your throat, squeezing..." Over the edge he went.

I love hearing this man let go. There is a purity and abandon to the noises he makes that fascinate me, thrill me and make me wet. It's so god damn, over-the-top, incredibly fucking yummy. He yelled and roared with every breath. I marveled at how long his orgasm seemed to last.

The experience left him in an altered state. Dry mouth and lips. Difficulty forming words. Quiet. Floating. I wished I was there with him to wrap him in my arms and hold him while he fell asleep. He thanked me for taking him to other worlds.

Then this world reclaimed his attention. I heard his phone ring.

"I have to get this, babe. Sorry! I have to go." Business call. Though it felt abrupt, it wasn't entirely unexpected. I was grateful that the timing of that call hadn't been 5 minutes earlier.

After we hung up, I imagined what he must have looked like, cock swollen and aching with need, whimpering as he followed my directions, and it didn't take long for my fingers to bring me my own orgasm.

He sent me a text later, naming the abruptness and apologizing.
Sorry I had to take that you...! I feel amazing!

I smiled and sent a text back.
I understand. Glad you feel amazing. You were such a good boy that you've got 3 free days to do whatever you'd like with that beautiful cock of yours. And by the way, I have the warm fuzzies. 😉

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