“Look how wet this makes you.” A brush. A promise. The sight of his fingers, silky with my arousal. “Stop talking.” “I don’t think I will. In fact, I have an idea.” His hand strokes as though painting art on a canvas. “I’ll send you out on your little dates with my cum dripping between your legs, and I’ll—” It’s almost as though I hear the sound of his hand moving through the air the second before it impacts. “Oh!” “Spank you for deserting me when you get home.”
