Can You Make It To The End Edging Handjob

The petite redhead sashays into view, her green eyes sparkling mischievously behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses. Her milky skin is clad in a lacy babydoll that barely contains her pert breasts, the sheer fabric leaving little to the imagination. She perches on the edge of the bed, crossing her long, shapely legs.

“Hey boys,” she purrs, “want to play a little game?” Her full, pink lips curve into a coy smile, begging you to accept her challenge.

The camera zooms in on her delicate hands as she gestures to the straining bulge in your pants. “Let’s see if you can last,” she says, voice dripping with seduction. “Can you make it to the end of this edging handjob?”

She beckons for you to approach, patting the space beside her. As you comply, she begins to stroke your hard length through the fabric, her touch feather-light. Her eyes never leave yours as she works, gauging your reactions.

“Shhh,” she whispers conspiratorially, “try not to make a sound. Let’s see how long you can hold out for me, stud.”

When she’s satisfied with the size of your aching erection, she frees it from the confines of your pants. She takes a moment to admire the plump head glistening with precum, then wraps her soft hand around your shaft.

Starting at the base, she slowly glides upward, feeling the pulse of your heartbeat as she passes over each throbbing vein. At the tip, she circles her thumb around the sensitive crown, smearing the pearly drops that bead there. All the while, her other hand caresses your heavy balls, coaxing them to draw up close to your body.

She sets a languid rhythm, pumping your shaft with just the right amount of pressure. The friction and heat of her palm against your bare skin is exquisite, edging you ever closer to the brink. Her greedy eyes watch avidly as you buck try to buck your hips, angles angling to plunge deeper into her grasp.

“Oh no,” she teases, clucking her tongue. She abruptly releases you, leaving you gasping and aching. “Don’t cum yet. We’re just getting started.”

She moves to straddle your leg, the damp patch at the crotch of her panties pressing into your skin. With a slow, sensual roll of her hips, she rubs herself along your thigh while her hands once again find your member. Her delicate fingers tickle the sensitive underside before encircling your turgid flesh and squeezing.

Your vision blurs as she works your rigid cock, her faster strokes combining with the teasing pressure of her pelvic bone against your skin to climb you rapidly toward the edge once more. The musky scent of her arousal fills your nose, making your head swim.

She must sense your growing tension, because she lightens her touch again, breaking the rhythm just as you’re about to erupt. Her coos of encouragement become breathy sighs as she leans in close, her breasts jiggling with each twist of her wrist. Her glassy gaze remains locked with yours, daring you to surrender to bliss.

When she finally decides you’ve had enough teasing, she releases you once more. This time, though, her hands travel up, leaving a trail of tingling skin in their wake. She cups your face, her lips a hair’s breadth from brushing yours.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” she praises, her sweet breath caressing your lips. “Just a little while longer now…”

Her pert nipples graze your bare chest as she nestles against you, the satin of her panties the only barrier between your straining manhood and her dewy folds. She grinds softly, painting herself with your copious slickness.

Pleasure coils tighter in your core at this new stimulation, your balls drawing up to detonate at any moment. You writhe beneath her, fingers scrabbling at the sheets for purchase. Obedience is the only thread of control that keeps you from thrusting into her warm, welcoming body.

“Almost…” she breathes, her fingertips dancing up your chest. “Don’t give up now, stud. You’ve almost made it to the end.”

Dizzy from lack of blood flow to your head and starved for oxygen from weeks of holding your breath, you can barely process her soothing words as she once more envelops you in the liquid heat of her hand. Your eyes roll back as she picks up the pace, squeezing and twisting. The wet glide, the pretty cords of her forearms flexing – it’s all too much.

“Cum for me,” she whispers. “Now.”

Your spine snaps straight as heat explodes out of you and into her; eight weeks’ worth of pent up release sprays from your cock like a geyser to paint her Precum with thick, virile ropes. Through it all, her fingers never stop, wringing out every last shudder and aftershock, every pleasure pilot. She milks you dry.

Finally, blessedly, she releases you. You flop back onto the bed like a rag doll, a ragged moan escaping your raw throat. You’re vaguely aware of her shifting off your leg, re lacked you a lazy smile as she brings her sticky shame to suck her lips.

You know that you’re going to be sore tomorrow, but the ache in your balls is so worth it. You did it – you made it to the end of her edging handjob, and the rapture of your release was worth the month of teasing measured it took to get there.

You fall asleep stroking her haj loved hair, her sharp you snuggling trust you against her soft throat. As you drift off to the sounds of her satisfied purns, you reflect that this wasn’t the end – you get to experience this euphoria again and again, for as long as you both can take it. You have a feeling this is the beginning of a glorious cycle of denial and distraction, and you couldn’t be happier to be re this redhead’s willing pet.