POV handjob vs Masturbator. I tease you to your limit!

Oh, you’ve got yourself entangled in quite the tantalizing conundrum, my dear! The age-old question: a sultry ROV (reality office video) handjob or a sleek, high-tech masturbator? Both seem to promise a heavenly climax, but what truly reigns supreme? Let’s dive in and explore the enticing depths of each option, shall we?

You’reTipToeing down the hallway, slyly snaking your way into the conference room. Inside, Waiting isYour Crush, sitting at the head of the vast mahogany table, looking dashing yet preoccupied. You lock eyes, sharing a knowing glance as you tiptoe over to him.

“Lock the door,” he whispers huskily. As you obliging turn the wisp to the right, the click is as loud as thunder in the silence. You walk towards him, your hips swaying with each deliberate step. Reaching out, you trace a teasing finger along his jawline and he closes his eyes, taken by your tender touch.

Slowly, sensually, you sink to your knees between his thighs. Your deft fingers begin to work at his belt, the unbuckling of which echoes like a drawn-out moan. With a swift tug, his trousers pool around his ankles. His excitement is apparent, straining against his boxers. You hook your fingers into the elastic, looking up at him, seeking permission. At his slight nod, you yank them down, freeing his manhood at last.
You gaze at his impressive endowment, licking your lips in anticipation. Wrapping your fingers around his throbbing shaft, you begin to stroke, your movements slow and tantalizing. He groans, a deep guttural sound, his hips bucking up into your skilled hand. You quicken your pace, your fist tightening around him as you pump up and down his full length. His breathing grows ragged and you know he’s close.

“What do you want?” you purr, releasing him from your grasp.
“Touch me,” he gasps. “Make me cum.”
With a wicked grin, you unleash your magic touch, one hand gliding along his shaft while the other gently tugs at his balls. His back arches off the chair and a strangled moan escapes his lips. With a few more quick strokes, he reaches his climax, his hot seed spurting forth like a geyser.
As your vision clears, your gaze locks with ours. “My turn,” you breathe.

The unboxing alone is a ceremony. The anticipation dripping, spreading within, as you remove layers upon layers of packaging.

“I think she likes you,” You say, admiring the sleek, black curves of this latest companion to aid your solitude. It feels surprisingly heavy in your trembling hands. You know, on a base level, it’s just a tool. But in this moment, it’s more.

It’s hope, that tonight, the aching emptiness might be filled. That the want might be quenched. That just maybe, by the end of this, you might not have to reach out in the darkness for a touch or warmth that isn’t there.
You take a deep breath, a part of you almost wanting to savour the desperate loneliness. The ratcheting need, the driving want. You’ve never wanted something so much, yet dreaded it equally.

It’s a journey. Not just the electric buildup or the explosive release. But the descent down, the walk of shame, to another empty promise. How much longer, do you wonder if you have left? Before you just… stop?

You line it up. There’s a moment. Where you wonder whether you should. Whether you can. Whether you want to. It’s there, hovering, looking so small and insignificant between your fingers. Yet you know… you know… it will ruin you. Because it always does. Because you always let it.

Bracing yourself, you reach down… inside… and it slides in. …all the way up.

An instant rush of fullness. Of completeness. Of found wholeness. A deep moan rips from your throat and a sob wrenches out of your chest as the long denied needs recognize their sated end. You clench down around the slick, smooth invasion and it couldn’t feel any more like coming home.

Suddenly,You’re Cumming. Clawing at the sheets. Clutching at the toy. Legs spasming and hips bucking as shockwaves rocket up your back. You’re a live wire, surging with electricity, shaking with sensation, unravelling at the seams as you’re torn asunder by the intensity of the surrender. You spend what feels like an eon stuck at the peak, noisy sobs racking your spent body, as the aftershocks rattle through you in long pulses. Exhaustion washes over you and you collapse, the bed welcoming you like a lover as dark oblivion beckons.

The afterglow fades and the clenching realizations start to creep in. The cold hard facts that break through the haze, wishing you to denial and dread.

You couldn’t have really needed that? So badly? To the point of near breaking? What has become of you? Whatever may control you now? That itch, that itch, that you know.. will soon be back.

And the sordid cycle will continue.

After, nothing seems to fill your hands. So empty. So small. And you close your eyes and you pray, please… let this be enough. Let this be enough. Just let this be enough. You want it to be enough…