You don't get to fuck me anymore, and that's okay with you. You prefer getting to watch, following with your gaze with rapt attention, eyes wide while I'm with another woman.

You reach down and touch yourself, forgetting the metal band covering your slit until your fingernails tap against it. You look down as you feel nothing through the steel, saliva spilling absentmindedly from your mouth, held open by the metal jennings gag I put there for when I need to clean my cock. Suddenly you startle and look back up, hoping you didn't miss anything particularly tantalizing.

You rock your hips, mimicking my lover's motions, arching when she arches, bouncing when she bounces, saliva dripping down your chin again as you shake.

She cums on my cock again and you whimper, and suddenly we remember you're there. My lover looks at you and laughs, riding me harder and faster. I laugh with her and slap her ass. You jump a little, so desperately remembering the sensation I've denied you for so long.

You keep moving, changing position as we do in your little corner of the room on the floor, always imagining it's you in her place. You're so practiced at it by now that if you concentrate hard enough and mimic her well enough, you can bring yourself to orgasm, though the effort it takes usually limits you to one on nights like this.

The only sex you have now is imaginary, but by God are you getting good at it.