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We take turns to edge one another all night. No cumming, just tease and denial. One after the other, you then me then you again. It’s hard to know which feels better, the satisfaction of watching you thrash breathlessly beneath me as I gently bring you to the edge and back again, or the sweet torture of feeling my own release just hovering out of my grasp. In both modes, I especially love maintaining eye contact with you.
We’ve made a pact. In the morning, one of us will be allowed to cum. But only one of us, the other is to remain frustrated and denied.
So which one of us will it be? That’s for us to agree on. The rules of the game are that only when we both agree on who gets to cum and who doesn’t, is it allowed to happen. And once that one of us has cum, we go out separate ways, but are allowed to meet again one week later, if we both wish to, with the same rules applying all over again.
And if we can’t agree on who cums? Well, we have until 9am to reach an accord. If we’ve not done so, then the rule is that we separate, both of us achingly frustrated, and never make contact again.
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