A sweet idea

I thought it was a sweet idea at first, a way to reduce the thousands of miles that separated us, a way to bring us closer. You wanted me to promise not to touch myself until you said so, and I did. At first I thought you would just make me wait until the end of that day or maybe into the next, but you really liked the power, enjoyed the feel of my burning desire.

It was a full week before I first begged. You giggled as you shook your head, aroused by how my longing grew stronger each day, thrilled by how easily you could get me erect. You teased me mercilessly, taunting me with pictures of you wearing nearly nothing and calling me day and night, moaning and panting into the mouthpiece, telling me what you were doing to yourself, letting me hear you come, knowing exactly how wild you were driving me and loving every tantalising second of it.

Eventually you told me how long you intended to keep me waiting, saying something about a birthday treat. I grinned from ear to ear, my birthday was only days away. “Not your birthday, silly,” you giggled wickedly, “mine.”