It's been a very dry year for My boy, and that's exactly how it should be. He now has another eight days of denial under his belt, and I'm working toward double-digit misery ... that magical 14-day mark where it tips from sexy-scary to scary-scary when he realizes: She's never letting me cum. She's never setting me free. She's never letting up.

I sit on his face like I used to years ago, before I started passing him out. The smother starts out first in panties, a tank, and a cardigan. I take it off little by little -- with some help from My boy -- until I'm in nothing but thin green silk panties and a teal longline bra.

I writhe on him front and back, verbally tormenting him with the reminder that he's going to have to wait patiently and then beg ardently for his next KO, while rhythmically raising up and stroking his cock. I move in perfect time, so he's taking a fresh drag of My ass right as he's feeling the downstroke that almost sends him over the edge.

Then a tap ... and a flick ... and not one drop spilt.

Just like old times

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