The waning hours

Marina granted me control of her pussy for about 48 hours. I would decide when she touched herself, whether she came. I would extract photographic and video prizes from her, and, in exchange, I would direct her pleasure, in hopes of getting us both off.

She had a date with A, a (friend with benefits? fuck buddy?) looming. Initially, I thought there was a 12-hour gap between the end of my direction and the arrival of A. I was envious of him: he was going to get to plunder the body I had so richly prepared for sex. And jealous: I fear, with Marina, as with every woman ever anywhere, that I’m about to lose her to someone, something, she finds more compelling than she finds me.

I’m not telling you here, now, about the delicious 48 hours. Here, I’m telling you about a bonus few hours I got. I had thought her date with A began a full 36 hours before it did. And, generously, Marina granted me further influence over the remaining window.

Here is just a little glimpse of how I put those hours, how I put Marina, to use for me:

I asked for control of some of her time. She demurred, having given me so much over the previous couple of days, and asked, instead, for me to tell her what I might have her do with her time for me. As I walked down the street, dodging coronaviruses, I wrote:

  1. I would like to see you dancing, doing a strip tease for me, in the closest thing to professional attire you own. You are my secretary. And when you’re down to your panties, please edge for me. But touch yourself throughout.
  2. I would like to see your bathing suits. To see you change into and out of them. And again, to touch yourself throughout. And, to come in the last one, whichever you feel sexiest wearing.

These, it turned out, were excellent assignments. (I’m a very good assignment-giver.)

Our timing was off. Marina was engaging with her tasks just as I was receding for the evening, so it wasn’t quite as back-and-forth, synchronous, reciprocal, a set of projects as it might have been. And yet: SO fucking hot.

Marina chose to execute the second task first. The first, she told me, felt strange to do so early in her day. But, just to fuck with me, the first two shots she sent had nothing to do with a bathing suit, but were, instead, her shapely, short, leg in a thigh-high stocking. Just the thigh, and then, both thighs, wide open, in those thigh highs, her cunt just covered by a shirt. Yum.

Then, immediately after, the bathing suit photos started flooding my inbox. The order in which I describe him here may not be chronological because of the vagaries of how I write. But. Here is just a tiny bit of what I saw:

A yellow, blue, green bikini, in which she sat, cross-legged, her cunt tantalizingly out of view, but her breasts and cleavage featured prominently. And then, a front view of her in that suit, all cleavage, and cunt. Though her thighs were closed. (Note to readers, and a reminder to Marina: I love seeing your cunt with your thighs closed. BUT. PLEASE. If ever you choose to give me the gift of your cunt with your thighs closed, please, please, immediately follow it with the gift of your thighs open for me. Thank you.) Next, she partially complied with the point I just made: standing, one leg on her bed, the other on the floor, her legs open. But the focus was clearly, again, on her cleavage, and not her thighs/cunt. Which, if I were there to direct, or had been available in real time to direct, I would have had be her next shot. No worries though. My cock is hard. And the next shot did, in fact, focus on her ass, with the back of her thighs and cunt visible. So really, who am I to complain.

A pink bikini top, with blue/green/pink bottom – first, standing, the focus square on her B-cup breasts, squeezed tight into what looks to be an A-cup bikini. Next, a side view, her ass, thigh visible, as she cups a breast. Third, a close-up of her pretty face, eyes closed, angled down, and the cleavage the tight bikini forces her breasts into. And finally, a close-up of her round ass, thighs parted, with the bikini off and a nipple just barely visible.

And on, and on, and on. At the end of it, Marina’s closet had been laid bare, and my cock ached. Damn. That woman has a lot of bikinis.

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