I didn’t knock. I never did. The door was unlocked, and I pushed it open like I owned the place. He was in the kitchen, folding laundry, his back to me. The sight of him—his broad shoulders, the way his t-shirt clung to his frame—made my stomach tighten. But I wasn’t here for him. Not yet.“Hey,” I said, dropping my bag by the door. He turned, startled, a pair of socks still in his hands.“Oh, hey. I wasn’t expecting you,” he said, his voice soft, almost nervous. “Clearly,” I replied, kicking off my shoes and pulling my hoodie over my head in one smooth motion. I was wearing nothing underneath but a thin tank top, and I could feel his eyes on me as I walked to the couch. I dropped onto it, legs spread just enough to make him look twice.He stood there, frozen, his gaze flickering between my face and the way my body sank into the cushions. His gray shorts were loose, but not loose enough to hide the way he was already reacting to me. I smirked.“You’re staring,” I said, my voice low, teasing.“I—uh…” he stammered, his cheeks flushing. “Come sit,” I told him, patting the cushion beside me. He hesitated for a moment before walking over, sitting down carefully, like he was afraid to get too close. Good. That’s exactly how I wanted him.I leaned back, letting my legs fall open a little more, my hand slipping under the waistband of my shorts. His breath caught, and I could see the way his body tensed beside me. He was trying not to look, but I wasn’t going to let him off that easy.“Don’t you dare look away,” I said, my voice firm but soft. His eyes snapped back to mine, wide and unsure. I held his gaze as my fingers found their way between my folds, already wet just from the way he was looking at me.I moaned softly, just loud enough for him to hear it. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs, and I could see the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. He was trying so hard to stay still, to keep himself under control, but I could tell he was losing the battle.“Can you see how wet I am?” I whispered, my fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. His eyes dropped to where my hand was hidden under my shorts, and I could see the hunger in them. “Do you know what you’re doing to me without even touching me?”He nodded, swallowing hard. I pulled my shorts down just enough to give him a better view, letting him watch as two of my fingers disappeared inside me. His breath came out in a shaky exhale, and I could see the way his body shifted, like he was fighting the urge to reach out and touch me.“You’re not allowed to touch me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Not yet. Just sit there and watch me fall apart.”I could feel the heat building inside me, my fingers moving faster now, pressing deeper. My other hand reached up to pinch my nipple through the thin fabric of my tank top, and I let out another moan, louder this time. His name slipped from my lips, and I could see the way it affected him, the way his body tensed even more.“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his hands gripping the edge of the couch like he was holding on for dear life. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. The way he was watching me, the way his eyes were glued to every movement of my hand—it was driving me wild. My hips started to move with my fingers, grinding against them as I got closer and closer to the edge.“You’re so close,” he said, his voice rough, strained. I nodded, my breath coming in short gasps now. My fingers moved faster, harder, and I could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside me. And then it broke, crashing over me in waves as I came, my body trembling with the force of it. His name spilled from my lips again and again as I rode out the pleasure, my fingers still working until every last shudder had passed.When I finally opened my eyes, he was still there, still watching me, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. His shorts were tented now, and I could see the way his hands were shaking where they gripped the couch.“Your turn,” I said, my voice husky as I reached for him.

I walked into his unlocked home and found him folding laundry in the kitchen. I sat on the couch and started to touch myself in front of him, making sure he was watching. After I finished, I told him it was his turn.

I didn’t knock. I never did. The door was unlocked, and I pushed it open like I owned the place. He was in the kitchen, folding laundry, his back to me. The sight of him—his broad shoulders, the way his t-shirt clung to his frame—made my stomach tighten. But I wasn’t here for him. Not yet.

“Hey,” I said, dropping my bag by the door. He turned, startled, a pair of socks still in his hands.

“Oh, hey. I wasn’t expecting you,” he said, his voice soft, almost nervous. 

“Clearly,” I replied, kicking off my shoes and pulling my hoodie over my head in one smooth motion. I was wearing nothing underneath but a thin tank top, and I could feel his eyes on me as I walked to the couch. I dropped onto it, legs spread just enough to make him look twice.

He stood there, frozen, his gaze flickering between my face and the way my body sank into the cushions. His gray shorts were loose, but not loose enough to hide the way he was already reacting to me. I smirked.

“You’re staring,” I said, my voice low, teasing.

“I—uh…” he stammered, his cheeks flushing. 

“Come sit,” I told him, patting the cushion beside me. He hesitated for a moment before walking over, sitting down carefully, like he was afraid to get too close. Good. That’s exactly how I wanted him.

I leaned back, letting my legs fall open a little more, my hand slipping under the waistband of my shorts. His breath caught, and I could see the way his body tensed beside me. He was trying not to look, but I wasn’t going to let him off that easy.

“Don’t you dare look away,” I said, my voice firm but soft. His eyes snapped back to mine, wide and unsure. I held his gaze as my fingers found their way between my folds, already wet just from the way he was looking at me.

I moaned softly, just loud enough for him to hear it. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs, and I could see the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. He was trying so hard to stay still, to keep himself under control, but I could tell he was losing the battle.

“Can you see how wet I am?” I whispered, my fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. His eyes dropped to where my hand was hidden under my shorts, and I could see the hunger in them. “Do you know what you’re doing to me without even touching me?”

He nodded, swallowing hard. I pulled my shorts down just enough to give him a better view, letting him watch as two of my fingers disappeared inside me. His breath came out in a shaky exhale, and I could see the way his body shifted, like he was fighting the urge to reach out and touch me.

“You’re not allowed to touch me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Not yet. Just sit there and watch me fall apart.”

I could feel the heat building inside me, my fingers moving faster now, pressing deeper. My other hand reached up to pinch my nipple through the thin fabric of my tank top, and I let out another moan, louder this time. His name slipped from my lips, and I could see the way it affected him, the way his body tensed even more.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his hands gripping the edge of the couch like he was holding on for dear life. 

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. The way he was watching me, the way his eyes were glued to every movement of my hand—it was driving me wild. My hips started to move with my fingers, grinding against them as I got closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re so close,” he said, his voice rough, strained. 

I nodded, my breath coming in short gasps now. My fingers moved faster, harder, and I could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside me. And then it broke, crashing over me in waves as I came, my body trembling with the force of it. His name spilled from my lips again and again as I rode out the pleasure, my fingers still working until every last shudder had passed.

When I finally opened my eyes, he was still there, still watching me, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. His shorts were tented now, and I could see the way his hands were shaking where they gripped the couch.

“Your turn,” I said, my voice husky as I reached for him.

A confident woman takes control of a situation by making a man watch her pleasure herself, exploring themes of gentle femdom and orgasm teasing.

She invites him to sit beside her, then begins to touch herself, commanding him not to look away.

She teases him by denying his touch, instead making him watch her fall apart.

I made him watch while I played with myself on his couch

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