Five Minutes to Desire

The rain hammered against the windows of my penthouse apartment, a relentless rhythm mirroring the insistent throb in my groin. Three days. Three long, agonizing days since our last encounter. The thought alone sent shivers of anticipation through me, a primal urge demanding immediate satisfaction. I’d been juggling work deadlines and personal errands, meticulously avoiding the inevitable, but the dam had finally broken. The scent of her perfume, lingering faintly on my pillow, was a cruel reminder of my mounting frustration.

I glanced at the clock – 11:47 PM. Just a few more minutes to finish up this report, then it was time. I typed furiously, the glow of the monitor reflecting in my sweat-slicked palms, pushing myself to meet the impossible demands of my boss. Each keystroke felt like a betrayal, a postponement of the inevitable pleasure that awaited me. "Just five more minutes," I muttered under my breath, my voice raw with suppressed desire. It was my signal, a silent plea for her attention, a desperate declaration that I craved her touch. "I’ll be done in five minutes," I finally said, the words tasting like honey and regret. "Stay awake for me."

The moment the last line of code was saved, I ripped off my shirt, the cool cotton clinging to my skin as I practically sprinted towards the bedroom. She was already there, sprawled languidly on the plush velvet couch, her eyes closed, her breathing slow and even. The sight of her, so utterly relaxed and vulnerable, sent a fresh wave of heat through me. I stripped off my pants, laying them neatly on the bed, and approached her cautiously, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Took you long enough,” she murmured, her voice husky with sleepiness, but laced with a knowing amusement. Her lips parted slightly, revealing a flash of pink tongue. It was an invitation, a silent challenge, and I couldn’t resist. I reached out, my hand tracing the curve of her jawline, my fingers lingering on the soft swell of her breasts. Her skin was warm and supple beneath my touch, a tantalizing contrast to the cool air in the room.

I leaned in, pulling her closer, my lips meeting hers in a slow, deliberate kiss. It started gentle, a tentative exploration, but quickly escalated into something deeper, more urgent. Her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling me closer still, while my hands descended, devouring the delicate skin of her neck and the generous curves of her breast. The world narrowed to the sensation of her breath on my face, the heat of her body against mine, and the overwhelming desire that consumed me.

As the intensity grew, she shifted, sliding down the couch and onto the bed beside me. Her movements were slow and deliberate, savoring each moment, each touch. With a graceful sweep of her hand, she positioned herself above me, her hips arching slightly as she lowered herself to my level. Her gaze met mine, a silent acknowledgment of my desire, a shared understanding of our mutual pleasure.

Without a word, she began to explore me, her fingers tracing the lines of my chest, her nails digging playfully into my skin. The touch ignited a fire within me, a burning need that demanded release. Her hands moved lower, sliding down my stomach, her touch both gentle and insistent. She paused, her fingers lingering on my nipples, teasing them before moving on to the head of my cock. It was a slow, sensual exploration, designed to build anticipation, to heighten my senses.

Her lips danced around the head of my member, her breath hot against my skin. The rhythm of her kisses was slow and deliberate, each touch a tiny spark that ignited a larger flame. My breathing became ragged, my heart pounding in my chest, as I struggled to contain my mounting pleasure. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

Finally, she slid down, her hand plunging into the depths of my member. The sensation was exquisite, a searing pleasure that sent shivers through my body. She began to stroke me with deliberate, confident movements, her fingers tracing the length of my shaft, teasing my muscles, building the tension until it reached its breaking point. Her touch was both rough and gentle, demanding yet playful.

As I grew harder, wetter, she shifted her grip, pulling me closer, her body pressing against mine. Her arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against her, while her legs wrapped around my ankles, trapping me in her embrace. The heat intensified, the pleasure becoming overwhelming. My muscles tensed, my body arching in response to her touch. I could feel myself losing control, succumbing to the primal urge that had been building within me for days.

Just as I was about to explode, she stopped, pulling away slightly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She lifted her hand, slowly stroking my shaft, drawing out the pleasure with a masterful touch. Her fingers danced over my head, teasing my nerves, prolonging the anticipation. The rhythm was hypnotic, drawing me deeper into the vortex of pleasure.

Finally, the pressure became too much to bear. With a guttural groan, I erupted, a torrent of semen flooding out into my trousers. The release was immediate, overwhelming, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that washed over me. I lay there, spent and breathless, my body trembling with the aftershocks of the orgasm.

She watched with a look of pure satisfaction, her eyes filled with admiration. She slid up, gently wiping away the excess fluid with the palm of her hand. Her touch was tender, comforting, as if reassuring me that this was all part of her pleasure as well.

She continued to stroke me, her fingers moving slowly and deliberately, milking out the last remnants of pleasure from my body. The sensation was exquisite, a lingering warmth that spread throughout my muscles, leaving me weak and vulnerable.

After a few more minutes, she moved up, nuzzling her face into my chest, her breath warm against my skin. She pulled me closer, holding me tightly in her arms, savoring the moment of shared intimacy.

Finally, she rose to her feet, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She moved towards the bathroom, disappearing behind the closed door, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my lingering desire.

As I lay there, listening to the rain continue its relentless assault on the windows, I realized that this night, despite its challenging beginning, had been an undeniable triumph. My three-day wait had been worth it, the anticipation had been a delicious torture, and the release had been magnificent. And the best part? Knowing that she was taking care of my needs, fulfilling my desires, leaving me breathless and longing for her touch. It was a perfect storm of lust, desire, and exquisite pleasure, a testament to the strength and depth of our connection. As I drifted off to sleep, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air, I knew that I would never tire of her touch, her love, her devotion. She was, without a doubt, the perfect woman, and I was the luckiest man alive.

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