House Rules
"Now," she says, shifting slightly, "the last part."
"I need a full release to finish the session properly," she says. "Massage the pussy. Focus on the clit."
You stare at her.
"That's... I mean... doesn't that fall under sexual intercourse? Because the contract specifically..."
"Is there going to be any penetration?" she asks.
"Well, no, but..."
"Then it's not sexual intercourse," she says simply. "It's a massage. You're using your hands. It's therapeutic."
"I don't think that's how Charlotte would define..."
"Charlotte defines sexual intercourse as penetration of a cock in a vagina. It's in the contract, page four, paragraph two." She says, mimicking Charlotte's voice. "I know her"
You have no arguments left. Partly because her logic is technically airtight, and partly because after the day you've had your brain stopped producing coherent objections somewhere around Charlotte's bathroom.
You do as you're told.
She comes with her back arched and a moan that fills the entire room, low and long and completely unself-conscious, and every single sound goes through you like a current.
When it's over she lies still for a moment, breathing slowly, completely relaxed. Satisfied. Exactly what she came for.
After the heat of the moment you become aware of a specific uncomfortable sensation. You look down.
There is a visible wet spot on your jeans. Not small. After hours of relentless arousal your body has made its opinion known... precum soaking through your underwear all the way to your jeans. No release. Just evidence.