I have a lovely weekend planned. For myself, anyway. I'll be sipping sangria and enjoying the slow swish of the fan drifting over my skin. There's something a little colonial about lazing around, relaxing and staying cool while he's slaving away for me, laboring until the sweat pops on his brow and he's panting like a dog.
This weekend is going to be a forced masturbation marathon for a certain nervous man of my acquaintance. I've given him a very demanding (some would even say oppressive) meat-beating and cum-milking schedule. There will be hours upon hours of stroking, rubbing, slapping and squeezing it. Sometimes he'll be diddling his dick even when it's soft, laid low from a fresh orgasm. Of course, a limp dick is never a good thing so there will have to be consequences for going too long without a woody. Those will be a surprise.
I'll set the tempo and adjust it on a whim, laughing and snapping my fingers when it's time to pick up the pace or soothing him like a baby when his whacking gets too fevered.
He has a special bowl all picked out. Call it a chalice of cum-milking champions. Every drop of his sticky juice will be milked right into that bad boy. Maybe at the end of the weekend, if he's done a very good job, it will be poured over his head, champagne-at-the-Superbowl style and he can celebrate, exhausted but proud of a job well-done.
Awww. Are you a wee bit jealous?
Okay, we can get started training you, too.
~ Layla (866) 992-3258 ~
