Under Poppie’s Watchful Gaze
As I read through Poppie’s New Year’s Eve gooning instructions, I couldn’t help but salivate at the thought of pleasuring myself under her watchful, hungry gaze. The promise of having my cock slick with precum, throbbing in time with each stroke, and the tantalizing possibility of her touching herself to my desperate jerking sent shivers down my spine.
I stripped naked, standing proudly before the mirror as I wrapped my hand around the base of my shaft. Following Poppie’s guidance, I began with light, teasing strokes, barely grazing the sensitive skin. The room filled with the erotic symphony of my breathy moans and the soft slap of my hand against my cock.
As she watched, her own eyes glazed with lust, I started to twist my wrist, increasing the pace and pressure. The blood rushed to my already-hardening member, making it twitch and strain against my grip. “Yes, that’s it,” Poppie cooed. “Such a good boy for me.”
Encouraged by her praise, I picked up speed, fist pumping my cock with renewed vigor. Sweat beaded on my brow, my breath ragged, the thrill of exposure only deepening her control over me.
“Mhh, you’re doing so well, baby… keep going.”
My balls ached as my strokes grew frenzied. I hovered on the edge, desperate, needy, completely hers.
Her fingers teased the head of my cock. “Don’t you dare cum yet. Not until I say so.”
Midnight struck — the new year beginning with me still aching, still stroking, still under her sensual control.