The mansion was quiet that morning. Sunlight poured through tall windows, glinting off polished floors, illuminating every corner of the empty hallways. I had barely slept, my mind still burning with the memory of Laura—the spar, her curves, the way she told me she wasn't wearing underwear. Every sway of her hips, every bounce of her ass, every flex of those thick thighs had been seared into my thoughts overnight.
She appeared at the far end of the hall, moving with the same lethal grace I'd seen yesterday. Jeans tight against her thighs, ass firm and curving perfectly beneath them. She paused, tilting her head slightly, evaluating me as though daring me to look, daring me to feel.
"You look tense this morning," she said flatly, voice calm, almost bored. "Careful… you might snap."
I swallowed, pulse spiking. "I… I'm fine," I mumbled, but my eyes followed her every step, every sway of her hips, every flex of her ass.
I tried to pass by her, pretending to be casual, but every step she took was a torment. Hips swaying, ass flexing, thighs thick and solid—it was all I could think about. When she passed by, she let her ass brush deliberately against my crotch, slow enough that it burned, teasing, but stoic, giving nothing away.
"Hmm. So attentive," she murmured, tilting her head slightly as she glanced back. "Careful, or you'll ruin your morning before it starts."
Her subtle physical teasing continued throughout the morning. Leaning over the counter in the kitchen to grab a bottle, thighs pressing against my legs. Walking past me in the training room, hips grinding ever so slightly against my own. Every movement was calculated, deliberate, and tormenting. My hands itched to reach out, to cup her ass, to press against the firm muscles of her thighs.
Finally, alone in the training room, the quiet became unbearable. I could feel my body trembling with need. My eyes roamed over her—ass tight, thighs solid, hips swaying—and I realized I couldn't wait any longer. I stepped closer, hands brushing along her hips, and before I could think, I pressed my pelvis against her.
She froze for the barest moment, stoic, unreadable. Then, subtly, she shifted, tilting her hips just enough to let the pressure sink in. My groin pressed against her ass and thighs, heat coiling in my gut, pulse spiking.
"You're getting bold," she said softly, voice flat but amused. "Careful, you might enjoy this too much."
I ground against her slowly, desperate, pressing my hands over her ass, sliding them along the firm curve, feeling her thighs tighten under my touch. Her body responded minimally—just a tilt here, a flex there—but it was enough to send me spiraling, desperate, consumed.
"Hmm… you really like this, don't you?" she murmured, stoic tone unchanging, but her slight lean and tilt made the teasing clear.
Every movement, every sway, every brush of her hips against mine was torture. I could feel her warmth, the perfect tension of her muscles, and it was overwhelming. My hands gripped her hips, sliding lightly along the denim, imagining what lay beneath. Every subtle flex of her ass and thighs sent shivers down my spine.
I groaned, pressed harder, lost entirely in the friction, imagining her bare, imagining her responding under my hands. Heat coiled through my body, muscles taut, pulse racing. I was trembling, consumed, utterly obsessed with her.
My hips moved faster, desperate for release, grinding harder against her ass. My body was on fire, hands clutching her hips, imagining her soft warmth under my touch. The ache in my groin was unbearable. I was so close.
Then she stepped away, just a few deliberate steps, hips swaying, ass flexing, thighs tight. Stoic, unreadable, in full control.
"Not yet," she said casually, almost whispering, as she turned and walked away. My chest tightened, groin pulsing violently, desperate, frustrated. I stumbled slightly, hands reaching out instinctively, but she was gone, leaving me flush, trembling, obsessed, and desperate.
Alone, I sank to the floor, back against the wall, knees bent, hands slick, pulse hammering. Every sway, every flex, every brush of her body replayed in my mind. The fantasy consumed me as I let my imagination take over completely—grinding, pressing, feeling her curves—but it wasn't enough. She had walked away, and I was left burning, obsessed, and unsatisfied.
Even spent, I couldn't stop thinking about her—the sway, the bounce, the thick, perfect thighs, the ass pressing, grinding, teasing. I was obsessed, desperate, and wholly consumed by her. And I knew this morning had only made it worse.