Mabel's JOI (Patreon)

Trent was panting now, he was so close. She commanded him so he did it, because what if he didn’t. She could folding him up and crush him like a paper cup. He remembered that phrase from an old life. Still, he was beating, faster when she commanded, slower when she commanded. He’d almost climaxed three times now, but he better not do it before she said so. He sensed that. 

She loomed over him, too close, as if she was smelling or tasting him, intoning the words carefully, clearly enjoying the shape of them, they caressed him. Her toffee and coffee breath swirling around and inside him. He could see every pore and crease, and yes, wrinkle in her skin. The peach fuzz. The flecks of spittle that shot out at him when she made a hard sound. He was so hard. She was made up. Maybe she was going somewhere, maybe it was for him. That didn’t seem likely. 

“… 3, 2, 1… now.”

And he did. He shot up in the air a good foot. It was a relief. He collapsed back into her hand. Tried to stroke it. She was sneering. She enjoyed the power. She carefully but unceremoniously dumped him on the kitchen table and licked her hand, all that cum just a drop to her. Before he could react she placed a large clear mixing bowl over him. Leaning down she kissed the glass, winked, and walked out of the room.