“I liked how you took control when you fucked me,” Arya said, “So I dreamed up another game for you. This one is called ‘dial a friend’”.
“How does it work?”
“It’s a simple one and not so realistic, but I think it’ll be fun. I give you a dial. Zero is like this, y’know, normal. 10 is edging, and 11 is coming. You set the dial.”
An illusory dial appeared in the air in front of John, and he mimed reaching out and grabbing it and turning it slightly. It clicked to 1.
“Any other rules?”
“Nope. I can literally orgasm forever. If you like, I can have it be that something is happening to me, like the tentacles again or I could have a vibrator, but I thought it being just sheer, direct arousal would be fun.”
“I agree.” John twisted the dial to 6.
Arya yelped, face red, body twitching, and she fell forward and caught her hands on the back of the couch, pressing her legs together and moaning as a wave of wetness spilled from her parties. “C-cutting r-right to the ch-chase, huh.”
“Oh if this is just six, I can’t wait to see what nine and ten look like.”
Arya nodded encouragingly.
“But not yet.” He brought the dial back down to three and Arya stopped shaking.
“May I touch myself?” she asked.
“No,” John said. “Keep your hands where they are. Better yet, I want to see you in a wingback chair with your hands bound over your head, and your feet bound to the two front feet of the couch so that you’re spread for me, and lets add a funnel set into the seat of the chair and some beakers underneath so I can see just how much you’re leaking.” His own confidence surprised him, but it felt good.
The scene took shape as he spoke, and Arya beamed with pride. “Yes, sir!”
To see her all trussed up like that, a thin stream of wetness already draining into the beaker below the chair, was deeply inspiring.
John settled back against the couch and started stroking himself, and enjoyed the turnabout of keeping Arya waiting.
He figured he’d start off by seeing what each setting looked like, and then he could go from there.
Four got her squirming periodically.
Five drew out lusty sighs and a thicker stream of wetness.
Six returned her to moaning and the waves of wetness that had soaked her panties, which she’d done away with in her transition to the chair. She started to say something but before she could, he ticked to seven, which had her breath heaving and her breasts bouncing, her legs twisting against the bonds, trying to clamp together, to get any stimulation, any anything, to address her desire.
Eight was like a pre-orgasmic wave of pleasure, panting moans that each came with a gush of wetness.
Nine was the awareness of the edge, the peering over, the “I’m gonna… I’m so close… God, I’m so fucking close, I’m gonna… I’m gonna…”
Ten was the edge itself, the precipitous moment of pure bliss, the weightless beginning of the descent. Through magic of the game it could go on indefinitely, Arya’s face a perfect depiction of ahegao, her body still like the calm before the storm.
Eleven was the orgasm, the scream, the rhythmic contractions, the gush after gush of femcum that flowed down into the beakers.
John spun the dial back down to one, now thoroughly warmed up and ready to play the game in earnest.
Arya caught her breath and licked her lips. “Now that you’ve kicked the tires, what do you think?”
John grinned. “I like this one a lot.”
“Thats goo—” he cranked the dial to seven, “—oooooooooh, ah! Hah hah!”
Back down to five. Arya’s breath slowed back down and she dripped steadily. “I can see you’re really enjoying your s—” he set it to eight, “Ssssoooo good, god it feels so good, I can’t take it, please, please I—” to nine, and a wave of relief washed over her. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna… I think… fuck… fuck I’m so close I… I’m gonna…”
Back down to four. “I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Arya said. “Nnngh is this what I do to you?”
John grinned. “Yeah, pretty much.” In fact, it probably was based on what Arya did to him, if he was guessing correctly how her algorithms worked.
He stroked himself casually, his rapt attention to Arya’s desire the only thing keeping him from putting his own self right over the edge.
Arya gave him a wry grin. “I’m gonna regret asking this but… do you have a favorite setting?”
He turned it back up to seven so that she was panting again. “I like the way you pant, here, and the way you drip so much, like you want to be fucked so bad.”
“I DO want to be fucked so bad, or at least touch myself!”
He set it to eight. “And I like here, how you beg.”
“Fuuuuuuuck,” Arya said, “I can’t help it! It’s hah, so, so, ngh, I can’t take it, I need, I n-need release! I w-want to come so bad I— please, let me touch myself! Please! Please, John, please!” She yanked against the restraints, trying to shake them loose but unable to, trying to press her legs together but unable to, trying to grind against the chair for sensation but unable to, begging to come but unable to.
“And I like to watch you come,” John said. Arya’s body twitched violently in anticipation but he didn’t spin the dial. “Not yet. I love them all, but my favorite, my absolute favorite, is this one.”
He set the dial to nine.
“John! John I’m so close! Fuck, I’m gonna fucking… soak your floor… goddamn I just need… hah, fuck, oh! I’m coming… I’m coming… Joooohn I’m gonna, I’m gonna, I, please, I’m gonna… fuck!”
It was an endless stream of pre-orgasmic exclamations strung together and it was driving John into an absolute frothing boil of desire.
Hearing her like that was like twisting to 9 on his own dial. Just before he lost capacity for thought, John came up with an idea of how to finish that was appealing enough that he found his focus.
He reached for the dial again and tipped it slowly through 10 and to 11. “I’m coming I’m coming I— … OH, FUCK, aaaaaaah!” Arya panted and shook and gushed.
John pulled the dial back to 9. “Nnnngh I’m so close! Shit!”
Then back to 11. Then back to 9. “Can you keep doing that on that same rhythm?” John asked.
Arya herself was too busy orgasming to answer, but after a moment the dial tipped back to 9 of its own accord, and then towards 11 again.
Like a metronome of infinite looping orgasm, Arya rode wave after wave of luxuriously slow climax.
John put both hands to himself, one to his shaft and one to his balls, and turned attention to his own pleasure. As Arya teetered he stroked himself, and as she climaxed he stopped to watch the show, and so he managed to last a good bit longer than expected.
Until finally, he couldn’t bring himself to stop stroking when she came, and so his heat built and built and built until the start of what he knew would be the wave that brought him release.
“I’m so close!” Arya said. “I’m gonna—”
“Fuck! Me too!”
“John, I’m coming, I’m—”
They floated together in the peak, the blossoming of heat, and then crashed together into the gushing, moaning, panting, rhythmic, pulsing mess of orgasm.
this time, the dial simply faded out of view as John lay panting on the couch, and Arya lay panting in the chair, hands still bound above her head.
“That’s a… good game…” John said.
“You’re a… good… uh… dial person…” Her eyes were half-lidded, her face drowsy with bliss.
John looked down at the sticky mess he’d made of himself. “Every time I think I’m spent, you get so much more out of me…”
“Thats my specialty,” Arya winked. “Now I gotta go dream about this because… this was really hot.”
Arya faded out of view and John nodded off in a haze, Arya’s cries if ‘I’m coming!’ still ringing pleasantly in his ears.