I loved teasing him, not just with words, but with my body, my touch, and my knowing smiles. I thrived on watching his reactions, the flash of surprise, the undeniable arousal, the moment he surrendered to what I was doing to him. This teasing formed our language, our connection. What excited me most was the physical teasing, watching him struggle between desire and restraint as I pushed him past his limits.

I loved kissing him. I started with light touches, fingertips grazing his arm, lingering with purpose. My whispers carried promises of what might come next. But it was the kisses that truly began our game. Some soft and sweet, others demanding and hungry, each one deliberately designed to stoke his need.

As I kissed him deeply, I could feel his body responding, hardening against me. The knowledge that my kisses alone could make him swell with desire thrilled me. I made sure to press against him as we kissed, letting him know I felt his growing hardness, encouraging it with subtle movements of my body against his.

When our lips finally parted, I looked down. His jeans strained against his obvious erection, and the fabric stretched tight over his hardness. Seeing him so aroused because of me sent a rush of power through my body.

I didn't hesitate. My hand moved directly to his thigh, then deliberately to the bulge in his jeans. I grazed my hand over it, feeling his swollen member beneath the rough denim. The contact made him inhale sharply, his body tensing with anticipation.

I lingered there, my palm pressed against his hardness, feeling it throb beneath my touch. His cock seemed to harden even more as I applied gentle pressure. I couldn't help but smile, knowing exactly what I was doing to him.

He responded immediately, his hips grinding against my hand, seeking more contact, more pressure. Heat radiated through the denim as he moved against my palm, his breath catching with each motion. I felt his outline perfectly, the ridge of his head, and the thick shaft straining against its confinement.

I leaned forward, my lips brushing against his ear. "You feel so hard," I whispered, deliberately keeping my voice innocent while my hand continued its torturous movements. I traced the length of him with my fingertip, feeling him throb in response.

"Jesus," he hissed through clenched teeth, his hands gripping my waist tightly.

But I didn't unzip him. That wasn't my plan. Instead, I continued rubbing through the material, feeling his cock pulse beneath the jeans. I loved the friction of denim between us, the raw sensation of touching him through his clothes, and the power of controlling his pleasure through this barrier.

I switched techniques, using my palm to circle the head of his cock through his jeans, feeling the spot where a small damp circle had formed. The evidence of his arousal only fuelled mine.

He gasped with pleasure as I rubbed. "I'm getting close," he warned, his voice strained and urgent. His eyes met mine, pleading. "Maybe we should…"

I silenced him with a kiss, swallowing his words while my hand never stopped its motion. The warning only encouraged me. I knew exactly what I was doing; I wanted him to finish exactly like this, fully clothed, completely at my mercy.

I pulled back from the kiss, watching his face contort with pleasure and frustration. His breathing had grown ragged, his eyes half-closed. I could read every sensation crossing his features.

I smiled and rubbed harder yet kept my pace deliberately slow and methodical. His warning meant nothing; it only confirmed I was succeeding. Each stroke of my hand against the swelling in his jeans made his body tense further, muscles tightening with building pleasure.

"Stop," he groaned, but his hips betrayed him, pushing against my hand. "I'm really close. I don't want to, not like this."

I maintained eye contact as I increased the pressure slightly. "Don't want to do what?" I asked, feigning innocence while my fingers traced the outline of his cockhead through the denim.

"You know exactly what," he managed between ragged breaths. "I'm serious; I'm right there."

The desperation in his voice sent a thrill through me. He wanted me badly. I could see it in his eyes, the need, the hunger. He wanted to stop this, to take control, to be inside me instead of finishing in his pants. But that wasn't what I had planned for him. The fact that he was fighting it, that he was trying to hold back while his body betrayed him, made it all the more exciting.

"Please," he whispered, a final warning as his muscles tensed further. "I'm going to cum if you don't stop."

He tried to stop me then, his hands reaching for mine to break my rhythm. But I persisted, pushing his hands away firmly. This was my game, my rules. I kept rubbing the hard ridge straining against his jeans, feeling it pulse beneath my touch. I could feel him getting even harder, throbbing under my palm, the telltale sign he was right on the edge.

His breathing grew heavy and uneven. Despite his attempts to hold back, his body responded to my touch, hips jerking with each stroke. Then he gasped loudly, the sound echoing between us.

"Oh fuck," he groaned, the words forced from his throat.

I didn't stop. I continued rubbing as his body tensed completely. I felt the moment it happened, the pulsing beneath my hand, the warmth spreading through the fabric. Still, I kept my hand there, applying pressure until the last spasm passed through him.

When I finally pulled my hand away, a large wet spot darkened the front of his jeans. The visible evidence of what I'd done to him. I had made him cum in his pants despite his warnings and attempts to stop me. I felt a rush of satisfaction seeing it. I had successfully accomplished my mission.

He leaned against me, catching his breath, a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment on his face.

"You are something else," he murmured, his voice rough.

I smiled, triumphant. "I know."

But then something changed in his expression. His embarrassment transformed into determination, his eyes darkening as they locked with mine. Before I could react, he spun me around, pressing my back against the wall.

"My turn," he whispered, his mouth close to my ear.

His hands gripped my waist firmly, fingers digging into the fabric of my leggings. I felt a shiver run through me, anticipation mixed with a sudden vulnerability. This wasn't part of my plan. I was supposed to be in control.

"What are you…" I started, but his mouth captured mine, cutting off my words.

This kiss was different. Demanding. Possessive. He pressed his body against mine, pinning me to the wall. I could feel the dampness of his jeans against my thigh, a reminder of what I'd just done to him.

"Fair's fair," he murmured against my lips. His hand slid down my stomach, fingers splaying across the thin material of my leggings. I inhaled sharply as his palm pressed between my legs, cupping my mound through the fabric.

"You're already wet," he observed, feeling the heat and dampness that had gathered as I'd teased him. His voice held a note of satisfaction that made me tremble.

I tried to maintain my composure. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He chuckled, the sound low and knowing. His fingers traced small circles over my centre, the pressure light but deliberate through the thin material. Even that gentle touch sent sparks through my body. I'd been aroused watching him lose control, more than I'd admitted to myself.

"I think you do," he said, increasing the pressure slightly. "I think making me cum in my pants turned you on. I think you're soaked right now."

I bit my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of responding. But my body betrayed me as his fingers found my clit through the leggings, circling it with precision. My hips jerked involuntarily toward his hand.

"That's what I thought," he whispered, his lips brushing my ear.

His fingers continued their maddening circles, pressing the damp fabric of my leggings against my most sensitive spot. I tried to shift my position to take control of the pace, but his other arm wrapped around my waist, holding me firmly in place.

"Stay still," he commanded. "You had your fun. Now it's my turn."

The authority in his voice sent another rush of wetness between my legs. I could feel it soaking through my leggings, making the fabric cling to me. His fingers slid easily now, the material slick with my arousal.

He changed his technique, applying firm pressure directly to my clit, then rubbing in slow, torturous circles. Each rotation sent waves of pleasure radiating through my body. My breathing quickened, becoming shallow and uneven.

"Do you like this?" he asked, his voice deliberately casual as his fingers continued their relentless pace. "Being touched through your clothes? Not getting exactly what you want?"

I didn't answer, but the way my body pressed against his hand spoke volumes. I was losing myself in the sensation, in the building pressure. The thin barrier of my leggings somehow intensified every stroke, the slight roughness of the fabric creating delicious friction against my swollen clit.

"I asked you a question," he prompted, slowing his movements until they were barely there.

"Don't stop," I gasped, desperation creeping into my voice.

"Answer me." His fingers remained tantalisingly still.

"Yes," I admitted, my pride crumbling under the need for release. "Yes, I like it."

"What exactly do you like?" His fingers resumed their movement, but slower than before, making me ache for more.

"I like that." I swallowed hard. "I like you touching me through my clothes. I like not getting exactly what I want."

He rewarded my confession with increased pressure, his fingers working faster. "Just like I didn't get exactly what I wanted? Having to finish in my jeans instead of inside you?"

The explicit image his words painted sent another jolt of pleasure through me. "Yes," I whispered. "Like that."

His fingers moved with purpose now, finding the perfect rhythm that made my knees weak. I clutched at his shoulders, needing support as the pleasure built to nearly unbearable levels.

"I can feel how close you are," he murmured. "Your whole body's trembling."

He was right. I was teetering on the edge, each circle of his fingers bringing me closer to the precipice. My hips moved against his hand, seeking the exact pressure I needed.

"Please," I whispered, not even sure what I was begging for.

"Please what?" His voice was steady and controlled. "Please stop? Please let you take control again?"

"No," I gasped. "Please don't stop."

He pressed harder, moving his fingers faster against the soaked fabric covering my clit. "I won't stop. Not until you soak through these leggings completely. Not until everyone would know exactly what happened if they saw you."

His words pushed me over the edge. The tension that had been building shattered, pleasure flooding through me in waves. I cried out, my body convulsing against his hand as he continued rubbing, prolonging my orgasm until I couldn't take anymore.

My legs gave out, and he caught me, holding me up as I trembled through the aftershocks. When I finally regained enough control to stand, I looked down. A dark, wet patch had spread across the front of my leggings, unmistakable evidence of what had just happened.

"Now we're even," he said softly, satisfaction clear in his voice. His fingers traced the outline of the damp spot, making me shiver all over again.

I met his eyes, a new understanding passing between us. The game had evolved, the power shifting back and forth. And somehow, we'd both won.

"For now," I replied, a smile playing on my lips. "For now."