The leather chair creaked under Daigo as he slumped deeper into it, his fingers already wrapped around his half-hard dick before the screen even flickered to life. He knew the drill—Yelan always made him wait, just long enough for his balls to ache with anticipation. The monitor in front of him split into two feeds: one trained on her face, the other zoomed in on her tits, barely contained by that snug black jacket. The fabric strained against her cleavage, the zipper pulled just low enough to tease the swell of her breasts. Daigo groaned, thumb swiping over the slick head of his cock as the camera panned up to catch the smirk playing on Yelan’s lips.
“Already touching yourself, Dai?” Her voice purred through the earpiece, rich and amused, like she could see the way his hips twitched in response. “Didn’t even give you the signal yet. Such an eager little gooner.”
His breath hitched as her fingers traced the edge of her jacket, nails scraping against the fabric. The sound carried through the mic, sharp and deliberate, and Daigo’s dick jerked in his grip. He could hear the way the material resisted, the way her tits pressed against it with every inhale. “Fuck, Yelan—just show me already. Let me see ‘em.”
She laughed, low and throaty, the kind of sound that made his spine tingle. “Patience, baby. You know the rules. I don’t move until you’re begging.” Her other hand came into frame, pinching her nipple through the jacket, the peak already hard enough to tent the fabric. Daigo whimpered, precome beading at his slit as he stroked himself faster. The monitor showing his dick pulsed in time with his thrusts, the veins thick and throbbing, the head flushed dark with need.
“C’mon, please,” he gasped, hips bucking up into his fist. “Talk about ‘em. Tell me how heavy they are, how they ache when you don’t let ‘em out—”
Yelan’s breath hitched, just for a second, before she leaned into the camera, her lips parted. “Mmm, you love when I describe them, don’t you? How they’re so full they spill over my hands, how the weight makes my back ache if I don’t give ‘em support.” Her fingers walked down the zipper, slow, torturous, until the teeth parted just enough to reveal the lace beneath—black, sheer, the dark circles of her areolas already pebbled. Daigo choked on a moan, his free hand groping at his own chest like he could feel them. “They’re sensitive today. Every time I move, the lace rubs just right, makes my nipples *throb*. Bet you’d love to see that, huh? See how they leak when I play with ‘em too long.”
“Fuck—fuck—” His strokes turned sloppy, his cock dripping onto his stomach as he imagined it—the way her tits would jiggle if she finally unzipped that jacket, the way her nipples would glisten with milk if she pinched them hard enough. The camera zoomed in tighter on her cleavage, the shadow between her breasts deep and inviting, and Daigo’s vision blurred. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come—”
“Not yet.” Yelan’s voice snapped like a whip, and he froze, his dick pulsing in his grip, so close he could taste it. “You don’t get to finish until I say so. And right now?” She dragged a fingernail along the lace, right over her nipple, and the fabric darkened with dampness. “I’m enjoying this too much to let you ruin it.”
Daigo whined, his balls drawn up tight, his cock weeping. The screen showing his dick was a mess—precome smeared over his shaft, his fingers slick with it, his thighs trembling. “Yelan, please—I can’t—”
“Can’t what?” She finally, finally tugged the zipper down another inch, and the lace gave way, one heavy tit spilling free. The nipple was dark, swollen, a bead of milk already welling at the tip. Daigo’s breath stuttered. “Can’t hold back? Or can’t breathe when you see how wet they get for you?”
His answer was a broken noise, his hand flying over his cock as he edged himself ruthlessly, his hips jerking off the chair. The camera on his dick showed every twitch, every desperate stroke, the way his balls tightened like they were trying to climb into his body. Yelan’s free hand cupped her exposed tit, squeezing just hard enough to make another drop of milk escape. It rolled down her skin, slow and thick, and Daigo lost it.
“Gonna come,” he sobbed, his voice cracking. “Gonna come so hard—”
“Then do it.” Yelan’s command was a growl, her own breath ragged now. “Come for me, Dai. Show me that messy fucking load.”
His orgasm hit like a freight train. His back arched, his cock kicking in his fist as ropes of come painted his chest, his stomach, his chin. The camera caught every pulse, every twitch, the way his hole clenched like he was trying to milk himself dry. Yelan watched, her own fingers finally dipping beneath the lace, her breath hitching as she pinched her nipple hard enough to make herself gasp.
When Daigo finally slumped back, spent and shaking, his come already cooling on his skin, Yelan zipped her jacket back up—slow, teasing, like she was tucking away a secret. “Good boy,” she murmured, her voice warm with satisfaction. “Now clean yourself up. And next time?” She leaned into the camera, her lips curled in for a kiss.