Mr. Houser is a patient man. He sits fully clothed in his armchair, legs crossed, watching the naked boy squirm on the bed across from him. The boy’s cock is already hard — has been since Mr. Houser told him to strip — and it twitches with every heartbeat, begging for attention it hasn’t earned yet.
Finally, Mr. Houser rises and approaches. He wraps one firm hand around the boy’s shaft and begins to stroke — slowly, maddeningly slowly, with a grip that’s just firm enough to drive him wild but not enough to get him off. The boy’s hips buck upward, seeking more friction, but Mr. Houser’s other hand presses down on his stomach, holding him in place.
The teasing goes on for what feels like an eternity. Mr. Houser varies his technique — thumb circling the sensitive head, fingers tracing the underside vein, palm rolling over the swollen tip until a thick bead of pre-cum wells up and drips down the shaft. He smears it around, using it as lubricant for even slower strokes. The boy is a mess — panting, whimpering, his cock an angry red and dripping a constant stream. When Mr. Houser finally decides the boy has earned his release, he strips down, reveals his own impressive cock, and slides it raw inside the desperate boy. The combination of the extended edging and the sudden fullness triggers an explosive hands-free orgasm — the boy’s cock erupting in thick, ropey spurts while Mr. Houser pumps him full of his own built-up load.
