How I made him beg in just 30 minutes

His name was Alexandru and he was used to controlling everything.
A cold, calculating businessman, used to women submitting to his every move.
When he booked me, he wrote me clearly: “I want to see how good you really are.”
I replied with a single smile and a short message:
“30 minutes. I promise it will take you that long before you beg me.”
He laughed when he read it. He didn’t know that I never joke.
I arrived at his suite at 10:00 PM sharp. He was wearing his shirt unbuttoned and a superior smile. I was wearing a short black dress, with nothing underneath.
I didn’t give him time to speak.
I gently pushed him back until he sat on the couch, then I climbed astride him, without kissing him, without touching him with my hands. I just pressed my body against his and started moving slowly, very slowly, rubbing against the erection that was already growing under his pants.
— No hands, I whispered in his ear. Just watch.
I began a slow, agonizing dance. My hips undulated over him, rubbing right against his hard length, but not letting him in. My dress rose on its own, revealing to him a full view of my already wet and shiny sex.
He tried to grab me by the hips. I grabbed his hands and placed them on the couch.
— No. You just feel.
I leaned down and bit his earlobe lightly, then whispered:
— You have 30 minutes to make me really want you… or I’ll make you beg.
I started to slowly undress him. The shirt fell off first, then the pants. When I pulled his boxers off, his cock jumped free—thick, hard, already pulsing. I smiled and knelt down between his legs.
I didn’t take him in my mouth right away. I started licking him slowly, from base to tip, with my flat, warm tongue, without rushing. I kissed him, caressed him with my lips, touched him with my hot breath, but I didn’t take him in my mouth. Every time he tried to push my head back, I pulled back and looked him straight in the eye.
“Time flies…” I whispered.
After 12 minutes, his breathing became labored. After 18 minutes, the muscles in his thighs were trembling.
I stood up, straddled him again, and began rubbing his naked length, wetting it with my arousal. The thick head of his penis slid right over my sensitive clitoris, and I controlled the pace perfectly – slow, deep, agonizing.
He was already moaning. His hands were clenched on the couch.
“Please…” he muttered at one point.
I smiled and stopped completely.
“What did you say?”
“Please… let me enter you.”
I continued to slowly rub myself against him, not letting him in.
“Harder. I want to hear you beg.”
At the 27th minute, his voice had broken:
“I beg you… please… let me feel you. I can’t take it anymore… please…”
At exactly 29 minutes and 40 seconds, I lifted myself up slightly, positioned my thick head at my entrance, and slowly lowered myself onto him, taking it all in, all the way.
He let out a long, almost desperate moan, his head falling back.
I began to move – slow, deep, squeezing him inside me with each descent. He trembled beneath me, his hands clenched on my hips.
“Please… faster… I beg you…”
I smiled victoriously and leaned into his ear:
“See? Just 30 minutes.”
Then I began to ride him exactly the way he wanted – hard, deep, merciless. He exploded inside me after just a few minutes, moaning my name like a prayer, his body jerking violently.
When he came to, he looked at me with still blurry eyes and whispered hoarsely:
“Next time… how long do you think it’ll take?”
I smiled and kissed his lips lightly.
“Next time I’ll try in 20 minutes.”