[ Who says consideration and control should preclude each other? It isn't that Hei is particularly interested in his partner's pleasure, unless there's something he's angling for, or unless he's especially fond of them. Since that mess with Amber, it's often difficult for him to care for anyone other than himself. But it's a matter of doing the goddamn job right, to his way of thinking. She isn't some whore he's paid for the night: the dynamic of those encounters is entirely distinct. As a trick, you're not there to satisfy the girl or make her feel good or show her a hot time. You're there to be serviced. Period. The pleasure is totally one sided: your side. Which is as it should be since you are paying for it. ]
[ Taking charge of a casual fling, though ... That's different. Being in the driver's seat doesn't excuse you from the responsibility of caring whether your partner gets off. The opposite: the obligation of when where how rests purely in your hands. He's known so many young men who purport that they're born wielding the whip hand, but who are just so immature and insecure about their skills in bed, they figure the way to avoid proving themselves is by completely ignoring their partner's experience, and hiding the tactic under the guise of being in charge. ]
[ That's just being a lousy lay. ]
[ She whimpers, and it's almost charming -- that pitch of sweet distress, as if she's an anguished kitten who won't get what she wants. Idly, he wonders if she's ever been eaten out by anyone with the patience to do it up properly -- or the brutal strength to hold her legs apart with or without restraints, so she can thrash and buck to her heart's content. Her sex is a dripping little peach under his lapping tongue, pouting through its sodden clump of curls. He'll probably find bothersome little hairs caught in his teeth afterwards -- but right now he's focused entirely on this. Winding her higher, then easing off, only to wind her higher again, until her breathing is that familiar, jittery apassionato jag. ]
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[ Taking charge of a casual fling, though ... That's different. Being in the driver's seat doesn't excuse you from the responsibility of caring whether your partner gets off. The opposite: the obligation of when where how rests purely in your hands. He's known so many young men who purport that they're born wielding the whip hand, but who are just so immature and insecure about their skills in bed, they figure the way to avoid proving themselves is by completely ignoring their partner's experience, and hiding the tactic under the guise of being in charge. ]
[ That's just being a lousy lay. ]
[ She whimpers, and it's almost charming -- that pitch of sweet distress, as if she's an anguished kitten who won't get what she wants. Idly, he wonders if she's ever been eaten out by anyone with the patience to do it up properly -- or the brutal strength to hold her legs apart with or without restraints, so she can thrash and buck to her heart's content. Her sex is a dripping little peach under his lapping tongue, pouting through its sodden clump of curls. He'll probably find bothersome little hairs caught in his teeth afterwards -- but right now he's focused entirely on this. Winding her higher, then easing off, only to wind her higher again, until her breathing is that familiar, jittery apassionato jag. ]