You're sure.

You nod; you're sure.
There is no reason to ask for anything unreasonable and be rejected. Mrs. Tyler obviously enjoys toying with your expectations; it wouldn't surprise you if asking for a blowjob would get you punished for being "greedy" or something similar. Another beautiful smile spreads across Mrs. Tyler's face, and you're certain you've picked the right choice. Untill you hear one of the spectators smother another laugh - you're pretty sure you recognize Rasna's voice - and suddenly you're not as certain.

"Well, if you're sure you know what you need.." Mrs. Tyler says brightly, "move a bit further down for me, baby." As you adjust your position so your back is now supported on her lap, your lower body coming to a rest on the chaise lounge, Mrs. Tyler once more reaches for the oil. This time she doesn't just get a few drops, she spreads a fairly decent amount all over her left hand. Again your cock twitches impatiently as you wait for her to put the stopper back and put the decanter back in place with the same deliberate slowness.

Finally she reaches for your cock, forming a circle- a slick, tight seal with her hand - at the absolute tip of your cock. You wait with baited breath for the stimulation and..

..Nothing.

Mrs. Tyler isn't moving her hand at all. It hovers temptingly just above your cock, but the handjob you expected doesn't seem to come. Instead she watches you with a patient expression, just a hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth as you realize how confused and pathetic you must look like now.

"Go ahead then.." she encourages and you stare back at into her gentle gaze. She nods towards your cock and you finally realize that she doesn't intend to stroke you in the least. She has deliberately taken the least charitable interpretation of your request and has offered you to fuck her hand.

Once again you feel a flash of humiliation, but your dick demands stimulation in any way it can get it, and her hand - pretty fingers slick with oil - is starting to look more tempting by the second. Finally you concede and thrust your cock into her hand. It's warm, tight and wet but from that angle you can't move your hips fast enough to create the stimulation your shaft is so **** for. It feels good, but at the same time not quite enough. So focused are you on trying to scavenge what little pleasure you can, that you barely notice that Mrs. Tyler has turned her attention back to the room. The voice of the women becoming a backdrop to your frustrated fucking of the Milf's hand.

"-of the bliss I strove to take;
Raising my rapture by her kind delay," Camilla is the one reading out loud, however you only catch parts of it, so engrossed are you in the teasing fist at the tip of your dick.

It doesn't take you long to realize that you won't be able to come from this angle - at least not for a long time. Sure you could lie her thrusting into her slick palm, but you're already panting, it's as much from frustration and exertion as from pleasure. You look back up at Mrs. Tyler who's no longer paying attention to you at all. She has gracefully allowed you use of her hand for your pathetic pleasure, but that's all you asked for, so that's all you're going to get.
But it isn't enough. Your cock throbs, your toes curl, your entire nervous system is alight with need - a need that isn't being met.

"We sigh, and kiss: I waked, and all was done."

"..Mommy.." you plead, hoping the epithet will sway her to give you.. something.. anything.. more..

"Shh!" Ms. Tyles says, staring ahead and ignoring your quiet desperation.

"Which still was panting, part of it was true:
Oh how I-"

"But I-" this time you barely have time to beg, when her hand clasps over your mouth. There is no sweetness in the movement, though her grip is gentle. She still refuses to look your way, instead paying attention to the poetry reading. Slowly you feel the desire for proper stimulation morph into desire for attention from Mrs Tyler.. No from Mommy.

"Ashamed and angry to be undeceived!"

But Mommy is busy with her friends and all you can do is whimper into her palm and continue to sully her other hand with your needy dick. In your desperation you yourself reach for your cock, intent to stroke it yourself, but Mommy instantly slaps your hand away with a stern eye. A thrill of pleasure shoots through you, both from the quick flash of pain and from the fact that she noticed you - but just as quickly her attention is gone again, and you get the feeling that the next warning won't be a gentle. Instead you grab onto her arm, like a sailor to driftwood, and she allows it. Partially to be closer to her, but also so you can gently pull her hand down.
You're not for a moment in doubt that Mommy notices, but she allows it.. to a degree. She stops short of your shaft and you realize that you won't get to use her hand to stroke yourself. At least the slightly lowered grasp allows you to fuck her hand more easily without having to raise your pelvis as much.

The ladies of the room are discussing the poem, but you barely pay little attention except to have your cock twitch whenever you hear Mommy's lovely voice. Her seal over your mouth not only prevents you from speaking, but also partially blocks your nose. And since the pleasure shooting down your cock to your core with every thrust has you panting, you're soon starting to feel lightheaded too.

The discussion seems to be over and Mommy finally looks your way. Maybe it's the oxygen deprivation, maybe it's the arousal, maybe it's whatever she put into her lemonade, but underneath her stern expression, you're sure you still see love. Mommy cares for you, even when you have been bad.

"Has my naughty boy learned his lesson?"

Your brain feels floaty. Floaty and dumb. Like it's full of fog. But you're certain that you don't want to be Mommy's naughty boy. You want to be her good boy.