Philemon

I think he expected me to pounce on him as soon as we got through my front door. The fact that he was unaware of the power of the steady build spoke of his inexperience and perhaps also his frustration. He had been told I wouldn't just launch into physical interaction but I sensed his executive decision making process was not taking place in the upper regions of his body at that moment.

"Would you like a drink Phil?" I asked.

"Yes please Mistress."

I bade him to make himself comfortable in the lounge whilst I poured us both a glass of icy Chablis. He took it with appreciation, although looking a little uneasy. His gaze flowed around the room, avoiding my face. I smiled to myself. I don't know what aura my pad gives off but I know it's very me. There's very little that speaks of femininity. It's mostly artwork, sturdy furniture and ethnic pieces from my travels. I'm not a consumerist, so it's probably sparse compared to some female homes.

He took a few deep draughts from his plain glass. I'd already imbibed a third of mine. Based on this alone, if it came down to it, I felt I could guarantee that I could drink him under the table. If I had my way, I decided, he may well end up being the fucking table. An image of him clad only in form fitting black boxers, kneeling on all fours at my feet, with treats and hors d'oeuvre resting on his back came to mind. Another thought drifted through the corridors of my brain but it was depraved though and not at all fitting for these early stages of our encounter.

Over the top of his glass he was observing me.

"Might I ask what made Miss smile just then?"

"You may. I was just thinking of different aspects of your servitude that we might explore."

That silenced him.

Yes, he was definitely apprehensive. But weren't they always?

Still, we fell into a conversation that very quickly was as comfortable if not more so than the ones we'd had on the phone, whilst his frigid, self absorbed wife had mooned about upstairs above him, oblivious. I allowed my peals of laughter to give away my obvious affection for him. A little voice inside told me to retain a greater level of detachment but I scolded that voice back into her corner, knowing that he was very fond of my laughter.

As we chatted, I reached out and stroked his thigh with the tips of my fingers. He shifted a little. Our eyes met and I saw in his countenance, heat. Gently, I took away his glass and placed it on the table to my left alongside mine. I ran my fingers underneath his charcoal collar, my other hand resting casually on his thigh as if I owned it. When his breath hitched, my eyes again found his. I could feel the same lust in mine. A mirror image stared back. Molten. Like lava. I had wondered for some time if he could tolerate my intensity after having such a boring female for company for so long. I wasn't about to hold back. He'd either burn to a crisp or flame and emerge renewed. Philemon the Phoenix. Potentially mine.

As my hand slipped inside his shirt, caressing the skin that covered the flesh protecting his madly beating heart, I knew he would not only withstand me but he would flourish under my wiles, attentions and charms.

So very slowly, I leaned in and pressed a kiss to the side of his gorgeous Romanesque face. Like a wild animal, captured and timid, he waited for what came next. What came next was me taking him by his chin. I kissed him slowly with firm then light, sensuous undulations of my mouth. I introduced my tongue to taste my two day sub and as I did so, I rested a manicured hand on his crotch.

My Philemon was turgid as fuck. His member did not know how to exercise the restraint its owner displayed. I teased him about it. But secretly my mouth watered.

"It seems you are intent on testing the seams of those jeans of yours Phil."

He nodded and boldly kissed me, eyes closed in bliss. I watched him, took in his beauty. His strongly corded neck, masculine jaw, the way he leaned into me. A hand found its way to my waist beneath the leather jacket and the tiniest feeling of desire for him to take the lead instead of me thrilled through my being.

Down girl!

"Tell me what you want Phil," I whispered, my breath husky without even trying.

"I want to kiss you like this until we can bear it no more and then I want to lick your pussy."

God, I loved how he said pussy!

His eyes stared at me with a bold fearlessness that I should have countered. But I had asked after all. He was only responding with the honesty I'd demanded.

"Why would you want to do that?" I enquired.

Inside my jacket, his hand found a warm breast, nipple sensitive and standing proud. When he discovered this evidence of my arousal he thumbed it and watched me gasp with intrigued delight.

"I want to do it because I've thought of little else for weeks. I've become a bit obsessed, I admit. I dream about it. I want the reality. If only I'm allowed."

Without a word, I went into the kitchen and refilled our glasses to a higher level. Before I returned to him I removed my tiny plain black knix and placed them directly in the washing machine. My jacket was put in the closet.

I wouldn't be needing those tonight...

Back in the lounge, I handed him his glass and sat down beside him. He looked at me, obviously wanting to question but still a little shy. His manner made me wetter still. I showed him just how wet by flipping up my diaphanous skirt, exposing my almost entirely shaved naked pussy for him to view.

He moved forward as if to touch.

"No you don't. You just sit there. You are to drink your wine and watch. Bad boys who keep me waiting must be taught the folly of such by being made to wait themselves."

He leaned back and nodded, never taking his eyes off my core.

I leaned back too and got comfortable, legs casually spread. My hands skimmed my soft skin, tickling my legs from knee to inner thighs, all the way to the top. I shuddered and sipped my wine. So did he.

With forefinger and index, I stroked my increasingly swollen labia. There were more sips of wine. Then, using my middle finger, I stroked the seam, moving upwards, spreading the delightful moisture. Knowing I was a little more open now and exposed, I removed my hand to let him see and suckled my damp fingers. Clearly he had thoughts of doing such as well. His eyes rolled and a sigh escaped him. He drowned the noise with Chablis and attempted to rearrange his jeans.

I could have told him to take it out. To fist it, display himself for me. Reveal that angry determined tip. But I wanted him uncomfortable for now. This was supposed to be a mildly teasing punishment. It wasn't time to be overly indulgent. He had a challenge to fulfill.

I continued with the challenge, using my now saliva coated fingers to open myself to him like a butterfly. He watched as if fevered, as I lazily circled my tiny clit. No doubt he noted my breath quickening, my slight shifting of hips towards him like a beckon, the increasing gloss. Those busy fingers dipped into that hot pink glossy well, spreading it liberally.

His expression pleased me no end. He looked desperate to touch. I ramped up the tease by fingering myself noisily. Dirty lewd sounds and moans filled the room. I never took my eyes off him once. My eyes were doing the talking. No, in fact they were pleading with him to break the rules...

They were saying, 'come fuck me Phil.'

But he knew he couldn't, not if he wanted that honour later. He must pass the test. He must resist.

I'm guessing that when I withdrew my three fingers he could see inside me for a brief moment in time. His reaction said as much. He looked tortured. I held up my hand for him to see the copious slick and I knew he wanted to devour and taste. Sadistically I did it for him, slowly and very deliberately.

He ran his hand through his hair and gave a slight groan. Then I proceeded to draw the teasing stroke punishment to a close by making myself cum multiple times using both hands. Two fingers inside and two fingers working my clit.

The highs were dizzying as were the climb downs. We stared at each other in shock for a while. He was breathing so hard that I wondered if he had climaxed in his pants. I almost hoped that he had.

"Drink your wine. It's almost time to move this into the bedroom," I said.

His hand shook as he did so. A slight sheen of sweat shone on his brow. I decided to both tease and reward using the last few mouthfuls of wine.

Snatching away his glass, I drizzled what was left over my sopping, still sensitive cunt and ordered him to attend me. He dove for my sex immediately, his tongue everywhere at once. The feeling was incendiary. The blissful warmth, the eagerness, the suction, the probing, all had me on the edge again in no time. Just as I was almost there, he paused and looked up at me, his face smeared in me, the pleasure blooming deep in his handsome eyes.

Right there and then I knew that I'd broken the chain. I'd set this man free from his bonds, to know pleasure again.

Upstairs we would embolden and expand upon that freedom, and I gatekeeper, Dominatrix and Queen that I am, would reward his most masterful restraint ten fold.