Please?

For weeks, I've been craving a certain kind of attention. I love sex with you, in all its myriad moods, especially since you and I have gotten so mercurial in our escapades. We might start light and playful, and have it flip into rough and hungry, and sometimes I'll start something and you'll decidedly take over and finish it. But for a long, long time, I'd been wanting—needing—to be controlled. Ravished. I was distracted for days, thinking about that tone of voice you get, or that mischievous look in your eye. How implacable you can get, and how inspired you turn out to be when I misbehave.

You really don't have any idea how impossibly sexy you can be. How deliciously frightening.

I kept dropping hints. Asking for what I needed directly seemed like cheating, and the more I fixated on that notion, the more important it became to wait you out, wait for you to start something. It became like a test of wills for me, but you didn't even know we were at war. A couple of days ago, I gave in, and sent you a text message. "I'm laying here, imagining your hands wrapped around my throat, your teeth digging into my flesh. I keep almost coming." And you didn't see the text message. It never went through.

It was just as well my temporary improper lapse would be defeated by technology.

Today, we had to run a couple of errands, and you finished whatever project you were working on, and I hauled myself out of bed. You held your hands out to me, and I gratefully padded naked over to you, to feel your arms squeeze tightly around me as you pressed your face into its familiar cozy niche between my breasts. We both love when you do that, pressing your beard-cushioned chin against my sternum, your arms pressed so far around my waist that your hands are on the opposite hips, making me feel so safe and protected and intimately connected.

Without moving, you flicked your eyes up at me, and twinkled at me, and I gave in. I bent down to kiss you, and took a chance and delicately flicked my tongue, kitten-quick, across your lips. I whimpered when you kissed me back, just as soft, until we were devouring one another from the mouth down. My hands were clenched in your hair, nails pricking the nape of your neck, my body sinuously twisting my breasts back and forth against the furry pelt of your chest. It tickled my nipples, which only added to the blossoming sensations.

After what seemed both like forever and no time at all, you'd gripped my hair in your fist and sunk your teeth into my shoulder, your other hand finding my already-slick labia. You didn't stroke me, you just held my heat in the palm of your hand. If you'd applied even the slightest bit more pressure, your fingers would have slipped inside, brushing against my clit. I writhed in indecision: did I want to press down against your hand, to force the issue, or did I want to prolong that exquisite torture?

Before I could decide, let alone act, you were gently pushing me down to the floor. I went to lower my head, but you tightened your fist in my hair and drew my gaze up to yours. I shivered, trying to hold my position, trying to not disappoint you, and did my best to wait your pleasure with grace. It fleetingly crossed my mind to dip my head to you anyway, to see how long you could maintain control when I was sucking your cock into my throat, the way you like best. I shook just a little bit harder, and restrained that impulse.

When you did finally let me tip you into my mouth, we both groaned at the sensation. I didn't know what flavor you wanted tonight, and you weren't giving me many clues, so I simply did what I wanted until you indicated otherwise. Slow, sultry, slick suction, just the head in my mouth, sometimes slipping up or down, but only in the tiniest of increments. I wanted it to last, regardless of our need to run those errands, and relished the notion that I could stay right there, just like that, forever.

Abruptly, you pulled me up, hard, and I struggled to keep my balance, to stay dignified. I don't know why, but I hate to look sloppy unless a cock is in my mouth, and then I just don't care. You swooped down and kissed me, destroying my composed facial expression, and with the sternest, most dangerously soft voice I've heard from you yet, you told me to go my room, get a toy of my choosing, and bring it back. You wanted me to try to come before you did.

You still don't have any idea how incredible you are. I'm baffled by it.

I scampered back to you, and waited. You again pushed me to my knees, and without a moment of hesitation this time, drove your cock into my mouth. I had to scramble to get myself into position. You hoarsely assured me, as you pushed my head back and forth, that there would be no penalties if I couldn't achieve your goal. That was good, though, because in less than a minute, you were groaning, your hips thrusting in rapid hunches, and I drank you down.

I sat back, delighted with us both. My vibrator was forgotten. I just curled myself around you, a small smile on my face, and let you catch your breath. After a few minutes, I looked up, and simply asked, "May I help you into the shower, sir?"

Sir. That feels lovely to say.