Going down on you while you read the first chapter of my favorite book to me aloud.
*****
From His Perspective:
As is the case most weekdays immediately after work, I find myself sitting in my large leather club chair, legs casually spread with the late evening sun streaming in from the windows to my right. The entire room is bathed in a warm, buttery glow. But I only have eyes for you sitting on the floor, eyes closed with your cheek pressed to my left thigh. This is your time to do with as you like, but I can't help but think about five different ways I'd like to violate that that sweet little mouth of yours. I bite my lip and commit to keeping my hands to myself.
Shifting onto your knees, you move to stand. From my vantage point slumped down slightly in the chair I have to look up to meet your eyes. My body revolts on a primal level to this change in our power dynamic. My cock is already beginning to twitch. So, I guess not every cell is rebelling exactly.
I press my palms to my thighs, fingers splayed, and take a deep breath.
Your delicate hands reach up to your throat and begin to unbutton your navy colored blouse. Slowly. Too fucking slowly in my opinion. My palms itch to rip it off your tight little body. Your eyes watch mine, but my eyes are locked on your hands, marking their progress.
"Thank you for letting me do this," you whisper. "It's been a fantasy of mine for a long time."
My only response is a soft grunt and a tilt of my chin. Four buttons down and two to go. My attention is undivided.
The last button gives up its purpose and your hands move up to grasp each side of the shirt at your breast bone. Spreading your hands, you open the shirt, exposing yourself to me. The silk blouse slides down your arms and pillows silently at your feet. Beneath it you wear the extravagant scraps of French lace I bought for you last Valentine's Day.
I take another deep breath in an attempt to steady myself.
You lean forward, placing your hands on my knees and slowly slide them up my thighs. My own palms retreat to the leather of the cushion beneath me. I don't trust myself to touch you just yet.
The sight of you, so close, leaning forward, lips parted, is almost too much to bear. Your posture affords me the perfect view of your breasts encased in all that satin and lace. I ache to touch you, but this is an exercise in restraint. I cannot not fail you so quickly, especially since you've earned this fair and square.
Nevertheless, my brows are furrowed and my breath is coming quick. Then, a cursory glance up to your face stops me dead in my tracks. Your eyes are dancing. It seems you love watching me squirm. My breath quickens as your gaze moves slowly over me and lingers on the growing bulge in my jeans. You make an appreciative little sound in your throat and your grip on my thighs tightens almost painfully. Almost. It seems I've taught you very well.
I growl at you without even realizing it.
You immediately straighten to standing and shift your weight to one foot. Your eyes go straight down and your teeth start to nibble at your bottom lip. I've rattled you. I close my eyes and silently chastise myself. I recommit to behaving.
"It's ok, baby. I'll be good," I whisper.
Your eyes dart back and forth, not meeting mine. You're still unsure.
"Go on," I gently coax in a whisper. "You want to take what's yours, don't you?"
With that a small smile creeps onto your face. Confidence seems to bloom, slowly at first, across your body. My eyes move to yours and I see the powerful woman you show the world peering out at me. This one takes no prisoners. She's eying me shrewdly, taking my measure. A bold little smirk spreads across your full mouth. Then, stealing the first of my signature moves you cock your head slightly to the left.
"Do you know your place, boy?"
My body literally gives a jolt. It takes every ounce of restraint to keep myself seated with my hands at my sides. You don't bat an eye, but you seem to pull yourself up even taller than your actual petite frame. Your hair, finally long enough to pin back, is tamed into a mass of curls at the nape of your neck. Your firm little breasts are encased in an exquisite riot of black lace and ribbon. A simple black pencil skirt finishes the look. You've slid your hands down to rest with your palms flat against your lower back, pushing your breasts out and jutting your right hip towards me. You look every inch like a woman not to be trifled with.
I cannot fucking wait to trifle with you later.
I wonder briefly if letting this sexy little beast have a taste of control might have been a misstep.
Too late now I guess.
