The next day dawned hotter than hell.
By noon, the air outside was thick enough to chew.
Cicadas screamed from the oak trees.
The streets shimmered under the brutal Texas sun.
It was the kind of day that made everything slow.
Sticky.
Heavy.
Perfect for what I had planned.
I sipped a tall glass of sweet tea on the back porch, the condensation dripping down my wrist, watching the lazy stillness of my backyard.
Inside, the house was cool, dark, and waiting.
And soon, so would Mikey.
---
He arrived right on time, pulling up in his beat-up truck, the tires crunching on the gravel driveway.
I watched him climb out -- still shy, still a little awkward -- wearing a plain white T-shirt and a pair of loose athletic shorts.
Simple.
Obedient.
Good.
The moment he saw me on the porch, he paused -- just for a second -- like a deer spotting a predator.
I smiled slowly, setting my glass down and standing to greet him.
He swallowed hard and approached, wiping his sweaty palms on his shorts.
I let him sweat for a moment longer, watching him squirm under the weight of my gaze.
Then, casually, I crooked a finger at him.
Without hesitation, he crossed the porch to me, standing awkwardly in the heavy air.
"You're here to serve," I said simply.
He nodded immediately.
"Words, Mikey."
"Yes, Isa," he said quickly.
I smiled -- slow and deliberate.
"No," I said softly.
"Not anymore."
His eyes widened slightly, confused but obedient.
I stepped closer, so close he could smell the faint sweat and heat on my skin.
"From now on," I murmured,
"you don't call me Isa."
I let the moment stretch, watching realization slowly sink into him.
"You call me Miss Isa."
His mouth opened and closed helplessly for a second.
"Say it," I ordered, voice sharper now.
He swallowed hard.
"Yes, Miss Isa," he whispered.
I smiled, warm and cruel all at once.
"Good boy."
---
I stepped aside and opened the screen door behind me.
"Inside," I said.
"Strip and kneel."
By the time I followed him into the living room, he was already naked -- the T-shirt and shorts tossed neatly aside, his soft, flushed body kneeling perfectly on the rug.
Hands clasped behind his back.
Knees spread wide.
Eyes down.
Good.
Very good.
I walked a slow circle around him, barefoot, my white sundress clinging to the curves of my body, the thin fabric damp against my skin from the heavy air.
I stopped in front of him, one foot placed lightly between his spread knees.
"You exist to serve," I said softly.
"You exist to worship."
"You exist to please me."
"Yes, Miss Isa," he said immediately.
Perfect.
I smiled and let my foot brush lightly up his inner thigh -- close enough to make him shudder, but not enough to give him what he craved.
---
"Crawl," I said, sitting slowly into the armchair.
He obeyed at once, moving on hands and knees across the thick rug until he knelt between my spread legs.
I dragged my fingers slowly up the inside of my thigh, pushing the hem of my sundress higher, revealing the dark, soaked edge of my thong.
His eyes widened slightly -- but stayed respectful, low.
Good.
"Look at me," I ordered.
He raised his gaze, flushing deeper at the sight of my bare thighs, the thin strip of wet lace stretched tight against my swollen pussy.
"You want this," I murmured.
"Yes, Miss Isa," he breathed.
"You ache for it."
"Yes, Miss Isa."
I smiled, reaching down to tangle my fingers in his hair.
"You'll beg for it properly soon," I promised him.
"But first -- you'll worship."
I guided his mouth closer, dragging his face lightly across the inside of my thigh, smearing his lips with the heat of my body.
He whimpered softly, trembling.
I smiled wider.
"Today," I whispered,
"you worship properly."
---
I slid my fingers into the waistband of my thong, pulling the soaked fabric aside, exposing the glistening folds beneath.
His breath caught audibly.
"First taste," I murmured.
I tugged gently on his hair, guiding his mouth closer until his lips brushed the dripping seam between my folds.
He whimpered -- desperate -- and licked.
But it was clumsy.
Too fast.
Unfocused.
I pulled him back sharply by his hair.
He gasped, confused, slickness glistening on his lips.
"You're not ready yet," I said, voice low but firm.
His face crumpled in frustration and shame.
I soothed him with a soft brush of my thumb across his cheek.
"But you will be," I murmured.
"I'll teach you."
---
"Lay down," I ordered.
He obeyed instantly, sinking onto his back on the rug, arms at his sides, eyes wide and dazed.
I stood over him, placing one bare foot on either side of his head.
Then I lowered myself carefully onto his face, my soaked thong pressing firmly against his mouth and nose.
He whimpered under me.
I rolled my hips slowly, grinding the wet fabric against him.
"Just breathe, Mikey," I purred.
"Just smell.
Just ache."
I rode his face lazily, smothering him with my heat, claiming him without mercy.
No licking.
No tasting.
Only denial.
Only patience.
Only submission.
---
Finally, I stood and stepped off him, smiling down at the mess I'd made of him.
"Up," I said.
He scrambled to kneel again, flushed and trembling.
I extended my foot toward his mouth.
"Kiss," I commanded.
He obeyed instantly, pressing soft, desperate kisses to my arch, my heel, my toes.
"Slower," I murmured.
"Softer."
He adjusted, kissing more reverently, more worshipfully.
I dragged my toes lightly across his lips.
"Suck."
He moaned and took my toes into his mouth, sucking with desperate devotion.
