Rafael was already getting hard in anticipation.
A job well done was behind him, and he knew his mistress would be pleased with his work. The latest enemy who had dared cross her was dead, clean and merciful and untraceable, just the way he was taught. And he couldn't wait for his mistress to reward him for his hard work.
The private elevator moved steadily up to the penthouse of the New York high-rise, and Rafael was still. He didn't dare adjust the metal cage around his aching cock, didn't dare do anything to imply that he was touching himself. That wasn't allowed, and he knew his mistress would be watching. He had been trained well by her hand, and it didn't even occur to him to disobey her wishes.
Still, he shifted slightly as the elevator moved, unable to help his impatience. His mistress had whispered many promises in his ear as he left for this job, and he knew she always followed through.
The elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse, the cool, fashionable, and slightly austere decor welcoming him home. But Rafael wouldn't be satisfied until he could see her, smell her, touch her.
Rafael toed off his boots and socks, and padded, barefoot, through the apartment. There was a playroom, soundproofed and filled with so many delicious toys, but Rafael didn't need that yet. He just needed her.
He found Mistress Jacqueline lounging in the sitting room, with a book and a glass of red wine in her hand, legs crossed as she sat on the couch. She wore a designer black dress, and her long dark hair fell free around her soft, sweet face -- a face that caused many of her enemies to underestimate her.
She didn't look up from her novel when he entered, merely turning a page as he paused in the doorway. His mistress was truly beautiful, tall and curvaceous and perfect, and he drank in the sight, a balm on his tired soul.
"You may kneel," she said absently, taking a sip of her wine, and Rafael's breath caught as he fell easily to his knees, feeling that all was finally right with the world. This is where he belonged, kneeling for her, at her service.
"How was your trip?" she asked, still casual. He wondered vaguely what she was reading, before scolding himself. It was not his place.
"It went well, mistress," he said in his deep, almost gravelly voice. "You don't have a problem in Russia any longer."
"Excellent," she said, closing her book and setting it to the side. "Of course, I know I can trust you to be competent, can't I, pet?"
"For you, always, mistress."
She gave him a pleased smile, uncrossing her legs.
"Come to me, pet," she said, beckoning him forward.
Rafael lowered to his hands and knees, knowing better than to stand without permission, and slowly crawled forward, his head bowed, cock throbbing in its cage. The heat in his belly was almost unbearable, and he could barely wait to find out what she had in mind for him today.
He took his position at her feet, kneeling between her spread legs, gaze lowered, hands behind his back.
"It was a long trip this time," she said, reaching out, placing a soft hand on his cheek. "Was it hard on you?"
Rafael bit back a moan as she slipped her hand into his short hair, her touch mesmerizing.
"It was only so because I was without your presence, mistress," he said.
She laughed, delighted.
"You say the sweetest things to me, Rafael. And I have missed you, too. No one else can satisfy me quite as well as your mouth, pet."
"Thank you, mistress," he said, leaning into her touch. "I only wish to please."
"I know," she said. "And you will."
She leaned back on the black leather couch, the view of the New York lights behind her, but Rafael's gaze was only for her as she spread her legs, hooking one foot over his shoulder.
"My cunt is aching for your tongue," she said, pulling him closer, tugging at his hair, and this time, Rafael did let out a little moan.
"May I taste you, mistress?" he asked, barely able to contain his eagerness. "May I please you?"
She laughed, a little breathless with anticipation herself.
"Yes," she said, her free hand pulling her dress up around her hips, and Rafael saw that she wasn't wearing any panties, her pussy exposed to his greedy gaze. "I want your mouth, pet."
Usually, Rafael might have moved slowly. Might have kissed her inner thighs, teased a little, as he knew his mistress enjoyed. But the weeks he had been away were too long, and he could sense that she was as eager for him as he was for her.
The hand gripping his hair guided him to her center, and she moved up to meet him.
And the taste of his mistress was like ambrosia, like heaven. She was wet, already so wet for him, and that alone made his cock throb in its cage. His tongue plunged into her, his nose at her clit, and she cried out, thighs tight around his head, grinding up against his mouth.
