Waiting 64

She moved to her knees, facing down, shoulders back, those ample tits pushed forwards, tracing against the thin material of that button up shirt. Consuming thing, that, His shirt, His scent upon it. Position taken, facing the doorway, as she would tilt her head, the stolen glance from those eyes to the clock. Only a few minutes, and how she knew they would tick on for an eternity. Hips pushed back, that pert little ass of hers rested to her knees, as she would shift, hands smoothing the line of cotton to her tanned flesh, making sure it was perfectly aligned. Last instant touches, fingers rising to brush to collar locked into place after that shower. Those rituals Theirs, this time, Theirs.

Thighs pushed apart, the line of cunt, sweet little pussy all shaved. Another ritual, one she adored, the knowledge that He was aware of the time she did it, everyday devoted to tending to what was His, that sex of hers. Shaving off that hair, knowing well the very lines of what was His, every dirty little petal, every needy slick inch of the constricting tunnel. Claimed, property, not alone, because He owned her. It was those smaller things that bound, not just love or devotion, not just the words, but the actions of it. Each assuming roles, that to them expressed some heightened thing. Something bigger them themselves.

The clock chimed out those seconds, and as her eyes closed she could smell Him, feel His hands upon her. Anticipation itself making that little slit dampen, making those velvet petals, so dusky grow dewy with want. Shifted hips, that grinding a light thing to her own calves, as she would draw in breath. Strange how erotic it was, to kneel and wait. Every breath consuming His scent, forcing those sweeter memories of every other Time. Reminding her how He tasted on her lips, how his cock bruised that delicate mouth of hers. How His hand cracked against the line of her ass, as He gripped her hair, and commanded her to cum.

Ten more minutes, her eyes opened, already those little gasps, as her body trembled, that faint thing the way her hands clenched to the edge of the shirt, pulled it down, the motion of it making those hard buds press against the cotton, so dark those blooms were on those heavy globes of pillowy flesh, every breath making them rise and fall, dance. A curve of lips upwards, tongue ran out, picturing His lips there, knowing soon He would come and she could crawl to Him, beg for His fingers, for His taste, beg for what she needed. Wanted. Craved. Surprised to hear a sound, more surprised to realize it was her own whimper.

Eyes found themselves closed again, and she would lower her head. Trying not to think about that ache inside her, that molten steamed core, that burned at the thought of His voice. Not to think about how her throat tensed wanting His load, needing to feel His jism running down her throat, like liquid pleasure, like praise that needed no words, for her attentions done correctly. Teeth raked over those lips, light things those pants, for air, as if He were already there, stroking before her face. For an instant, if she thought hard enough, she could feel it, the thick plumed head of His cock rolled over her cheek. For an instant, if she closed those eyes, and held that whorish breath in, she could hear Him, asking her "Does Master's little whore need something?" as He rolled the thick throbbing meat over the side of her silken cheek, and made her beg for it in words.

Heart raced within that chest of hers, those breasts dancing as she would try to hold that position. Eyes, almost nervous now would look to the clock. Five minutes. A deep breath taken in and held, the shifting of her hips, gods she could feel it, that slick heat running over bare mons, drizzling down thighs, so fucking wet. Clenching gash, tucked away there, already smoldering for it. For Him. Swallow, remember to swallow, throat aching needing His flesh inside, needing His touch, His kiss, His words in her ear. Be a good girl, be a good girl. Her own thoughts lashing out at her. Funny thing that, the way the mere thought sent her into this frenzy, the more she tried not to think about it, the more apparent it became.

Whatever you do, don't think about him bending you over His knee. Don't think about the way His hands move between your thighs, and spread your pussy, the way He commands you to watch His finger pushing in and out of you. Whatever you do, don't think about the sensation of His hand on your ass, cracking those earth shattering slaps to it, making your hips ram forwards, as the vibrator inside your dripping pussy slurps in contrast to that stinging fire on your backside. Whatever you do, don't think about how He might decide tonight is time for restraint, how He will show you the very lines and limits of your control, and show you in every lesson why He is Master, and you are girl. Don't. Think. About. Those. Things. It will only torment you more. So of course, those were the exact thoughts she had.

Almost time, her breath taken in, heart wrenching now, to stay still, to not move, to remain there, upon knees, all dripping and wanton. Near panic in the back of eyes, as lips tightened together, trying to focus on the door itself, will Him to come within. Beg Him to hurry, to stride inside in that manner. Come home. Teeth raked bottom lip, tugged it, pulled on it, sucked it. Hungry, wanting, needing, those emotions so rampant. Almost fear, at how much inside she ached for Him, how much inside that need drove her body to writhe in quiet dance there upon her knees. Don't think about how when He says "Good little cunt" it is the very sound of love. Don't think about how when He strokes her hair and lets her lap off His cock cleaning their taste from it, how that itself, makes some haven of serenity for her.

Thighs spread wider, that scent of pussy wafting upwards, mixing with the smell of Him upon that shirt. Nipples perked, tits jiggling with the slight grind of hips, seen the very glimmering wetness on her inner thighs. Flushed face, that erotic tension coloring her eyes, making them seem more luminous, the biting of that lower lip swelling it, making it look fuck sore. Greedy. Eyes widen from the lust that coursed through veins, and heart pounding with that love. And then, as the seconds had become hours, she heard it. The key in the lock, the sound of His footsteps, and then His voice.

"Such a good little whore, already ready for her Master. "

And she knew, she was saved.