I want you to take your time and dress in a scarf, a tight retro sweater, a bra, a simple skirt, and a pair of vintage stockings and garter belt
Fix your hair simply, down. Wear heels.
You'll enter the room, the fireplace lit and the flames licking off in the corner, a few candles closer to the loveseat.
You'll take the Manhattan, enjoy a sip, and we'll talk, as my hand wanders up your thigh.
Come here. You bow your head, supplicant, fitting into my shoulder. My hand slides around, protective, controlling.
For some time now, your body hasn't been yours. Tonight, it will be mine, a means to return it to you.
"Virtuous, I know." I smile, sarcastic, self-serving, sure.
I hold you there, soft lips on soft lips, fingers entwined hard in hair.
Finally, I slide back eye to eye.
Strip. In front of the fireplace's dancing light.
Take your time.
I slip back into the seat, a sip of the drink, and wait, staring theatrically.
You start tentatively. When you peel off the sweater, I slide my shirt over my head.
When you drop the skirt, I drop my pants, then lean back, watching.
My voice is firm, unwavering. I tell you to caress your curves, pull your nipples, slide your hands over your hips and stomach and into your hair. Unhook and drop the bra.
You perform in the flickering light, seduction, submission, tease.
I motion towards the garter belt...
Slowly, the stockings are released and, even more languorously, they're removed.
Naked, I arise from the couch and run my right forefinger around your lips.
Don't move.
The finger traces down your chin to your breasts, cupping one in my hand, letting the hard nipple slide between forefinger and middle finger, pulling it.
Don't move..
I play with your breasts, pinching, kneading, stroking, gauging your reaction.
Eventually, I move behind you, massaging your shoulders, my enjoyment obvious.
My hands retreat for a moment and a black blindfold slips over your eyes.
I guide you past the warmth of the fire to the bed.
On your back. Hands over head.
The scarf is released from around your neck and ties your wrists, my legs straddling your chest, my hardness slipping up between your breasts, teasing your lips.
For long squirming minutes, hands explore your body, breath warm on your nape, just below the hair line.
Your hair is roughly gathered and pinned up in a clip, your nape vulnerable.
Hands over head. Don't move.
An icy drip on your nipple. Then another. A melting cube circles the breast, chased by a languid, tormenting tongue. A pause. Teeth raking over your nipple hard-on. Then a pinch.
Not yet.
Another shocking cube, icy hot tracing a line down your center, slowly turning and going back up over your breast and into your mouth.
