I find her in the bedroom kneeling on the floor at the end of the bed wearing nothing but off-black stockings and a black collar. The walls flicker in the light of four candles. Her head is bowed, her short hair falling around her eyes, and her hands in her lap.
I wish I could stand here and admire her for the rest of my life. She is a goddess underserving of me, and yet she is here.
I know what is on her mind. She is ready and eager for a little playtime, and according to the pressure in my pants I am as well.
I don't know what it is about the collar that excites me, but I find my self fixated on her neck. I want nothing more to lick her from head to toe. An old fear surfaces that she will find me weird if I do that, but my brain has been poisoned by my hormones make it impossible to act on it. I start to her.
I knell behind her, and run my hand along her legs and down her instep. Her feet spasm with the tickle. That my touch causes that reaction makes me smile. I run my left hand over her thigh trying to keep my touch as light as possible, up her body to her neck and bury my fingers in her hair. I rest my nose under ear and breathe her in. She smells amazing. And as if I couldn't get harder, I feel my cock tighten as recognition of what is mine settles into my body.
I grab her hair and pull her head to the side. She complies without a word. I run my tongue from her shoulder blade, and up her neck. She tastes of salt, and perfume, and woman.
I let go of her hair and stand up, giving my throbbing cock and squeeze.
"Stand up," I tell her. She does without a word keeping her back to me.
I grab her arm, and turn her so her back is to the bed. The mattress rests just behind her legs. I push her down on her back.