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I keep the lights low—
just the city glow pressing through the sheer curtains and the single blood red bulb I screwed into the bedside lamp so every shadow looks like it's blushing. Heath is already late, and the waiting is part of my game; I let the hunger gnaw at me until my panties are pasted to my slit and my pulse is racing in my ears. Andypet, my most cherished sub, is under the bed the way I told him: silent, ear to the floorboards, breathing in the dust of my dominance while he tracks every creak of the mattress above.
The key turns. Six-three of arrogant muscle fills the doorway, Hermes coat collar popped, eyes feral. Heath doesn't speak; he simply lifts one brow as if asking permission to ruin me. I answer by crooking a finger. That's all it takes. His black shoes hit the floor in measured thuds..slow, deliberate, the same tempo I'm going to make him fuck me so my little cocklette andy can count every thrust by the squeak of the springs.
I stand at the foot of the bed in a silk robe the color of wet rose petals, knot loose, nipples already stiff enough to scratch the fabric. "On your knees," I murmur—not to Heath, of course, but to the empty air so My pet knows I'm speaking to him beneath the frame. A soft whimper rises from the darkness; I smile.
Heath closes the distance, big hands sliding around my waist, but I stop him with a single palm to the center of his chest. "You watch first." I let the robe slither off one shoulder, revealing the top half of my breast, then the other, until the silk pools at my feet. I'm naked except for a whisper thin leather garter belt and stockings. no panties; they'd have been soaked already and I need nothing obstructing the view of my waxed cunt, lips puffy from hours of anticipation.
I slide onto the mattress sideways, legs dangling, and spread my knees just far enough for the cool air to kiss my heated folds. My fingers pet the slick seam, parting, circling, never entering. A glossy string of arousal bridges between my labia when I draw them away; I paint it across Heath's plush lower lip like gloss. His tongue darts out..slow, savoring..but I pull back before he can suck my fingers clean. "Not yet, Daddy"
The first moan from under the bed is muffled; Andyboy must have bitten his own hand. Good pet.
Minutes stretch like taffy. I tease my clit until it stands hoodless and aching, until the room smells like sex and the sheets beneath my ass are polka-dotted with wet spots. Every so often I glance down at the shadowed gap under the bed and whisper, "Ears open, mouth shut." A shiver of compliance rustles back.
When my heartbeat is drumming harder than the bass from the club down the street, I finally beckon Heath. He strips with the calm of a man who knows every inch of his body is a weapon—coat, shirt, hermes belt unbuckled one metal click at a time. I make him pause once his pants drop, boxers tented by a cock so thick it jerks against the elastic waistband like it's angry to be contained. I lean forward, press my thumb into the damp spot of precum blooming through cotton, and murmur, "You'll come when I allow it. Not a second before. Understood?" A grunt. I smile. "Words, Daddy."
"Yes, Goddess."
"Better." I hook my thumbs into his boxers and free hi, slap of hot flesh against my wrist, veins ridged, crown flared an angry rose. A pearl of precum glistens. I spread it with my thumb, then reach under the bedframe and wipe that salty smear across andy's parted lips. A tremor runs through him; I hear the faint grind of his hips humping air. Patience.
I recline back, hook my knees over Heath's shoulders. He towers above me, abs flexing like armor. The first brush of his tip is casual, almost polite, slipping up and down my slit, nudging my clit, gathering my nectar. Each pass makes me clench on nothing; I want the stretch, but I deny myself, letting the ache sharpen.
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