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You come home from a job you hate — a job you only go to, to keep me happy.
I’m there, waiting for you. Well, waiting may be the wrong word since in reality I barely seem to notice or care if you’re there. But I’m at home, sitting on the couch, doing something or other on my phone. I don’t tell you what, and you know it’s not your business to ask.
You enter the house and look at me, taking in my long legs that are stretched out on the couch next to me.
I don’t look up at you; don’t even acknowledge your existence.
You pull out your own phone, and with a few practiced taps on the screen you transfer an amount to me. It’s not a large number, barely in the double digits, but it earns you a quick glance in your direction. My eyes meet yours, one eyebrow raised, then I look back at my phone.
The quick rush that goes through you at that small bit of attention makes you tremble slightly, and you quickly pull up your phone again to transfer a second amount. Larger this time.
With a sigh of what could be annoyance or irritation, I set my phone aside and turn to face you.
“And how what your day?” I ask, in a tone clearly laced with boredom.
You know you have to be careful what you say. Complain about your job too much and I’ll think you’re weak, unable to provide for me the way I deserve. But the temptation is there to remind me that you hate your job but continue to work there for me. Maybe it would earn you a little appreciation. You push that thought away quickly, knowing it’s not likely.
“It was fine,” you say instead, “very busy, but it went by fast.”
No response. None of this is interesting to me and you can see you’re already losing what little attention your tribute gained you.
“I bought you a few things today.” You blurt out, then curse yourself for saying it. It’s true, however you ordered my gifts online and they haven’t arrived yet, and you know that dangling the promise of a gift without anything tangible is a risky move.
My eyebrow goes up again, clearly noticing your hands are empty.
“I ordered some things,” you amend, “they should be here by the end of the week.”
“You didn’t pay for faster shipping?” I reply, annoyance in my voice.
“I-I did,” you stammer, “it’s just that the end of the week was the soonest it could get here.”
I don’t bother to reply. If you have nothing to give me now, this conversation is pointless. I return to my phone.
Some time later, you emerge from your room — where you spend the majority of your time because the rest of the house is understood to be mine — to find the living room is now empty.
The sound of a shower running lets you know where I am, and the thought of me in there makes your heart race. You know you’re not supposed to be thinking of me this way without permission, but you can’t help but indulge the fantasy for a moment. You picture my body, as the water cascades over it, and imagine what it must look like as I soap up my curves. You imagine my hands trailing up towards my breasts to massage the hot soapy water on them, then — since it’s your fantasy — you imagine me pinching my nipples until I moan out loud, then trailing my hand down my stomach towards —
The water shuts off abruptly, jerking you out of your fantasy. Shame fills you instantly as you realize your own hand had been starting to head south as well.
What if you hadn’t heard the water turn off and I had come out here and caught you like that? The contrasting feelings of fear and what feels like anticipation are intense and you realize you’ve gotten hard.
Quickly, you sink onto the couch and try to reposition your body so it won’t be noticeable if I walk into the room. You’re thankful in that moment that you aren’t particularly large, as a sizeable bulge would be more difficult to conceal.
As you’re worrying about this, I come into the room in nothing but a towel. My long wet hair falls down my back and in my hand is a hair brush. Your heart starts to hammer. Do I intend to hit you with it? To punish you for your earlier mistake? You can’t deny the thought thrills you somewhat, and there is a slight feeling of disappointment when I hand it to you before sitting on the floor in front of you.
It’s an odd feeling, having me sitting at your feet for once, and a part of you doesn’t know how to process it. But my intentions are clear, and you start brushing through my hair gently — noting that the brush is an excessively expensive wet/dry brush you had bought me just weeks prior — working to untangle the long locks. The intimacy of the moment makes your head spin, and the erection you’re fighting grows even stronger. It doesn’t help that I’m clearly enjoying the feeling, and the way I lean my head back so that it’s almost touching your thighs makes you think things you know you should be punished for.
You can’t help but be torn between wanting to be punished, and wanting to get away with your thoughts and the thrill of those two things ordu escort is making your head spin. What if I were to glance back at your crotch and see the evidence of your arousal?
There’s another side too, that you try not to acknowledge often, that deviant part of you that starts to fantasize about things you know will never happen. Like if I were to look back and see your erection, and if just this once I would look at it with appreciation and interest, so much interest in fact that I would then face you entirely, and position myself between your legs. Your mind takes the fantasy further, imagining me grabbing the waistband of your pants and pulling them down slowly, revealing yourself to me. My eyes light up in a way that they never have before for you, and —
You hadn’t realized you had failed to keep your breathing under control until you noticed I was looking at you for real, with an expression of pure disgust.
“Are you seriously getting hard while brushing my hair?” I say in a voice dripping with disdain.
You stammer for some kind of excuse, though there isn’t anything sufficient that will appease me. The moment has been ruined by your inability to control yourself.
Without another word, or even a glance in your direction, I leave the room.
As dinner time approaches, you know you need to find a way to get back in my good graces. Making me a dinner reservation and leaving a card on file for the bill is usually a safe bet but you don’t want to risk choosing the wrong place and screwing up again. So instead you opt to order in, selecting 3 of my favorite restaurants and ordering a selection of dishes you know I love. You set the food on the table when it arrives, along with a bottle of my favorite wine, then knock gently on my bedroom door to let me know dinner is ready for me.
The sight of my own personal buffet seems to satisfy me for the time being, and as you settle in across from me with a bowl of heated up left over noodles you can’t help but feel a small amount of pride at the idea.
You spend the evening ensuring my wine glass is full and by the end of the meal I am the type of playful tipsy that you particularly enjoy. These moments, like the hair brushing, are times when the sense of intimacy takes the relationship to a place it normally doesn’t go, and so you make a point to enjoy them when they present themselves.
Feeling high off the thrill of pleasing me with a good meal, you can’t fight the urge to continue spoiling me. But the moment calls for a different strategy than simply transferring money into my account, though we both know that’s my preferred method as I enjoy the control that comes along with choosing how I spend it. But for right now you want to do something special and unique. So after respectfully asking if I will allow you to go to your room to retrieve your laptop, and being granted permission, you rush off to get it. Upon returning, you quickly pull up a travel booking website and turn to me with a look that is a mix of bashful and expectant.
“Goddess, if you could pick a destination, please.” You say.
In response I raise an eyebrow at you curiously, and you rush to explain your intentions.
You’d like to book me a weekend getaway, you explain, to the destination of my choosing; flights, hotel, spa treatments, excursions, you begin to feel as if you’re the one intoxicated as you describe it, and once again the erection in your pants begins to grow.
This, you aren’t worried about, as you know you are allowed to get hard over the idea of spoiling me this way. If I notice it, you will simply have to add something else to the list. Secretly, you hope I will notice.
You’re pleased to see my lips curve into a small smile, which grows as each new detail is chosen and then booked.
The dollar amount grows and grows as I continue to add new things to this gift; champagne upon arrival, upgrading the suite to one with a Jacuzzi, and so on and so on.
By the time you’ve finished booking it all, you are unable to wipe the grin from your face as your chest swells with pride at your idea. I seem happy with the gift, though I still don’t touch you. I never do.
But for the moment, your earlier missteps seem to be forgiven, or at least forgotten.
As the evening turns to night, you remain in your room. You’re aware of the sounds of me moving throughout the rest of the house, and you wonder what my plans are for the night. Given my state, the wine combined with the gift you’ve given me, you figure it’s a safe bet to assume I might be feeling somewhat frisky. But how I might choose to deal with that remains to be seen.
In the past, I’ve been known to invite a lover over to satisfy my needs, or to simply take matters into my own hands — so to speak. You wonder if you’ll be invited to watch, as you sometimes are. Or if I will allow you to leave your bedroom door open so you are able to listen, which is easier in some ways since you remain out of osmaniye escort my sight and therefore don’t need to hide the erection. Sometimes — and these times are rare — you will jerk off in the safety of your room while you listen to the sound of my cries of ecstasy.
It isn’t long before the doorbell rings, and at least that part of my plans for the night become clear. You run through the list of potential lovers in your head, trying to guess who it may be. Details of their bodies that don’t particularly turn you on except within the context of what they do to mine, pop into your mind unbidden and you can’t help but picture one man in particular with an especially impressive cock that you know from previous visits tends to make me moan more than any of the others. You find yourself hoping it will be him.
The low sound of voices can be heard through the door, and you’re pretty sure there is just one extra voice other than mine. Without meaning to, your memory flashes back to the time when I had invited two — a male and a female — and taken both into my bed. I had invited you into my room on that occasion, directing you to sit in a chair in the corner where you could get a good view of the bed. You still remember the sound of our moans mixing together, the sight of the female’s blond head between my legs and the man’s cock in my mouth. Or of the two of us girls kissing deeply as I took him inside me and she positioned herself over his face.
Now, you try to shake the thought from your mind, as you focus on the sound of the voice through the door, as if trying to identify the owner.
Your curiosity is satisfied shortly when I knock on your door and you open it to see me standing there wearing red lacey lingerie and a sheer robe. Behind me, on the couch, you can see my companion, and you are surprised to find it isn’t any of the previous ones. It’s hard to judge because he’s sitting but he seems tall and well built. One muscular arm is draped across the back of the couch and his body language is perfectly relaxed and at ease. Something that feels like jealousy stabs through you, but you push it aside guiltily. You aren’t allowed to feel jealous.
Beckoning you towards the couch, I point towards the armchair that sits across from it. Clearly, you’re being invited to watch, and you eagerly head to your seat.
With no introductions or explanations further, I join my friend on the couch, resting my hand on his thigh. He wastes no time in claiming my lips in a kiss, before grabbing me by the waist and pulling me so I’m straddling his lap. The kissing intensifies and I start grinding my hips against him. His hands grasp my ass cheeks and squeeze, and you’re impressed to see how large his hands are compared to my body. My head falls back and though the view is obstructed to you, you can tell by the moan that escaped my lips that he has freed my breasts from the lingerie they were encased in and must have taken one of my nipples into his mouth. I love having my nipples sucked and played with, which you know from watching encounters like this, and it makes you happy to see me being pleasured.
The lingerie is discarded quickly after that, and so are my companion’s clothes. You can tell by the gasp I let out upon seeing him completely naked, that this is the first time I have been with this man and that the sight of his manhood catches me off guard. It’s much larger than what I had expected, and it goes without saying that he’s absolutely huge compared to you. Not that I would ever touch your cock, but I have seen it on special occasions when I allow you to jerk off while watching me, or during certain types of punishment. Another memory pops into your mind, of standing naked in the kitchen watching me get fucked as I bent over the counter, my eyes trained on your cock watching for the telltale twitches of the erection you were forbidden to get. I had set the terms that night, the dollar amount you had to pay me for every minute you watched, and how you had to triple it if you got hard. I had received a large amount of money as a tribute from you that night, much to both your dismay and delight.
In the present moment, no such rules or terms have been established and you’re pretty sure you are allowed to be hard while watching but you haven’t been told you can touch yourself yet. The temptation to ask is strong, especially when I sink to my knees in front of my lover and crawl between his thighs. The positioning is familiar from your earlier fantasies and you wonder if I must know that, must have chosen this spot in particular because of the incident with the hair brushing.
You watch, silently, as I lick my way up the shaft of his cock. This angle isn’t the greatest for seeing all the action and you wish for a moment you had been directed to a different chair to get a better view, but you remind yourself that nothing is about your enjoyment. You should be satisfied with being invited to watch at all.
The man’s head falls back against the couch and ostim escort you can tell I’ve taken him into my mouth. His hand moves to the back of my head to tangle in my hair and his hips move involuntarily like he wants to fuck my face. The thought makes you vaguely uncomfortable, but you aren’t sure why. Maybe because of how large he is. My head bobs up and down on his shaft, assisted by his big strong hand on the back of my head. The movement picks up speed and the groans coming from him make you wonder if I’m going to finish him off this way.
As if to answer your question, the man growls down at me, “You’re going to make me cum if you aren’t careful, and I still want to fuck that sweet pussy.”
I pull back then, releasing his cock from my mouth with an audible pop.
Immediately, his hands are all over my body, pulling me close to suck a nipple into his mouth again, and trailing his hands up and down my legs. He parts my legs roughly and rubs his fingers against me.
“Shit, you’re so wet already.” He groans, sliding a thick finger inside me easily. I move my hips against his hand, which prompts him to add a second finger. It’s still not anywhere near as thick as his cock, but his fingers are quite thick and the feeling of being filled makes me gasp and shiver in anticipation.
Seemingly unable to wait any longer, I straddle his thighs again and kiss him deeply before glancing back in your direction. A slow smile curves my lips and I turn back to my partner.
“Is it ok if he touches your cock?” I ask, and it’s clear my words have shocked and confused both of you. My friend appears to consider the question for a moment before nodding in agreement. I don’t ask for your opinion, it’s not necessary. But I lean forward, angling my hips just so and hovering above his lap, then glance back at you over my shoulder again.
“Put him inside me,” I command.
Your breath catches in your throat and you stare at me wide-eyed for a moment.
This is new. Something we’ve never done.
You wonder briefly if you’re being rewarded for your previous gift, or if this is punishment for the earlier mishap. Either would be possible, as you aren’t even entirely sure how to feel about this development. But you slide onto the floor and crawl forward anyway.
You aren’t gay, have no interest in men, or even so much as a passing curiosity, but you have to admit to yourself that something about this thrills you. The thought of wrapping your hand around the shaft that is about to fill me fills you with an odd sense of pride. So you take hold of the huge cock, surprised that it’s so much larger than you realized. You can’t help but compare it to what your hand looks like holding your own cock and you wonder if that was the whole point of this. But you aim it towards my waiting pussy and gently rub it against me, marveling at the way it throbs powerfully in your hand as you coat it with my juices in an effort to help slide the considerable size inside of me. Savoring this moment, you rub the head of his cock against my clit, making me gasp and grind my hips slightly. Then you continue rubbing the head between my lips, positioning him in just the right spot.
I start sliding down slowly, taking him inside of me inch by inch, and though you could — probably should — you don’t remove your hand right away, instead continuing to guide him inside my wet pussy until you have no choice but to let go otherwise you might touch me and break the spell. You lean back and take in the sight in front of you, of me impaling myself on his big cock.
Your earlier thoughts of wishing for a better view pop back into your head and you wonder if you’re supposed to return to your chair now or if you will be permitted to continue watching from here. You can’t deny that you want to keep watching from this close, but you know you likely don’t deserve the privilege so you keep your mouth closed in hopes that I might forget about you as I often do.
I start moving my body, sliding up and down his large shaft. Your close proximity gives you a perfect view of how wide he’s stretching me, and by the sound of my moans and cries, you can tell how much I’m enjoying it. I start to tease him a little; sliding up so far that only the head of his dick remains inside me, then sliding back down tantalizingly slowly. The other man laughs; a deep growl of a laugh that reminds us both that he’s indulging this little game for now but could take control any time he wants. The thought makes me shiver and the game switches to something else entirely as I continue to tease, almost daring him to overpower me. He in turn stays almost perfectly still, hands gripping my ass, but otherwise not moving. His gaze is locked on my face, watching the expressions that dance across it.
You can see the shift before I can, and I’m the only one caught off guard when he pulls me off of him suddenly and positions me bent over on the couch. He kneels one leg on the couch behind me and plants the other foot on the floor, bracing himself as he grabs hold of my hips and slams forward, burying himself inside me in one stroke. He’s not gentle or slow as he continues to thrust into me like a man possessed, and I’m unable to hold back the cries of pleasure that burst from my lips.
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