Song Of The Week

The intricate pattern of the Windsor knot appeared under his hands without much thought. His mind was definitely elsewhere…

Would she wear the dress he left on the bed? It was daring, cut so low the soft swell of her breasts would spill out. His hands pause as he thought about the metallic fabric hugging her curves, flowing around her and shimmering when she moved. She’d be a vision. Even the thought of her in that dress inflamed him beyond belief, and he wondered if he’d be able to concentrate at this dinner meeting.

He didn’t linger on the reason behind the meeting, refusing to let it sour his mood. No, instead he let himself contemplate the places he could have her before dinner started.

The back of the limo would be dark enough to explore her body. He groaned as he thought about pressing her back on the leather seat and slipping between her thighs. The image shifted to her bent over the marble sink of the men’s restroom. He’d soak in her breathy cries, the slap of their flesh, and cum until there was nothing left to give, until he filled her to overflowing.
She’d exit before him and attempt to be demure, but their mingled pleasure coating her thighs would remind her of that she was his dirty girl.

“God,” he breathed out. The thought of sending her out cloaked in the heady smell of sex triggered something primal inside of him. His woman; she’d smell of their love.

“Sir.” His long time butler’s cultured voice pulled him out of his salacious thoughts. “Carl has the car around front for you and Mrs. Peters.”

The click of her heels on the bathroom tile alerted him to her presence. As if in slow motion, he turned and watched her float into the room. So damn sexy, and that knowledge was there in her walk.

He noticed the spicy smell of her perfume first, the scent shooting straight to his already hard cock. His eyes registered her dress in the next second and he nearly dropped his cuff link. The picture of delicious perfection; what he’d dreamed she’d look like to a tee.

“Coming, Reynolds.” Her words spoken in that sultry tone washed over him like warm honey. She tussled her hair and shot him a knowing look. “Ready?”

He had readiness writtenΒ all over him. It strained the front of his tailored pants so obviously, but he concealed his desire with an easy smile.

Wanting her as aroused as he felt, he let his gaze trail where his hands longed to touch. He followed the bare curve of her shoulders, the line of her plumped breasts, the flat plain of her stomach, down to her long legs. Lush.

The flush on her cheeks when he met her eyes caused his smile to broaden. “Oh, yes, I’m ready.”

15 comments

  1. This is hot and classy! I love every word!
    This is what true D/s is made up
    Of… Love it… β€β€β€β€πŸ‡πŸ‡πŸ‡πŸ‡πŸ‡

  2. I liked this (and kinda glad you didn’t go with a mistress-theme — I was wondering who “she” would turn out to be πŸ˜‰ ). This sentence took my head out of it, though: “He didn’t linger on the reason behind the meeting, refusing to let it sour his mood.” As sexy as everything else was, I kept looking for that reason, thinking that there was going to be something that would prevent his fantasies from being fulfilled.

    1. When I was revising this, in my mind this was a scene in a longer piece. I added that line on a whim because I wasn’t sure if it worked. I’ll read it and see if it takes away because it doesn’t have to remain.

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