Freedom To Choose

3 min read

photo: MetArt

Her arse perched on the console table and her feet balanced on the window sill. The seconds stretched out ahead of her.

Her eyes stared out the window, through the Venetian blinds angled to ensure she could see him arriving, yet, hiding her from view. Her hands ran down her legs, gliding over the glossy sheer of her stockings. Her fingernails, too long and too red, danced over the tips of her new stilettos.

A sigh flew out of her mouth as her shoulders slumped. Her stomach danced the salsa, creating waves of excitement, anticipation, and nerves. She squirmed as the longing between her legs sent electrical waves through her.

She missed him. She wanted him. The waiting was excruciatingly agonising.

Her hands roamed across the expanses of flesh her lingerie didn’t cover. They found a comfortable home as they slid inside her knickers, the fine lace and silk concealing little. The red of fingernails sent glimpses of the frustration she felt as they flitted, teasing the swelling flower hidden from sight.

She arched her back and slid her fingers further down to rub her entrance.

She slumped forward, resting her chin on her knees. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t him. He had managed to spoil even that.

Her fingers weren’t enough. They weren’t his. His fingers did magical things, things that she had never believed possible.

The sound of the gravel on the driveway caused her to jump. She peered through the blinds to see his car and to see him. She wondered when she had become so dependent on him. She shrugged, not caring. She had her own life. He was one part of it.

Although, she knew that he was the part her mind wandered to most often.

The sound of the door handle sent a shiver down her spine and she moved in tiny steps to stand in the doorway to the porch. His smile, while his eyes looked her up and down, said everything he needed to say. The smile that reflected in his eyes, the mischievous sparkle, weakened her knees and she was grateful when he reached her, wrapping his arms around her. One hand caressed her neck, meandering down her spine as the fingers of the other hand ran through her hair, tightening until her head tilted upward to stare into his deep dark brown eyes.

His hand left her back, leaving a lonely ache where it had been until she became aware of his fingers teasing her knickers, the tips of them skimming the skin barely hidden beneath. As his fingers touched her flower a groan appeared from somewhere. She didn’t even register making the sound but knew it was hers. His teasing circles, as he gently skimmed the spot, sent shivers through her body. When his finger pushed its way in, instantly finding the right spot to cause her legs to tremble, she began to grind her hips in time to his unique rhythm.

The onslaught of the wave of ecstasy approached as her breathing sped up, interspersed with low guttural moans, and at that second he pulled his hand away and also used his other to pull her hair.

“Kneel,” he said, his deep masterful tone causing her breath to catch in her throat.

Kneeling on the floor in front of him she never felt smaller or more powerful. Hearing and feeling his excitement and enjoyment of her mouth filled her with a strange combination of pride, pleasure, and love.

Her hands moved to reach for him, to release him from his strained prison. The bulge in his jeans, now at eye-level, caused a smile to spread across her face. Knowing that she could create that lust in him. She looked up and his eyes held hers, creating an explosion inside her.

“Don’t touch. Hands behind your back,” he said, pulling down his zip.

She bit her lip, trying to hide the smile threatening to overtake her face. She loved when he took control. She sat back on her heels, placing her hands behind her, her gaze fixating on the beautiful manhood right in front of her face. Her mouth instinctively opening and, as her tongue stretched forward to taste him, oblivious to him removing his tie.

He stepped out from in front of her and confusion filled her already swimming brain. Where was he going? She spun her head to see him stop behind her.

“Don’t move,” he said as he bound his tie around her wrists, pulling them back until she looked up at him. He bent to kiss her forehead, “You really are my good girl.” She loved when he called her his good girl. They both knew she was anything but a good girl. He loved her naughty side, too.

He sat in front of her, placing his hand on her head. Excitement and anticipation coursed through her veins, faster and faster as her heart pounded in her chest. Her eyes met his, her mouth opened, and her tongue slid out to meet his throbbing cock.

His fingers tightened in her hair as he guided his cock in and out of her mouth, taking control of even this. As he hit the back of her throat her body spasmed to recoil but she didn’t. She relaxed her body, accepting his length, willing every part of him inside her. Deep in her throat, she relished the taste of him as her mouth watered.

She had grown to appreciate that he, as her dominant, knew that she was always free to make her own choices. She, as his submissive, just chose to let him make them for her. More importantly, what she chose to do with the freedom was kneel in front of him.

This was where she belonged. Where she was truly free to be herself.

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