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“How do I get this fucking thing off you?” he asks, tugging at my jumpsuit. I love his urgency, but I am not about to let him tear my outfit. I may be horny, but I’m not impractical.
I duck around him and spin him around, pressing him against the ladder just like he’d had me, seconds before. I slowly unbutton the three buttons holding my jumpsuit in place at the waist, and then let it slide down my body into a puddle on the floor. From his quick intake of breath, I can tell Chris likes what he sees. He immediately reaches out to grab my waist, but I step aside and shake a finger at him. “No, no, no. Not your turn.”
I move closer to him, loosening the knot of his tie. I leave the tie hanging around his neck while I undo the buttons of his dress shirt, and then I push the shirt over his shoulders and off him. His chest is bronze with a smattering of fine hair. His pecs are well defined, and his nipples are tight, rising and falling with his shallow breaths. I drag my fingernail over his nipple and Chris hisses at the contact. He’s being cooperative, but I know I can’t count on his cooperation for much longer. I take his wrists in my hand, and with my other, I pull the tie off of his neck. This is my night in Paris and I’m going to take what I want.
Chris smirks as I start wrapping the tie around his wrists. I’m glad he’s being a good sport, but I also want him to know I mean business, so when I tie the knot, I make sure to pull extra hard, letting him know those hands only get to touch when I say so.
I rub my hand down his stomach until I feel the hard steel of him under his pants. I smile, appreciating how big he feels under my fingers, and the way he instantly juts out his hips, seeking greater pressure. I deftly unbutton and unzip his pants, giving them a push down his muscular thighs. He’s wearing tight boxer briefs, and I don’t hesitate to drag these down as well. With his bound hands he reaches out toward me, trying to touch my panties. I step back, just out of his reach.
“Weaver, come on. What are you up to?” he asks, barely holding back the pleading in his voice.
“Chris, it’s my turn to play,” I say, taking his shaft in my hand and squeezing it firmly. “That’s okay with you, isn’t it?”
His answer comes out in a groan, and I interpret that as an enthusiastic yes.
I run my hand up and down his cock, enjoying the feeling of him getting harder, watching him watch my hand under hooded eyes. I run my thumb over the sensitive underside, and he jumps. I do it again, gathering a drop of precum that has pooled on the tip. It seems like he’s stopped breathing. I think it’s time to really get to work.
I drop down and grab the back of his knees, not waiting at all before I dive onto his cock, popping the head between my lips and swirling my tongue around it. The salty tang on my tongue sends a shiver through me, and I bob my head on the tip, enjoying the taste and the feeling of his fingers, flexing in my hair. I reach between his legs and play with his balls, taking his cock deeper into my mouth and increasing the suction. I keep up a steady rhythm like that, completely aware that he wants me to speed up, but it’s time for him to play by my rules, and I’m determined to make this last.
“Fuuuck,” he says, “let me touch you.” The last of his patience is coming to an end.
I ignore him. I mean, he hasn’t even said please.
I let his cock fall out of my mouth. It’s drenched with my saliva and I stroke it a few times, making sure to tug on his balls, hard, as I do.
“What do you want to touch, Chris?” I ask, holding eye contact with him as I pump him.
He has a glint in his eye, and I have the feeling that it’s about to be his turn.
“I want to touch your pussy,” he says, his words halting as my finger strokes the spongy tip of his cock. “I know you’re fucking wet. I know you want me touch you, to slide a finger inside you. To taste your clit with my tongue.”
I keep stroking, and his abs are trembling, his words are straining, and if I keep up the pace, he’s going to come. I slow down my strokes, alternating between long and slow, and quick pumps at the top. His jaw is tense, and his fingers are flexing despite his binds, itching to touch me freely. I love having control over him but he’s right, I want his hands on me, I want him inside me, badly.
