The heels

The clients were gone. I locked the studio and sat on the stool in the black dress, lipstick fresh, bob smoothed, heels planted on the concrete. Ben knocked once and came in already quiet. He had texted at six. Lead me tonight. I want the heels. I want to worship you until you say it is enough. He is my partner. He does not work for me. I pointed at the floor and he went to his knees with his hands behind his back, eyes up, waiting for the next true thing.

Kiss the left heel, I said. Then the right. Slow. He did it, mouth soft on the leather, breath warm at my ankle. I set one heel on his shoulder and he held still. You may mouth the arch. You may not touch your cock. You may not move the dress until I say. He nodded. Say the yes properly. I want you to lead, he said. I want this. I opened his shirt and left his hands on his thighs so I could see them behave.

I drew his mouth to the inside of my knee, then higher, and I told him to get his tongue on my cunt. Now, I said, and I shifted the dress. He licked my clit the way I ordered it. Slower. There. Hold. Suck. I kept one heel hooked behind his back and my hand loose in his hair. I came on his mouth without making a show of it, thighs tight, voice low when I said stay. He stayed. I felt his cock throb in his trousers and I did not let him rush me through the after of it.

I stood him up and took his cock in my hand. My pace. I fucked my fist down him and told him he would cum on the heel, because we had agreed to that and he still wanted it. He asked if he could come. I said yes. He came hard across the leather, a rough thank-you in his throat, and I did not tease the thanks out of him. My cunt was still open from his tongue. I told him he had not fucked me, and that the night would stay that way until I said otherwise. I cleaned the heel at the sink, kissed the red onto his mouth, and sat on the concrete beside him until his breathing went ordinary again. Then I sent him to fetch water.