Worship

Evening came up on the glass and the city turned the studio blue. I stood in the same black dress, one heel extended, and Ben closed the door behind him like a man entering a room he trusts. He had asked for this on the walk over. Let me worship you. Tell me where. Do not make me guess. He is my partner, not someone from the floor who answers to me. I pointed at the concrete in front of the window and he went there without bargaining.

On your knees. Hands behind. Mouth on the extended heel, and you look at the city only when I say you may. He sank and kissed the sole, the tip, the side, reverent without being silly about it. I kept my balance and watched his mouth work. Slower, I said. You are not finishing a task. You are staying. He groaned and stayed. I let the heel rest against his lip while I told him the next pieces. Shirt off. Belt open. Cock out. Hands back where they were.

I turned, put my back to the glass, and told him to get his cock in my cunt and stay there until I said he could move. His idea, asked for days ago, still wanted tonight. My timing. I held the heel at his chest with both of his hands and I sank onto him. I fucked him shallow, then deep, and I made him keep the shoe where I had put it. When his hips jerked I stopped. You wait, I said. He nodded, flushed, city light on his face. I used his cock at the pace that got me there, one hand on his shoulder, the other on the window frame. I came around him, cunt tight, and kept his cock in my cunt while I breathed his name.

Only then I said he could move, ten slow strokes, my count, and then he could cum. He fucked up into my cunt on that count, holding the heel like it mattered, eyes on me because I had told him to keep them there. After, I took the shoe, checked his knees, and stood him up. We kissed with the city behind us. I fixed his collar and he did not fix a thing of mine until I asked him to fetch my coat.