The model

Everyone else had left the model on the long table and gone home. I locked the studio door. Simon stayed because I had asked at four, and he had said yes. I am forty-five. He is forty-two. We are colleagues who date. He is not my boss. I am not his. I took one shoe off and stood barefoot on that side, charcoal turtleneck, thin glasses, the model between us like a witness I did not mind.

Rules, I said. You do not cum until I say. If you need to stop, you say stop, and we stop. He said he understood and he wanted it. Good. I sat on the edge of the table, careful of the model, and put my bare foot in his lap. Not crushing. A rest. Feel that, I said. His cock jumped under my sole. I smiled. Hands behind you for now.

He put his hands behind him. I rubbed his cock through the wool with my foot, slow, the arch riding his cock. His mouth opened. When his hips jerked I lifted the foot away. Not yet. He breathed and nodded. I did it again. Pressure light, pace mine. I like the focus on his face. I like being the one who builds the heat and then pauses it. My cunt was wet against the seam of my trousers. I told him. He said please. I said not until I decide to fuck.

I freed his cock and stroked him with my hand while my bare foot braced on his thigh. Close, he said. Stop, I said, and he stopped thrusting into my fist. I waited until his breathing dropped. Again. Three times. On the third I was done being only in charge of him. I shoved my trousers down and sat back on the table. I said, fuck my cunt. Do not cum. He got his cock in and fucked my cunt, grateful, and I kept a hand on his chest to set the speed.

I came around his cock with my foot planted on his shoulder, saying yes, stay there, good. Then I let him go. Cum now. He came in my cunt because I had said he could, deep, shaking, eyes on mine. After, he kissed the bare foot and put my shoe on. I sent him home. He texted that he was ruined for sleep.