The chain

The apron was off. I sat at the bench in the silk camisole with a fine chain in my fingers and the lamp warm on my wrists. Sam stood in the light with the collar already checked by my hands, his breath easy. He had asked for the chain, the light one, the one that does not tighten. I clipped it to the ring and let it fall down the center of his chest. I held the end low, near his sternum. If I tug, it is down, never up. He nodded. He said he wanted me in charge. I asked if that was still true. He said yes.

I led him two steps closer by that low hold. Nothing crossed his throat. I kissed him before I took anything else. Then I told him to remove the camisole. Carefully. He did. The silk folded on the bench. My hoops swung when I leaned in. On your knees. Mouth on my cunt. He knelt and kissed my breasts, my stomach, my clit, and the chain stayed pooled in my hand so it never drew tight. I came with my fingers in his hair and the chain end loose against his chest, praising the slowness because slowness was the whole gift. Stay. Let me feel the last of it. He let me.

I had him take the stool and I straddled him, naked except the hoops, the chain still in my fist and resting on his chest, not his neck. I sank onto his cock and fucked him in a slow rock. I used the chain as a reminder in my hand and nothing more. Look at me. He looked. I edged him by going still whenever his hands tried to set the pace. Hands on my hips only to hold, not to move me. He corrected himself and I kissed him for the correction.

I rode until I was ready for him to finish, and I unclipped the chain first. I wanted his orgasm with his neck free and the jewelry already a closed matter. I told him to fuck his cum into my cunt. He did, arms around my waist, face in my shoulder. I wiped us with a clean cloth. I coiled the chain into its box and shut the lid so the night would have an ending he could see. He thanked me. I thanked him back.