Overtime

Night filled the windows and the model was a dark shape behind my shoulder. I sat on the table edge in the grey shirt, one boot off, the other still on. Eric stood between my knees because I had put him there. Take over, he said. I do not want to decide a single thing except that I want this. He is my partner. I hooked my bare foot behind his calf.

Open your belt. Slow. He did. I took his cock out and held it without stroking, just heat and pressure, until he stopped trying to thrust. Better, I said. I like when you listen the first time. He flushed at the praise the way he always does, as if I had handed him something that could bear weight. I made him lick my fingers. Then I put those fingers on my clit and his mouth on my breast through the open shirt. Stay at that pace. He stayed. I told him he was good at it and felt his cock get harder in my other hand, which was its own kind of compliment back.

When I wanted his cock in my cunt I said so and drew him in. The boot stayed on. The bare heel rested against his back. The model stayed untouched behind me. I set a slow grind and made him keep his hands on the table, not on me, until he asked. Then I said he could hold my waist. Only the waist. He held. I talked him through every change. I told him to fuck me faster. Stop. Stay deep in my cunt. You are doing well. I came with my forehead on his, a short laugh breaking out because the praise had made him whimper and I liked the honesty of the sound.

I kept him still after and stroked the base of his cock with two fingers. You can cum when I count to three, and not before. He nodded, desperate and obedient. One. Two. Three. He fucked up into my cunt and came, shaking, and I held his face and told him he had done it exactly right. I put the boot back on only when I was ready to be a person in a hallway. He carried my bag. I let him.