The storage room

The hang was done. Cloth-wrapped frames, grey t-shirt, black apron, hair in a low twist. Miles was still there because I had asked him to wait, not because I schedule him. He is twenty-six. I am forty-four. He shows in other rooms. I do not pay him and I do not tell him what to make. I told him the work was over and the wanting was separate, and that I wanted to kiss him before we left the storage room.

He said yes. I kissed him against a wrapped frame and kept my hands on his chest so I could feel him breathe. I said my place, not here. We are not going to fuck in the storage room. The apron stays a work thing. He nodded like he understood the boundary and liked it. In the cab I put his hand on my thigh and told him not to move it until I said. He did not move it. I liked his obedience more because it was chosen.

At home I took the apron off and left it on the chair. Silk robe. I told him to sit on the edge of the bed and wait while I washed the dust off my hands. When I came back I stood between his knees and said you can open the robe. He did. He said I was beautiful and that he wanted to be told what to do. I said mouth on my cunt, slow, and stop if I tap you. He licked my clit until I came standing, one hand in his hair, the city noisy and irrelevant, cunt pulsing on his tongue. Then I stroked his cock and let him cum in my hand while I kissed his mouth. I said good. Stay the night if you want breakfast and another round on my terms, and I will decide when you fuck me. He stayed.