Her rules

I sat on the library window ledge after hours, staff door locked behind us because a friend on the desk had waved us through and left. Charcoal jacket off. White shirt. Heels on the floor beside me. Richard stood between my knees, fifty-nine, waiting. I am twenty-seven. I said the rules are the same as the concert. You ask. I answer. If I say stop, you stop. Tonight I want to edge your cock with my hand and then I want you to fuck my cunt on this ledge until I come.

He said yes. I took his cock out and stroked him at a cruel friendly pace, thumb under the head, stopping when his breath broke. Twice. Three times. I kissed him on the third stop and told him he was doing it well. Then I pulled him in. The ledge was narrow and the city was a blur and he fucked me, cock deep in my cunt, while I held his tie. I told him shallow. Then deep. Then still. I rubbed my clit and came with my mouth open against his shirt, cunt gripping his cock, heels somewhere on the floor, not on me. I said cum in my cunt. He did, groaning, one hand on the window frame and one on my back so I would not tip. After, he handed me the heels like an offering and I laughed and put them on again for the walk to dinner. I like a man who can hold a rule and a door.