I would never have thought I could be just as much of a Domme with only this—only my trousers around my thighs and my fist full of hair—and yet here I am, here we are. Here she is being used and loving it, on her knees where she so loves to be.
“Suck,” I tell her, and she does, sealing her lips around my bud and drawing it against her tongue. “Good girl. Very good girl. Keep going.”
She makes a happy noise against me, like she wished on her birthday candles to be granted permission to do exactly this, and there’s another flare of heat behind my eyelids. Why does she have to be so otherwise perfect for me? Why does she have to fit me so well when she’s the same one who cut me apart with a careless ten minutes and a kiss?
But she sucks on me again, nursing on me until I can barely b
