Working For Her 15

“Stand up.”

Abby was still standing behind me as I straightened up from the bed. When I turned to face her, I saw that just as I had suspected, just as the dull red throb of my ass suggested, she was holding a paddle in her hand.

This, the handcuffs; clearly she was very well equipped for dominating men, and I found myself wondering how many times she had done this before. Had she been planning this for the moment I walked through her door? The thought couldn’t help but excite me.

Abby could see that. My cock was making an unmistakable tent out of the jockstrap she had made me wear, and as her eyes drifted down my body, I saw a faint smirk of amusement on her face. She raised the paddle and touched its tip, just gently, against my throbbing cock. I moaned at the slight pressure, desperate to have her, desperate to be sliding that unstoppable erection into her tight pussy.

But I still wasn’t granted that. I could taste her still on my tongue, her cries of pleasure from earlier practically ringing in my ears, almost haunting me.

And all I wanted was to have sex with her, to throw her down on that bed and slide inside her, to feel those legs, in her smooth stockings, wrapped around my waist. To hear that voice crying out in pleasure, to see that beautiful face contorted by orgasm.

But that wasn’t what Abby wanted. Not yet, at least. And it could not have been more clear to me than it was in that moment that everything that was going to happen next was going to be what she wanted.