I did as he asked. My mind flashed back to the last time he’d done this. Two years ago, we’d been in his backyard in a small house in the Parisian suburbs. He’d spread me on the glass-topped table in his backyard and instructed me to keep my voice down before going down on me. It had been my first time.
He’d gone down on me once more that night. But there had been no one in the intervening two years. No one to hold my legs open with their strong grip. No one to bend their head and lick my *. No one to play my body like an expertly tuned instrument.
There had never been anyone except Alexander.
Lust filled my body with impossible haste. “Please,” I moaned as I lay spread out on his desk. “Please.”
He raised his head to look at me. “A very tasty treat,” he muttered. His chin was wet with my juices and it didn’t seem to bother him at all. “Make all the noise you want, Jenny. When the door is closed, no one can hear you plead. But remember,” his piercing blue eyes fixed me with their gaze, “you must ask for permission to come.”
“Yes Sir,” I breathed. “Please may I come?”
He chuckled. “Already? Oh no, Jenny. You ate breakfast. It’s my turn to get my fill.”
He dived into me again.
Each stroke of his tongue sent pleasure spiralling through me. Each flick over my clitoris had me clutching at the desk, clawing desperately for some kind of hold so that I could obey his wishes and not fall into orgasm. Each rasp of his stubble against my tender folds had me groaning in uncontrolled desire.
“Alexander,” I begged. “Please.”
He spanked my thighs hard. “Sir in a session, Jenny,” he growled, his voice vibrating painfully close to my clitoris. “Alexander outside a session. This is a session, in case it wasn’t clear.”
“Yes Sir,” I exhaled. “Please may I come?”
“No. Hold on.”
It had been two years. I’d touched myself sometimes in that time. At the start, it had been difficult. Too much of my sexual desires had fled as a result of Dylan’s systematic cruelty. But after that night in Paris when I had found pleasure in Alexander’s love making, I’d started trying to get over my fear. I’d gone out one day when I found myself in Berlin and I’d bought a dildo at a sex store, even though entering those doors took real courage. I’d fantasized that Alexander was touching me as I’d stroked myself until I was soaked with my juices. Then, I’d slide in the dildo and push it in and out of my wet, needy *.
As I grew bolder, I’d even added lubricant and a butt plug into the mix. When my fingers had scooped the lube and had spread it around my tight hole, my body had tingled in response. When I slowly inserted a finger and wiggled it around, I’d moaned involuntarily. I’d imagined that Alexander was watching me. Telling me what to do. “Push in the plug,” he’d said in my fantasy. So I had slowly lowered myself down on it, and felt each and every inch of it in my rectal passage.
He always told me I pleased him in my fantasies. He was always warm. Firm but kind. In my dreams, I trusted him more than I trusted even myself. In my dreams, I could allow myself to fly, unafraid of falling. Because Alexander would catch me.
“Please Sir,” I begged again. I couldn’t hold it back. “I don’t want to disobey you.”
His tongue circled my clitoris. His strong hands moved with intent and two fingers pushed inside my dripping snatch. My hips arched off the table, but his fingers didn’t break their grip. In and out, they squelched and each thrust made me plead a little more.
I was incoherent with need. My body was wracked with small tremors as I fought to hold off my climax. When he finally added a third finger and gave me permission to come, it was with a relieved shout that I surrendered to my release.
***
Once I could move again, I cocked my head at him. “If that’s one of your four designated sessions,” I said cheekily, “I should probably suck you off.”
He laughed aloud. “By mutual consent, we may elect to have more than four sessions a week,” he intoned in a dry imitation of a lawyer.
“I consent,” I said promptly. I was still lying on the table, still splayed open in front of him and I didn’t have a thought in my head about covering up.
“Good,” he said, drawing me up by my hands so I was seated on the edge of the table. “Three months, cherie. Let’s have fun, shall we? After all,” he smiled wickedly, “we still have your limits to figure out.”
It said something about how sated I was after my orgasm that I didn’t tense up at those words. Perhaps I was a fool, but I didn’t feel unsafe around Alexander. I even wanted to see the playroom.