Hold it right there. Don’t move. I want to stretch this moment out – you; taut and quivering with need, on your hands and knees with your legs spread wide. Anticipating.
I haven’t finished deciding just what to do with you yet. So many possibilities, each of them delightful in its own way. You glance at me over your shoulder through tangled curls – what are you waiting for?
I’m not waiting – I’m making you wait. Watching you squirm, listening to your quick breathing. Contemplating the view. You, with your plump round arse in the air and your acorn-hard nipples brushing the cold bathroom lino; held open in anticipation, invitation. So beautiful. So ready.
You squirm harder under my intent gaze, stretch and sigh lustily. Encouraging, not yet impatient, you’re familiar with my wicked ways and have your own armoury of persuasive techniques with which to counter my small, cruel entertainments. We understand each other so very well.
Kneeling behind you, I place my hands either side of your cunt-slicked labia and pull them apart slowly, watching in fascination as you open to me.
Yes, you murmur, yes please
Wait, I say, and hold you there, drawing circles with the heels of my hands. Press and squeeze, pull and stretch, as you whimper and buck, and arch your back in silent plea. I know for a certainty that if I slid a finger inside you, how your cunt would twitch, closing a slippery grip around my offering. I might yet do that, but for the moment, I’m wholly occupied with the sight and the feel and the scent of your desire, held at bay.