He groaned and reached forward for the edge of the island, shoving himself back against my cock with every thrust I drove forward. We made the fucking into a dance and it was perfectly choreographed. The stars didn’t tell me I’d have this kind of earth-shattering sex.
I slapped his ass hard, watching the rosy color it turned. He went to touch himself, but I hissed, “Keep your hands on the island,” and he shot his hand back to curl his fingers around the edge.
I yanked aside the apron and grabbed his cock, jerking it in time with my thrusts. He moaned and buried his face between his arms again.
“Please.” He begged so beautifully, his voice strained and needy.
“Please, what?” I must have hit his prostate because his cock jerked in my palm and he moaned the loudest he had yet, so I kept slamming myself into that spot until he was a quivering mess beneath me.
“Please let me come,” he cried, and even though I couldn’t see his face, I imagined actual tears sliding down his flushed cheeks—and that’s all it took for me to come. I froze, my balls exploding and cum shooting from my slit and into his heat. I rode through the waves of my orgasm until I was empty, and it was only then I noticed my palm was wet with his jizz.
“Did you come without my permission?” I grinned and slowly slid out of him, my softening cock slipping from his hole, which had him moaning.
He glanced at me over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mister.”
I laughed. “I’ll forgive you this time, but next time you don’t come until I say.”
Gesturing to the cum that streaked down the side of the island, I said, “Clean that up and then join me in the shower.” I slid my hand over his ass and he whimpered. “Maybe if you’re a good boy, I’ll eat my cum out of your hole.”
He gasped, and I laughed as I sashayed toward the bathroom.
* * *
A monthlater we’d fallen into an easy routine of me working and Ross being my housebitch. It wasn’t difficult to see he was enjoying my dominance over him, and giving him cleaning and cooking duties had set him on a path I supposed neither of us had expected. I’d asked him one night, after I’d fucked his unbelievably tight ass, if he still enjoyed this. A part of me hated the thought that I was unknowingly forcing him into doing something he didn’t like, but Ross had pushed the doubts aside.
“You take care of me, Mister. I want to take care of you, too.”
That’s what he’d been doing. As the weeks progressed, he’d grown in a lot of ways. He could cook a lot better now, and I got home each evening to food he’d nearly made from scratch. When I asked how he’d learned, he told me he’d been watching YouTube cooking videos, and it showed. The apartment was immaculate, and he wore his apron like it was a prize. The whole role-play got me wondering, though. I knew exactly what this was—domestic discipline—and I’d never personally been into the kink before. I’d worked some nights with a client who had been all about DD, but it wasn’t something I’d ever imagined myself doing full-time. Yet here I was, the Mister of the house, while Ross was basically my glorified househusband.
I’d decided a few days ago that I needed to talk to someone who knew more than I did about this lifestyle, and that someone finally texted me back to say I could drop by, so I called Ross to let him know I’d be home late.
“Oh.” I couldhearthe pout in his voice. “I made pizza tonight. It’s Friday.”
I held back the chuckle that threatened to rise in my throat. Fridays had quickly become our pizza night, and he made everything from scratch, even the sauce. “That’s fine. I won’t be long.”
“Where are you going?” And he was starting to sound like a househusband, too. The suspicion in his voice did make me laugh this time.
“To see a friend, Pookie.”
“What kind of friend?” Ross asked, his voice dropping dangerously. He’d come into his own over the last month, taking hispositionin stride, and with that came confidence. Oh, I was still in charge, but he liked to push the boundaries. This was more like the mayor I remembered, and I enjoyed the challenge.
“A friend. An ex-client.”
He let out a harsh breath.
“Don’t worry, Pookie. We’re only friends. I would never do that to you, and you know it. I’m not a Courtesan anymore, am I?” I raised my eyebrows even though he couldn’t see me.
“I know.” He sighed through the phone line. “Can I meet him?”
“Yes, I think you and he would get along just great. You’re two peas in one pod, and that’s the vegetable, not the bodily fluid, because Eli isn’t into watersports.”
I could see Ross rolling his eyes like a brat at me. “That’s good to know,” he droned out in a bored tone.
“Don’t push it, Pookie, or we’ll be having a discussion about punishment again. What are you wearing?” I teased as I got out of my car and headed toward the door of Eli’s apartment building. The place had been built in the 1950s when boxy skinny architecture was in, and the funky retro energy matched him. The door attendant nodded at me, and I winked in answer as I swept through the door she’d opened. I’d seen Eli here a few times, and he’d made sure I was allowed to enter whenever I wanted without issue.
“Why are you asking that?” Ross asked, embarrassment evident in his voice, alongside desire. “I’m wearing my apron.”
“What else?” I whispered as I stepped onto the elevator with an elderly man who made a point of looking me up and down. This stare was different from the ones I’d get from my neighbors at my apartment. I wasn’t wearing something sexy the way I used to after seeing a client, but rather sports attire, including a polo shirt, shorts, and sneakers.
