Harper lifts the paper and skims through again. I wait before feeding her the answer.
“No blood or impact play, no harsh degradation. No spanking even. I don’t want to cause or see you in any pain. That's not what this is about, all I want is your pleasure. Everything that is marked are aspects that I engage in because I know they will bring you the most out of body experience. That’s all I want.”
There's a slight shift in her. Her hips rock in the chair across from me as her neck cranes side to side before she sets the paper back down. “So you like giving?”
“More than you know,” I say and relish in the way her face flushes. “Can I show you?”
Her hands fall into her lap. Everything goes still. Seconds drag on for eons until finally she nods.
“Come here, Harper.” I request, wearing the heavy air of authority like a comforting mask. I like to be the one to call the shots, I like to give orders. But what I love most of all is the precise moment when control is relinquished and placed entirely onto me. Giving me the power to do whatever I want. And as Harper slowly stands without any further command and walks over to me all I want is to pull every ounce of pleasure I can from her body.
Today couldn’t have been better, the outfit she has on is one of my favorites. Honestly, anytime Harper is in a skirt is my favorite and right now is no different as my cock stiffens in my pants.
“I like being in control. At work, in my personal life, in the bedroom,” I start saying as I lean forward, placing both hands on her hips and guiding her so she’s in between my knees and her back is to the table. “But I don’t get off on controlling by fear or punishment or pain.”
Harper watches with rapt attention as I grip her hips, lifting her to sit on the table. Fingers melt into the softness of her. The fabric of her skirt flows like water as I guidethe soft material up her legs. I want at least ten more in her closet.
“I prefer a more gentle approach. Coaxing you into submission rather than demanding it from you.”
Fabric pools around her waist and onto the table. Harper leans back on her hands with a few labored breaths moving her entire chest.
“Does that make sense, Sweet Girl?” Harper opens up beautifully when I spread my legs with her feet pressing into my knees. There’s not an inch of skin I don’t want to see, but having her partially clothed, with her most intimate space on display for me, is the type of torture I’d die to experience.
“Yes,” she answers, a breathy whisper of a word.
“I also get enjoyment out of how many times I can make you come and all the different ways I can get you there. Probably even more than finishing myself, if I’m honest.”
“Really?” It's not the first I’ve heard the questioning tone when I make that confession, but at the very least, this will be the last.
“Really.”
All I see are pale pink cotton panties and momentarily I’m rendered mute. Nearly non-existent and molded to her center. Nothing to hide the fact she’s turned on andhas probably been since she got here as a small damp spot blooms in the middle.
I’m fixated, salivating and trying my fucking hardest not to dive face first into nirvana. “I want you to remember you can stop all of this or even some of it at any time. I may be in control but you have all the power.”
Our eyes meet. Ice to earth. Matching unbridled heat swimming through our connection. “I don’t want to stop,” she says, and it's exactly what I’ve been waiting for.
Reaching forward and hooking my fingers under the band, I peel her underwear from her body slowly, and then unconsciously pocket them. My knees slide out further to spread her wider, before giving her first order. “Show me what makes you feel good.”
Her eyebrows knit together, pouty lips parting with an unspoken question. “Don’t tell me you’ve spent all these years neglecting this pretty pussy too.” I run the back of my finger along her center, forcing a sharp breath into her chest. I do it again for good measure.
“Show me how you like to be touched.”
Her lip is in a vice-like grip between her teeth but slowly she reaches down, only hesitating for a second before doing exactly what I asked.
Inside every molecule in my body takes flight at the sight of her pink, wet center and I have to press my palm against my zipper for even the smallest amount of relief.
Harper knows exactly what she needs. Each movement is executed with calculated precision. Years of being the only one to bring herself over the edge. Burgundy painted fingertips tread slowly through the dark thatch of hair covering the top of her mound, the rest is bare and slick with arousal.
Chain me to the chair because I don’t know how else to keep myself from sliding into her in the next five seconds. One look at her like this, spread wide for me, her wall of inhibitions slowly crumbling as she spins tight circles around her clit and it makes my cock weep.
Harper’s head falls back. A breathy moan falling from her lips
“You’re beautiful, Harper. I should take a picture of you like this, spread wide and dripping wet. Hang it in my office like the art you keep in yours.”
She murmurs something incoherent, circling her fingers tighter, quicker. Chest heaving and hips lifting, she’s seconds from tipping over the edge. “Stop.” I instruct.
Harper’s hand stills, head lifts, and with eyes wild, looks at me with a pained expression. “What happened? Did I do something wrong?”
