The zipper descended, cool air hitting my spine as the dress parted. It pooled at my feet, leaving me in only the black lace bra and panties I'd chosen specifically for tonight.
"Beautiful," he breathed, his hands skimming up my sides. This time, when he cupped my breasts, only thin lace separated his skin from mine. "Fucking perfect."
He unhooked my bra with practiced ease. When his hands returned to my bare breasts, I gasped. His palms were warm, slightly rough, and the way he touched me made my knees weak.
Cupping my breasts, his thumbs brushed over my nipples until I was trembling. Then his hands left me entirely, and I almost whimpered at the loss.
"Turn around," he said, voice low and commanding. "Slowly."
I obeyed, turning until my back was to him. I felt his gaze on my skin like a physical touch.
"Hands behind your back."
I brought my hands behind me, wrists crossing.
"Good. Now keep them there. Don't move unless I tell you."
The command settled over me like a heavy weight. My wrists stayed crossed without restraints, held there only by his words.
By my choice to obey.
He circled me slowly, every sense heightened by my exposed position. As he circled, the air shifted, and I could feel his warm breath inches from my skin.
"You're shaking," he observed, his voice coming from behind me now.
"I can't help it," I admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't want you to." His hand traced up my spine with a feather-light touch. "Every tremor tells me exactly what you need. Your body's already surrendering, even if your mind hasn't caught up yet.
"You're doing so well," he murmured. "Standing here. Vulnerable. Trusting me to take care of you."
"Yes, Sir."
"Are you wet for me, Ava?"
My face burned. "Yes, Sir."
"Show me."
I froze. "What?"
"Touch yourself," he said, voice dropping even lower. "Show me how ready you are."
My hands were still behind my back. I hesitated.
"That's not a request," he said, his voice harder now. "Move your hands. Touch yourself. Let me see what I do to you."
Slowly, I brought my hands forward. My fingers were shaking as I trailed one hand down my stomach, over my hip, between my thighs.
I was soaked.
My fingers slid through my folds easily, and I gasped at the contact.
"That's it," he said, voice rough. "Don't stop. Let me watch."
I circled my clit, my breath coming faster. I couldn’t believe I was touching myself while a masked stranger watched. But the command in his voice stripped away any shame. There was only obedience. Only sensation.
"Are you always this wet?" he asked. "Or is this just for me?"
