I peel off the shirt first, toss it to my feet. Push down and step out of the leggings. Reach for my underwear.
"No,” he barks. "Bra first.”
"Yes, sir." God save me, but I feel such a wild thrill in this. In knowing I can submit to him safely, willingly, eagerly. Give him all the decisions, all the control.
He loves it just as much—knowing Iwantthis. He's not taking anything from me; I'm giving it. All he's doing is accepting.
Serendipity.
Puzzle pieces made to fit perfectly together.
I strip the bra off, watching him watch my breasts bounce free. His cock swells behind the gray cotton of the sweatpants.
And now I get it.
You see those memes about gray sweatpants doing for women what a skin-tight pair of yoga pants does for men. And I never got it.
Now I do. Ireallyfucking get it. Because fucking hell, the gray sweatpants. The outline of his huge cock behind them. The way I can see it swaying as he moves. The way they cling to his taut, hard, round ass.
Fuck, yes.
"You need to wear those more often for me," I say.
He glances down. "Ratty old gray sweats?" He sounds adorably confused, maybe even a little offended.
I grin, and I know exactly how it looks—wild with arousal, positively primal with it.
"Yes!” It comes out a soft snarl.
He smirks. "If that's what does it for you, sweetheart." We both go still. "I…I've never used terms like that before."
"Me either." I shake my head, throat tight. "Use them all. I want…" I blink. "I…I want—"
"I know what you want," he says. "Now come over here, Beautiful."
I come over there, in just my panties—Terra's, as she's the only one with a big enough ass to lend me her underwear. Good news is they're kinda sexy. Black lace cut high on the hips to bare my ass cheeks and a narrow triangle covering my puss.
I don't own sexy underwear. If I want to seduce a man, I put on my silk kimono. But I admit, this feels…hot.
His eyes burn with barely restrained need; his hands shake with it. When I'm a foot away, he holds a hand up. "Stop there."
I stop. Stand waiting, breathing, eager for his next command.
"Turn around."
Swallowing hard, I turn around. What is he going to do? Spank me? I've long fantasized about that. I told him as much. But I'm also scared of it. Not the pain—he told me doesn't get off on pain, and neither do I. What am I scared of? Trick question—it's not fear. It's…anticipation, desperation.
"Take them off. Slowly." I glance over my shoulder, but he nudges my head around. "Don't look at me. Just do as I say. Take off the panties, now, slowly."
"Yes sir, Jakob."
I'm panting shallowly, shaking all over. Slowly, I shimmy my hips side to side as I wriggle the lace down past my buttocks. As they reach my thighs, I bend at the waist, little by little, pushing the underwear down.
When they're pooled on the floor around my feet, his voice stops me with his next order. "Grab your ankles."
Good thing I'm flexible.
I hold onto my ankles, feeling more exposed and vulnerable than I ever have in my life. A rough hand smooths gently down my spine from my shoulder blades to the small of my back. Fingers dance over my left buttock. A single fingertip traces the circumference of one cheek. The other. I gasp when the fingertip brushes the tight knot of my asshole, and I remember the things he promised he’d do to me, there, and I stop breathing.
