“Tell me what you like.”

That simple remark; innocent enough in the beginning, but heavy in implication weighs on him for a long few moments, and he isn’t sure how to answer.

Not because he doesn’t have an answer; that isn’t the issue at all. He has more than one, in fact, and the tantalizing possibilities of verbalizing them, saying them out in the open and making them real by the very act of telling them to her is enough to make him slightly dizzy.

Especially with this woman. Hearing her ask—demand it of him—is like the opening to a fantasy itself. How many times has he lain in bed, hand wrapped around his cock and thought of her murmuring something just like this to him?

More than he wants to admit.

Oh yes, when the shift is over and in the quiet of his apartment, with the sun coming through the filter of the heavy curtains, he’s closed his eyes and tightened his grip, letting his practiced, lubricated grip slide along the heated length of his heavy prick. Behind his closed lids and bedroom door, he hears her voice in his ear, sees her in his mind’s eye.

Sometimes she is half-clothed, with enough skin showing to make him breathe hard, with that tantalizing smile egging him on.

Sometimes she is naked and gorgeously unself-conscious in her velvety bare skin. He knows she’d be beautiful in the nude; graced with curves and toned muscle, gifted with sensual confidence.

The thought of her coming to him; taking the initiative to demand his erotic attention is unbearably arousing at times. Not that he was passive—at least not in fantasy. True, he has a reputation of being low-key in reality, but in the theater of his thoughts, he meets her passion with an equal smolder of heat, enjoying the inevitable simmer of it between them.

“I like . . .” he begins softly, slowly. Her eyes hold his, and he marvels at all the things he can see in hers: curiosity and desire, winding around each other as she waits for him to continue. “. . . A great many things,” he finishes, amused at how she seems to expect that answer.

“Tell me one.”

“Corsets,” comes his low, slow reply. “Laced securely. Black, red, pink.”

“Laced?”

“Of course. Snug and sleek, old-fashioned; almost bondage but not quite. I think the term is ‘erotic discomfort.’”

“Yesssss,” she murmurs, the word warm in his ear; a caress. “You would. Corsets are sort of discipline and display all in one. Easy access and control.”

He nods; the blatant sensuality of a corset was undeniable. Any woman wearing one was sexy; this woman wearing one would cause his heart to pound, and make his mouth go dry. “They’re . . . not always . . . easy to handle.”

“I love . . .” she whispers back, “a challenge. And you’d like that, wouldn’t you? To see me all laced in like that?”

“Yes,” comes his rough and low response. “Damn it, yes I would.”

She laughs then, a pleased and slightly excited little sound. “And I like the idea of getting you hot and bothered. It definitely turns me on.”

This surprises him, sending a thrill through his body from his shoulders to his groin in a flood of blatant heat. His body wants hers, and for this moment in time, the possibility tempers into a reality.

He will have her; the issue now is when, not if.

Breathless. She feels the pressure squeezing her, keeping her in, holding her up; pushing her up. It was hard to get in any air, and yet the triumph of the thing was the mirror, and his face.

In the mirror she’s ohhhso curvy now, with a flair to her hips, and a luscious jiggle buoyed up between her bare shoulders. Little tingles of excitement war with the shallowness of her breath, and yet it’s hard to be annoyed because she knows the moment he sees her, all this will be worth it.

And it is. The burn of his eyes! Hotly intense, never leaving her, his gaze moving down her body with a heaviness she can practically feel along the satin of the corset.

She feels like a thing. A pretty, pretty thing.

A toy.

HIS toy, shiny and smooth and waiting to be played with.

Feminine, constricted, here for his pleasure which will be her pleasure because making him breathe hard and grow hard is quite definitely her pleasure ohyes, that sort of power is very sweet indeed.

“Turn around,” he orders, his voice deeper, not to be denied.

She does, slowly, trying to breathe slowly, but the satin hug of the corset is relentless in keeping her slim and slow as she does.

He moves, closer, unable to resist it, she knows. The pull of tight satin, of restrained feminine flesh held in this alluring hourglass of glossy satin. From behind her, he bends so that his hot breath is heating her shoulder and neck, right in that tender angle so very right for a vampire’s kiss.

He murmurs nasty words to her; clear, crude statements about what he intends to do with her lusciously packaged little body, and as he speaks, his hands settle possessively on her bare hips under the corset.

Dizzy. She feels dizzy, and it’s a lovely feeling. She’s not sure if it’s the tight corset, or his filthy words, but her heart is pounding against the satin, and between her thighs, the heat of desire is trickling now. This dreamy unreal moment, half in light, half in shadow, each second moving closer to the inevitable friction.

His hands shift, moving around her hips brazenly, stroking the flesh of her thighs and he urges her to part her legs for him.

She does, loving that she can feel his cock pressing hard against her ass through his slacks. He’s not as calm as his voice pretends, and a frisson of feminine power makes her slowly grind back against him.

That brings a grunt of hot breath in her ear; a nip as his teeth catch her lobe and bite it softly. Pleasure pierced with just the tiniest bit of pain; a splinter of it to make the moment wilder and sweeter. His big fingers rake through the curls between her legs and come away wet.

He chuckles, low and satisfied, and once again she feels like his plaything. When his hand returns to slide between her legs, his touch lightly, insistently probes further. His fingers move between her folds now slick with excitement.

She writhes; she can’t help it. His fingers are stroking her intimately, with lewd and playful intent, and his growl against her neck vibrates on her skin.

In this slow dance, he loses himself in the delicious scent of her, the salt tang of arousal heavy in the air just over her skin as he breathes it in. She’s losing focus above her cinched in waist and gaining it below, her stance widening without thought. He lightly trails his fingers along each fold, spreading the slickness, rubbing gently.

A moan escapes her; her back arches in pleasure but she can’t gasp, not with the corset in place.

“I’m going to make you mine,” he promises in a rough whisper. “I want to look between your legs; that secret place every man wants to see. I want to touch you there, and kiss you there while you spread yourself open for me.”

This isn’t a request, and they both know it.

He turns her, trailing the brush of his lips along her shoulder, her collarbone, up the ticklish length of her neck to take her mouth, hard.

A brash, wet kiss; born of lust as they let their tongues dance together. Hot, hot, his mouth is so hot, sucking on hers, and she’s breathless in a new way now, yes, yes . . .

The probe of his tongue deep into the sweet warmth of her mouth is luscious, and he knows this is just the prelude to what fucking her will be like. The wet, hot plunge into bliss for his cock, which is already aching now. Carefully he slides his hands around her waist, stroking his damp palms against the tight satin.

It’s perfect, this package she makes in it. He loves the way she strains in it, how she’s naked below, her triangle of curls there for his viewing and petting pleasure. She’s held back; secure; trapped.

She’s restrained in a way that shows off her pussy, just for him.

Lust surges through him, and he breaks off the kiss, biting her lower lip as he pulls back. Both of them breathe in each other’s faces, and he sees how flushed she is; how dark her pupils are.

This is new and dangerous; so very different from the way they look at each other at work. There, they stay professional and polite; associates and colleagues.

Here, they’re moaning into each other’s mouths, and his hands are sliding around to cup her naked ass, fingers wide and strong. Here, she rubs herself against him, and makes him leak.

“Want you,” she tells him in a choked whisper. “Please . . .”

“Soon,” he promises, and presses her back against the wall as he lets his mouth roam down her throat, making her whimper. His lips slide along her breastbone, and over each creamy mound of breast pushed up by the corset. Her breathing is quick and shallow, and it makes the corset rise a little with each inhalation.

He loves the sound of her excitement.

Carefully he gets on his knees, and even then he has sit back on his haunches, but damn, the view is worth it. Glossy curls in a neat triangle; nature’s arrow pointing the way to pleasure. He admires the saucy road sign, and kisses her thatch, burying his nose in the rich scent of it, letting the pheromones sink into the primitive part of his brain. His cock strains harder against his fly.

She gives a little shudder and strokes his head, urging him on, gently.

With leisurely intent, he uses his thumbs to part the folds hidden deep at the bottom of her curls, opening the way and stroking the pink and glistening edges. “Oh yes,” he breathes in a voice thick with lust. “Perfect. I love looking between your legs like this.”

She manages a soft laugh, tinged with modesty and frustration, but before she can say anything, he takes one of her hands and brings it down. “Show me. Show me what you want me to kiss. What you want me to lick with my hot wet tongue.”

Her moan squeezes out of her, high and strangled, but he waits, patiently. “Show me,” he orders again.

She bends her head, hair spilling over her shoulders and her hand moves through her curls, long fingers splaying the edges of her cleft only inches from his face. She’s trembling, and her nipples are insanely hard under the tight satin corset.

This is madness, this squeeze around her waist and naked freedom below it. She feels like a gift, half-opened; a candy bar with only part of the wrapped peeled away.

And yet, to see him on his knees, face in her muff, shoulders trembling is real power. He’s under her.

Worshiping her.

Her fingers widen the hidden pink of her pussy.

For a moment neither of them move, frozen in this pretty pose, but gradually his self-control slips, and he leans forward, mouth open, tongue gliding in a light stroke from top to bottom.

Delicious, he thinks, dimly. It’s hard to think this close to fucking, and he gives it up, concentrating on feeling. On tasting this tangerine woman, tart and succulent, a honeyed flavor that goads him into further licks, and suckles and kisses.

She writhes; good, damn it, TOO good. She wants to suck in a deep breath but she can’t, and her free hand blindly reaches for his head, cupping the back of it because she needs something to hang onto. His big hands go behind her thighs, cupping her ass again, bringing her harder against his hungry mouth.

Her hips move, rocking forward, pushing her pussy into his mouth shamelessly, grinding against his chin and nose as he groans with delight, tongue slid sliding in a slippery tease everywhere.

It’s a lovely little struggle; he wants to make her come, and she’s fighting it, holding out for every pleasure-drenched second she can, but in this conflict losers are winners, and she feels herself constricting even within the confines of the corset, tensing against that point of no return sinking deeper between her legs where the last little strokes of his loving tongue are steady and strong.

“Goddddddddddd!” she cries, head dropping back to hit the wall, no pain, just waves of breathless bliss rolling through her shuddering body, ripe with blind pleasure and she goes with it, lost in the exquisite madness.

She starts to slide down the wall, but he cups her hips, and when he looks up at her, she sees his mouth slick and wet with her juices. He should look foolish; but he doesn’t. He looks hungry as he helps her down to the carpet and looms over her.

“Want you,” he growls, softly. “I thought I could wait, but I can’t.”

“Yes,” she agrees, feeling light-headed again. The corset is a little looser, but when she lifts her knees, it tightens again. She props herself up on her elbow to help him with his fly.

God it looks big from this angle, and instead of worrying, she gives a moan of delight. Her hands move to caress him, helping him push the latex over the thick, impatient length. He hooks his forearms under her knees, and lifts her ass.

She knows what to do, and reaches down to help brush the head between her folds.

He looks down at her splayed legs, and at the curl-lined cleft that the head of his cock is resting against as it throbs, impatiently.

“Let me in,” he says, and slowly rocks forward.

In the moment his cock parts her slender pussy, arrogantly stroking into her pillowy tightness, he grunts; she gives a cry of pleasure as her legs tighten around his hips. Another thrust and he’s slipped into her fully, as encased and squeezed and constricted in her cunt as she is in her corset.

Gloriously hot, perfectly tight.

They move, rocking together in the rhythm of the fuck, finding their pace, urgently focused on the plunge of his into hers. She kisses him, mouth open, tongue licking his grunts and groans.

His hips pound against hers again and again, the tension hard in the muscles of his forearms under her knees, and she realizes he’s watching; looking down at their bodies.

She does too, and the sight of his cock, slick, thick and pale in the condom, thrusting into her and pulling out again is raw and mesmerizing. It’s animal; primitive. She wonders if she’ll be able to look him in the face at work, knowing she’s watched his prick fuck her pussy.

She feels the change first; his pace quickening, his cock thickening. He’s going to come.

That’s enough to set her off again. Just knowing that he’s about to come inside her.

He feels it, rising hotly through him, the urgent heat that has been building behind his balls is critical now, and all he can think about is getting off as deeply as he can inside her. She’s juicy and hot and later there will be time to play the lover, but right now she is his pretty baby fucktoy and he wants her legs wider.

He groans, pounding hard now, in love, in lust for that slick pussy of hers, that clenching slit that’s making his prick harder and hotter . . .

And she cries out, shaking underhimandDAMNsofuckingGOOD.

He goes, deep, and feels the rush of hot, wet spurts pulsing now, hard, hard, hard in pangs of pleasure up his spine, through his balls, up the rigid length of his cock.

He helps her take the corset off, bundling it neatly, smoothing out the satin strings and wrapping them around the middle of it. She’s quiet, but her smile is beautiful, and she holds out her arms to welcome him into her bed.

They curl up, new to this, but going by instinct. He wraps around her from behind, and kisses her shoulder.

For a long time they say nothing, each lost in thoughts they’re not ready to share. When she finally falls asleep, he watches her for a while, occasionally reaching out to touch her cheek.

And when he does, even in her sleep, she smiles.


end