You turn and walk only a couple steps toward the open window. Watching you walk makes me twitch again.

A glance over your shoulder makes sure I haven’t moved.

I haven’t.

You reach back and unzip your dress, pull it off your shoulders, and allow it to fall off your body into a puddle around your feet. Stepping out of it, only stockings, bra, and heels are left adorning your body.

Fucking gorgeous. Fucking stunning.

There’s the twitch again.

With hips swaying in a “come-fuck-me” walk, you stroll over to the shoulder bag that rests on the desk. As you search inside the bag, your eyes come back to me.

“You’ll want to get out of those clothes now.” It’s half suggestion, half demand. “But stay over there.”

Without taking my eyes off you, I kick off my shoes and shed my socks. I let my pants and boxers fall and step out of them.

You remove something from the bag, but place it on the desk, behind the bag, and out of sight. You turn and look around the room considering each piece of furniture.

Finally, there is a clear, faint smile in the dim light.

You walk to the coffee table and contemplate it for a moment. It is long, but relatively narrow.

You move it from in front of the sofa to in front of the wide, open window. The unlikely event that anyone might see you as you move around the room so scantily dressed is of no concern. If they see, so what. Maybe they’ll get a little twitch, too.

You position the narrow end of the table a couple of feet from the window and walk back to the desk. From behind the bag, you retrieve the thick, rubber cock I bought you; the toy you always say you can’t use until you are highly excited; the toy you always say you can’t use without me.

You examine it for a moment then look back to me.

“Come here, baby,” you beckon softly.

As I approach, you roll the desk chair to the end of the table opposite the window.

“Sit here.” It is an invitation.

As I do, you push apart my knees and kneel in front of me. You don’t speak. Without ceremony, you engulf my cock. Your mouth is hungry and you suck with fervor. But only for a few moments before you stand, lean over, and kiss me, soft and deep. We share the taste of your sex on my cock.

The kiss breaks and you back away only a few inches.

“Mmm. I taste very good on you.”

With that point of fact – and it is a fact – you stand and walk to the opposite end of the table, then lean back against the window. The cold, night sky frames you. Enough light fills the room that I can make out every detail.

“Stroke your cock, Derrick.”

As I do, you lick your lips. A sigh escapes them.

Eyes glued to my hand, you lift your left leg and place your heel-clad foot on the table. Your knee splays out, opening yourself to play.

Your left hand slips down between your parted, wet thighs and finds your erect clit. Your right hand follows with the rubber cock.

Your eyes go from my hand to my eyes as you ease the head of the toy across your clit.

Your mouth opens, but no sound escapes as the rounded edge grazes your clit. It is teasing you. You do it again. And again, before pushing the head down and slowly along your pussy lips. There is no entry, but merely making the cock slick with you.

Your chest heaves. The pushed-up curves of your breasts rise and fall with deep breaths, your excitement riding a crescendo as every ridge of the cock causes more stir in your pussy.

I follow every move of your hands. They glide up your body to see every rise of your breasts. They visually savor every curve of your long legs. They drink you in. What I’m watching puts me on the edge of eruption.

I ease my strokes. The pressure lightens. The pace slows. There will be a time and place.

Your hand pushes the balls end of the cock down, and points the head up. You look down and watch what I watch. The bulbous head slips between your lips. You pause. Then the massive shaft spreads you wide and ascends. You lift your hand and push in deep as your hips drop down to meet the cock that fills you.

A low groan escapes your lips as you grind.

You are in complete control and simultaneously lost in abandon. Your hand can thrust the cock upward. You can push your ass down. Or both.

Both it is and in moments your hand drips with your own arousal.

“So fucking wet, Camille.” It is an obvious observation, but one I can’t keep in. I resist the urge to stroke harder and faster. I don’t resist the urge to lick my lips. They thirst to savor you.

Just a couple more pumps and you ease the cock out. It glistens. Your thighs glisten.

You plant your foot firmly back on the floor, seductively walk back around the table and position yourself between my knees.

You kneel. Your arms rise and your elbows rest on my thighs. Your right hand holds the imposing cock that just moments ago filled your pussy.

I stop stroking and wonder what’s in store.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you command. “That cock – my cock – needs to stay very, very hard.”

I resume, though very slowly.

“Mmm.” You watch my hand. I can feel your breath on the head of my cock. You are that close.

Casually, you bring your silicone playmate to your mouth and lick. A long lick from balls to tip while you watch me stroke.

I can feel your tongue. It isn’t touching me, but I can feel.

You lick again. You lick like it’s a melting ice cream cone and you don’t want to miss a drop. Long licks as you turn it, cupping the balls in your left hand. Your tongue snakes around the head.

Then your eyes turn to my eyes.

A smile. A wonderfully evil smile crosses your lips.

“I just wanted to make sure you got to watch that, baby.”

My cock twitches and a thick, clear drop of pre-cum emerges.

Not missing a beat, you lean forward, your tongue lashes out, and the drop disappears.

Another evil smile as you stand between my legs.

You ponder the two cocks for a brief moment: The one I stroke and the one in your hand.

You turn and bend only at the waist. Your ass spread before me. Your swollen, thick wet pussy lips peer between your thighs.

My thirst overcomes me. I lean forward and lick as deep between your thighs as possible, dragging my tongue up to your ass.

One lick.

You gasp and drop your hands quickly to the table to steady yourself.

Another lick.

You press your ass back against my mouth as my tongue drives between your quivering cheeks.

And you step forward. Out of reach.

Sweet, delicious torture.

I watch your black stocking-clad legs, still accentuated by your high heels, spread to either side of the table. You have calculated well. Your feet plant solidly on the floor on opposing sides of the table. Yet it is narrow enough for you to comfortably straddle.

You plant the thick cock in the middle of the smooth surface, pressing the suction cup down. The toy – still wet with your saliva – isn’t going anywhere.

Your hips rise up over the tip, then lower until your lips cap the head. You turn your head and look back over your shoulder. Your eyes go to my cock and hand. And you lower your hips.

I watch. You watch me watch. You know how this turns me on.

The wide shaft spreads you tight around it.

You continue down. Inch by inch the thick shaft disappears. Three-quarters of the way down, your hips rock and pump slowly.

Your erect body settles onto the full length forcing a deep, low groan that fills the silence.

Your hands come up and undo your front-clasped bra. It is discarded into the dark.

You lean back with your head back. Your hands grip the corners of the table close to me. You are fully impaled. Your breasts point upward, tipped by pebble-hard nipples.

Your hips pump up and down. Short, deep fucks push the cock deep. You are filled.

You raise your body back up, shoulders, and head up creating that beautiful, beckoning arch in your back that I love so much.

Your hands come around your hips, glide down your cheeks and spread them wide.

So wet. So evident in the minimal light of the room.

Your pussy straining around the thickness buried in you.

Your head turns again.

“Fuck me, Derrick.”

Your voice drips with want. But it is a command.

“Just fuck me.”