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Monday Morning Delirium
“I want to watch you masturbate,” he whispered into my ear, his warm lips glancing against the lobe before teasing it with his tongue and nipping sensuously with his teeth.
My nipples hardened immediately, and I could feel the hot blush rise in my cheeks. He pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose, before taking a couple of steps back and perching on the end of the mattress.
“Pull down your panties,” he directed, with a playful, cheeky smile. “Slowly.”
(I always used to hate “the P-word”, that is until I first heard him say it. He confines his use of the term to the bedroom, where it has become a sexy part of his ‘dirty-talk’ vocabulary: the rest of the time they are just my “pants” or “knickers”.)
I hooked my thumbs into the elastic waistband of my simple white cotton briefs and lowered them unhurriedly while he watched with anticipation, occasionally murmuring words of encouragement; “yes”, “that’s lovely”, “good girl”.
Hearing his praise made my pussy clench, and elicited a heavy throb from deep inside my belly. I stood there, naked from the waist down, awaiting his further instruction.
“Now sit there on the dresser,” he commanded, nodding towards the solid Canadian maple chest of drawers opposite our bed, “and open your legs wide.”
