“No, don’t call me Arsen. You’ll call me… sir.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, the words tumbling out of my lips easily. I lick my lips, suddenly feeling dizzy. Am I really talking with him as I talk to Henry? What’s going on here? And why am I getting wetter and wetter?
“Good,” he continues, that maddening smirk on his lips. I have to fight hard against the urge to just walk toward him and rip his clothes out of his body, push him into the ground and ease myself on his huge cock. But, only God knows how, I manage to restrain myself.
Turning his back to me, Arsen walks across the living room and sits on his couch, crossing his legs and leaning back as his eyes wander up and down my body, mentally peeling off my skirt and blouse.
“Come closer,” he tells me, my feet immediately carrying me toward him until he tells me to stop. “Good. Now, take your blouse off.”
My fingers dart to the hem of my blouse and I pull it out over my head, throwing it somewhere on the floor. I want to keep going, to unfasten my bra and let him see my breasts and hard nipples… But, obedient, I wait for his commands. I know—what the hell happened to me? I’ve never been one to care about the whole bedroom dominance thing… But since Arsen and King Henry entered my life, I can’t help but crave it. And to think that I was used to being the dominant one, in and out of the bedroom!
“Now your bra,” he continues, and my fingers going to my back, obediently unhooking my tight lace bra. I push the straps down my shoulders and arms, the cups slowly drooping over my breasts; I tremble slightly as I feel the fabric brushing against my hard nipples before finally falling down to the floor, his eyes immediately hiking down from my face to my tits. Even from here, I can see the hunger in his eyes, and more than that, I can see the gigantic bulge inside of his pants. There’s no better feeling in the world than to know that a man like Arsen is taking this much pleasure just from seeing my breasts, that’s for sure. “Grab your tits, Ash. I want you to play with your nipples.”
I don’t even think about it. I grab my breasts eagerly, squeezing the soft flesh between my fingers before I brush the palm of my hand over my nipples. I bite my lower lip, taking one hard tip between my thumb and index finger and gently rubbing it. I bite my lip harder, but it’s stronger than me. I part my lips and let a soft moan fall from my mouth, my body burning in a state of frenzied desire and anticipation. Arsen is playing me like a maestro plays his orchestra, and he knows it.
He gets up from the couch, and my eyes immediately dart to his crotch. I try and suppress another moan, but it’s simply impossible; the sight of his tented pants is almost enough to make me lose my mind. God, I just want him to tell me to go down on my knees and take his thick veiny cock inside my mouth.
With slow deliberate steps, he walks toward me, and stops a few feet away. If I just reached for him I could grab his cock... But I don’t. As hard as it is, I’m doing my best to submit. And it’s hard. Very, very hard. Almost like as if you haven’t eaten anything for three days, and then someone sits you down at a buffet, telling you that you can only eat when they tell you to. Sure, you might be thankful, but you just want to devour everything in front of you. I have to be honest here, though: as painful as it is to be this close to him while restrained by his commands, I have to admit it makes me as hornier as I have ever been. I can’t explain it. Maybe I might just have never met a real man, one that could truly dominate me, but I never felt like this before. Only with Arsen… and King Henry.
God, why can’t I stop thinking of a man I have never met? And, of all times, when I’m here, half naked in front of Arsen? Still, it doesn’t seem wrong. In fact, it seems pretty adequate, since he’s treating me in the exact same way Henry uses to drive me utter and completely crazy.
Arsen extends his arm, reaching for me with his outstretched fingers. He stops before he touches me, his index finger just an inch away from the valley between my breasts. The corner of his lips turns upward mischievously, and then he slowly lowers his fingertip over my skin. I shiver almost instantaneously, my eyelids drooping as he touches me. I can even feel my heart pumping warm blood to my pussy, and all this just because he has laid one finger on me. Is this really happening? If he’s making me shiver with just one fingertip, I don’t even want to imagine what he’s going to do to me with the rest of his body.
His fingers slide down from between my breasts to my navel, and then back up again. This time he traces the contour of my left breast, going up its curve and circling my nipple. I tremble slightly, swallowing hard as I use all of my willpower to keep still. I just want to jump on top of him and be fucked as hard as humanly possible, but I don’t want to ruin this - I mean, the anticipation is completely murdering every hint of rationality in me, but I can’t say I’m not enjoying this… and in a most wickedly indecent way. Maybe I just like being tortured like this.