Ding
Mr Blake: “You’ll want to wear red tonight. Trust me.”
I bite my lip, rereading the message as heat pools low in my belly. I already know what I’ll wear—the barely-there red lace set that I hadn’t dared to try on until today. I strip down, watching myself in the mirror as I slide the soft lace panties over my hips. The bra lifts and exposes just enough to tempt, while the garter belt clings to my waist like a whisper of sin.
As I get ready, I light candles and cue a playlist full of slow, throbbing bass. The wine is chilled and my skin is warm from the shower. I spend extra time oiling my body, gliding my hands down every curve—my thighs, my breasts, the sensitive skin between my legs. I linger, circling my clit just enough to tease but not release. That’s his job tonight.
By the time 8pm rolls around, I’m flushed and aching. When he knocks, I inhale deeply and open the door. He stands there in a tailored black suit, the top button undone, the heat in his eyes immediate.
“You wore red,” he growls, stepping inside, shutting the door behind him.
“I always do what I’m told—when I want to,” I whisper.
He steps closer, fingers hooking into my silk robe and slowly peeling it from my shoulders. “Fuck… You’re a vision.”
I feel his hard cock press against me through his trousers. I moan as he kisses my neck, his hands sliding under the garter belt, tugging the panties aside. He kneels, mouth already hungry between my thighs, licking up my slick folds with slow, deliberate strokes.
“Already soaked,” he murmurs, licking me again. “You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?”
I nod, too breathless to speak.
He lifts me, carries me to the bedroom, and throws me on the bed. He unbuckles his pants, cock thick and pulsing, then pins me down.
“I hope you’re ready to be ruined in red.”