Distractions

I imagine you under the table in my meetings. I imagine you doing the things I tell you to. I imagine you waiting for me in the hotel room as I send you a text with instructions to take a hot shower for me. I want your skin to be so very warm and pliant to kneading, like the softest of baker’s dough. Then I want you to put on a blindfold and lie on the bed naked just before I get back. Of course, you feel nervous about my requests, but always eager to please me, you take the shower as I asked, not even sure why. Then, you hold the blindfold while you sit on the bed waiting, wondering why you are doing this, your heart palpitating all the while. You get another text from me, I’m in the elevator, my instructions are to put on the blindfold and not to speak. You do it, settling naked onto the bed, and you hear me enter the room. I don’t say anything… you wonder for a moment if it is even me, and then you imagine where my heavy eyes are traveling across the terrain of your warmed naked flesh. Am I lingering on your soft thighs, your breasts falling to the sides? Perhaps your pink nipples relaxed by the hot shower? You hear me moving around calmly, placing my watch on the nightstand, undoing my belt, my clothes crumpling to the floor before I climb onto the bed and gently place an outstretched hand below your diaphragm where your sexual energy is focused the most. You feel the warmth of my heavy palm and the pressure of my fingertips sinking into your skin, I’m running them firmly and slowly up between your breasts, up to and around your neck, then a kiss behind your ear which I know will cause you to sizzle the most and enter into a state of hypnosis, just like you told me you would. Deprived of sight, my very touch ignites sparks beneath your shallow skin which burns for more after my touch has passed. Deep below your diaphragm, the gap between your breasts, your neck, they each cry to me independently “Come back!” But you bite your tongue, I asked you for silence and you obey. My fingers are no longer upon you, but why are you so wet, love? I can smell the ocean boiling over inside of you. Were you an apple I would steam you over with my warm breath, polish you carefully with my skin until you glisten, hold you up before me eyes to find the most delicious curve to wrap my masculine lips around, then sink my teeth deeply into you, sucking your juices out as pieces of your sanity fall away into my mouth, crisp, clean, like temptation, I’ll swallow you whole. Oh, what comes next? If things go as planned it will be you. Most certainly, you will come first… then it’s my turn.