I never needed much encouragement when it came to sex, even when I was running late for an appointment.

My motto is this: “The beauty of clothes is that you can put them back on afterward.”

I always manage to get out of my clothes before my lover does. On this occasion it was a treat to see my gentleman friend’s pants go flying across the room. The dress shirt and bow tie were still in place, and would stay that way for the time being.

Being ridden had almost become a hobby of his, a pleasure he’d enjoyed ever since we met and became lovers. This time I had something slightly different in mind. I hovered above him, and, yes, my hand guided the way, but his entering was not the main objective now. Holding on to his cock, I made a path through my pubic hair with its head. Letting my moisture mix with his pearls of pre-come, I made circles around my clit, using him as a tool. When I judged the tip of his prick wet enough, I threw back my head and plunged down onto him. Once, twice, then I hoisted myself up again. The emptiness that followed was saddening, but it had served its purpose. He hadn’t anticipated it. His cock glistened with my juices, which he’d tasted earlier with a flick of his tongue.

I traced circles around his velvety dick with my tongue, then sucked hard, as if I were giving a hickey. Where my mouth and tongue couldn’t reach my hand took over, so he was getting a blowjob and handjob all rolled into one. But I knew he liked it that way. His deep, rumbling moans always give him away.

He touched my shoulder and pushed me back, murmuring, “Not yet.” I licked my lips, wiped the moisture off with the back of my hand, and then left that hand resting on his solid organ. I lay my head down on his shoulder and played with his balls — something I couldn’t help doing. He has his favorite pastimes and I have mine.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” I asked him. I was surprised that I managed to sound so innocent. He knew better, of course, but he appreciated the words with a smile and a kiss.

“Maybe,” he said.

He got up, hovered above my chest, and guided my head back to where it had been just moments before. I took him in my mouth as deep and as hard as I could. And it was deep. And it was hard. Being the attentive lover that he is, he pulled back, and my head fell onto the pillow.

His wrist moved flowingly as he rolled his foreskin back and forth. In the same moment he moved back a little, leaving more space between my head and his pending eruption. He winced, moaned, and pumped his cream all over my breasts. A few drops missed me entirely and landed on the sheets instead. He sat above me and watched the silvery white streams trickle slowly down

my breasts.

“Thank you,” he said, handing me some tissues.

“We have to hurry or we’ll be late for the concert,” I said.

That night I strolled around the opera house in a classy black dress that showed a considerable amount of skin. I wore a perfume that no other woman there could match. I hadn’t washed after our sex session, and his smell still clung to me. Did anyone notice? Well, let’s just say that the men smiled at me an awful lot that night.