The morning air hangs in the bedroom, cold in contrast to the still warm sheets upon which you sit, watching me dress. Your own material creased and ruffled, hanging lazily from your shoulders, offering naked flesh to the beams of sunlight piercing the haze of the room. Nothing is said as I tuck my still glistening self into tight grey trousers. The only noise is your heavy breathing as you softly circle fingertips over your spunk-soaked cunt, keeping the warmth of your last climax in your abdomen and the electricity behind your eyes alive.
Those eyes follow me around the room as I gather last night’s discarded clothes. A shirt missing a couple of buttons from where you pulled it open. A now ruined knitted tie that may have been used to bind wrists and playfully choke slender throats. Socks from either side of the room. The suit jacket carefully hung over the back of a chair of which my black jockey shorts lie underneath. You giggle as I discard them, daring to wander ‘free’ through the busy city streets, my cock still wet with your come.
I take a step back and lose myself in watching you, back arched, hair covering your face, sunlight now drenching your body and accentuating the slight upturn of those perfect breasts, a shadow formed beneath the hand that is now fucking yourself to orgasm. You moan and bite your lip as you come hard, free hand pulling at an exposed nipple, never taking your eyes off me, that almost insane grin of satisfaction spreading across your face again as the wet warmth flows across your thighs. You offer your dripping fingers to me and whisper as I close my mouth around them, savouring how sweet you taste, “Have a good day at work, but try not to miss me too much!”
