She took the stairs slowly, feeling the burn in her thighs and up into her hips. Her chest felt the press of the sprints she’d just completed, and shook her head, letting her loose, long hair sway, trying to cool herself, holding the elastic she’d pulled from her sleep and sweat tangled hair and the coiled up cord of her headphones.
First the front steps, up a story, the door, with it’s glass panels, and the inside steps, all the way up again, to the inner door. She was tired.
He was waiting there, at the top of the steps, his legs folded under him in a prayer pose, head bowwed and palms flat on the floor, long arms a little forward, as if in supplication.
The slight askewness in the way he was kneeling that said he had heard her coming at the first rattle of the door and got into position. She guessed rushing from the bedroom, or maybe he’d lumbered from his bed as far as the kitchen.
“Mistress!”
She smiled, stopped and rested her hand on the wall, plucking her phone from the taut pocket made by the tight grip of her sports bra and dropping it, keys, cord and elastic onto the hall stand.
His fingers went for the laces of her shoes, sensible trainers with white, honeycomb mesh and big white soft plastic, like rubber and panels of bright colours in purple and neon and reflective grey. She always put a double knot in the bow and laced her feet in tight, like it was a corset.
He kissed her then, on the crossed lace strip of her right instep, peeling her shoes off to reveal the padded grey ankle socks she was wearing underneath. Her feet were damp, clean sweat, fresh, and she smiled as he hooked a finger into the band of her socks and peeled them off, feeling him lifter her foot to kiss at her soles and then her calf and thigh.
He tasted salt, tongue darting our, delicately, seeking up the creamy inside of her leg until her hand pushed him away. “Fetch me a glass of water. No ice”
When he got up, she followed him into the kitchen, where he took a glass from the shelf and ran the tap for a moment to be sure the temperature was cool. She finished it in big gulps, plunking the spent vessel on the counter and lazily making her order an announcement- “Undress me.”
He knelt again, to pull down her brief shorts, black knit, drawstring drawn all ruffled to sit on her narrow waist but stretch fabric filled by the swell of her wide hips. She stretched, pointing her toes as she stepped free of the discarded garment, and he saw the jut of her hip bones beneath the thin fabric of her cotton panties, and the dark shadow of her groin.
He kissed and licked her pale belly, tongue making a trace to her rib flare, where his lips nipped at the bone, before moving behind her. The sports bra was a tight stretch of black elastic, pressing her small breasts, tight as he pulled it up, and she indulgently let her arms move up, making it easy. He got a rich waft of her smell from her smell, intoxicating, pheromone laden.
“Touch me.”
She didn’t need to explain what she meant, caressing her body, around to cup her bared breasts, kissing the back of her neck, and reaching around, palm sliding down her stomach and finger finding the furred fold of her labia, playing, getting a wriggle and then a pleased noise. Her hand crept behind her, making explorations of her own. “Serve me.’
His mouth traced from neck to shoulder, even as his fingers returned to her back, finding all the placed he knew she liked to feel him press, then cleaving to her sinking lower, back down to kneeling as he nuzzled the fullness of her ass. Hand and mouth, and then she let a giggle escape as his impish nature tempted him too much to nip at one perfect rounded cheek.
“Bad boy, serve your Mistress and go set up a shower.”
