Bossed Around

Not Thea.

She sat next to me on the bench, her small thigh pressed to my oversized one.

She let me put my mouth on her shoulder, touch it to her ear.

It was very difficult not to use my superior strength to position her on the grass beneath me, shove open her legs and take what I need, what I need so desperately from this girl…but there is a sacred tether inside of me, holding tight. My body obeys her without question, as if I was born to serve her. Just her. This girl half my age, so small compared to me. I should and could be the one in command, yet she controls me with the tiniest raise of her chin.

She has the power to break me or make me whole.

Is she going to say yes?

Is she going to allow me to bring her secret fantasies to life?

To show her there is nothing to be ashamed of?

Maybe if I can achieve that, I can earn enough of her trust to coax her outdoors. Out into the real world where she belongs. Her wild spirit isn’t meant to be contained inside these stone walls. It’s meant to roam, to experience. To do it safely, she’ll need me at her side. Or at the very least, at her back. And that’s where I intend to be. One step away from my angel at all times. Awaiting my next order.

I stop pacing and press my head to one of the gallery walls. My fingers fumble with the button of my pants, unfastening it and reaching in once to stroke my stiffness.

I imagine knocking on her bedroom door and presenting my hard cock—still attached, of course—on a platter. Standing in front of Thea, offering the ruddy appendage to her, waiting to see if it’s to her liking. If she’ll be in the mood to use it or abuse it.

Stand right there until I’m ready to play.

Don’t move.

She’d drag her little pinkie finger over the thickest vein and I’d spurt come onto the platter, making her giggle.

It might be hours until I’m ready. But it better stay hard the whole time.

No touching allowed.

I groan into my bent elbow and rip my other hand free of my pants, slapping it onto the wall. Imagining her leaving the bedroom door open and changing her clothes, slowly, humming to herself while fabric drags over supple skin. While tights are dragged up slender young legs. Panties being molded into place over her virgin mound. I’d have no problem staying hard if she let me look. God, I’m going to ejaculate just thinking of watching her perform the secret routine of getting dressed. What would she ask for in exchange for the privilege?

“Good morning,” comes Thea’s voice behind me.

Her melodic tone rakes me sweetly, sending a ripple of painful yearning down to my toes. I should be embarrassed that she essentially caught me humping the wall, but…I like her catching me. I like the fact that there is already an understood depravity between us after what she confessed in the courtyard yesterday, and now? Now she doesn’t even seem surprised that—when I turn around to face her—there is an urgent swell behind my zipper.

“Good morning,” I rasp in a threadbare voice, absorbing the precious sight of her. She’s barefoot as usual, wearing a long, lavender robe that only allows her toes to peek out. It is belted tightly and her arms are crossed. She shifts on the balls of her feet, visibly trying to keep her cool. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.” After a second, she shakes her head. “No.”

“You were thinking of my offer.”

To conquer me.

Face pinkening, she nods.

Lord, that blush arouses me. Makes me groan deep down inside. She is two sides of a gorgeous coin, my angel. Shy and powerful, all at once. Unique. There is no one like her in this world. In thirty-seven years, I’ve seen enough of it to know for sure. She’s been here all along, locked in this cold gallery that pays homage to beings far beneath her.

“I’m still thinking about it,” she murmurs, her eyes flashing a little. As if she’s testing herself. Stretching her legs. “You aren’t rushing me, are you?”

Her rebuke is a velvet slap to my balls. “No, angel,” I say hoarsely.

The rosy quality of her complexion deepens. “I would like to know more about you first.” Her gray eyes track down the front of me, lingering on my cockstand. “For instance, why does someone of your considerable size become an art mover?”

I can’t keep myself from looking at her tits. They’re half hidden behind her arms, but I can see their perky shape. “Perhaps I like handling small, delicate things.”

Her eyes fly back to mine, her fingers curling into the lapels of her robe and holding it high around her neck. “What if…the artwork has never been handled before?”