Scintillectually Yours

My eyes are tired and my back aches. I stand up and stretch, my desk chair rolling across the wooden floor. I shade my eyes from the mid-afternoon glare and watch you propel the lawn mower across the wide expanse of green out back. Ah, the joys of having my very own yard-butch. You never let me lift a finger unless I insist and I take much more pleasure in digging in the dirt to reap the colorful benefits of my English gardens than I do in pushing heavy machinery.

As if psychically connected, you look up and see me framed in the window. I smile and beckon you to come in. You shut off the mower and within a moment I meet you at the back door with a Buckler’s. You grin and lean in to kiss me but I back off with mock distaste at your grungy beater and sweat-soaked lips. “Ewwww,” I say, pulling a face. “I was just going to have a smoke,” you reply, “Come on out, take a break.” I grab my iced green tea and follow you to the patio, settling into an Adirondack chair under the pergola. The canvas strips woven through the weathered wood providing some respite from the scorching August sun.

You sit heavily in the matching chair beside me and light up, inhaling deeply. My old habit haunts me during your now infrequent cigarette breaks and I feel a longing in my chest. Watching your hand move from your side to your mouth, the long drag and the exhalation, your tongue darting out periodically to quickly lick your full bottom lip, I start to feel a very different kind of longing. I sigh as you get up and head over to the spigot to rinse off the day’s grime. As if in slow motion, I catch every detail, every drop of water that runs down the back of your neck and soaks your tank. I catch myself daydreaming as I stare at the hole in the back of your jeans, the plaid of your boxers visible.

“Hey!” I am jolted out of my reverie as you playfully turn the hose on me. I jump up and out of reach. “You know, if you’ve got that thing out, you might as well put it to good use.”

“Really?” You arch one eyebrow in my direction.

“Pig.” I smirk, “I meant that you should water the flowerbeds while you’re at it. My glads are starting to wilt a bit.”

“As you wish.”

It is your standard reply to me. The answer you give me whenever I make a request of you. The phrase that earned you the nickname “Dread Pirate Roberts.” And it never fails to work on me.

I walk over and turn off the water. You look at me quizzically as I push you toward the house. “I changed my mind. I have other plans for you.”

“Are you getting mouthy with me, woman?”

“Not yet, I’m not. Come on.” I follow you into the house. “Bathroom.” I am insistent and I’m not playing. I want what I want and I want it now. You understand immediately and comply, heading for the master bath. You start to turn the tap on in the garden tub and I stay your hand. “No. I think you need a little lesson in self-control.”

You start to speak and I put my finger to your lips. When you begin to kiss my hand, I pull away. “Strip.” I say. You do. And then you reach for me and I walk away leaving you standing in the middle of the tile floor. I reach up under my skirt, slowly and deliberately take off my panties, and then I pull myself up onto the vanity, perching on the edge.

“Come here.” I tell you, “On your knees.” I know you think you know what’s coming. You don’t. I pull my skirt up around my waist and spread my legs. Your hands instinctively move toward my thighs, you have that hungry look about you. “No. Don’t move. Stay right there.” You are literally 6 inches from my already drenched cunt. You don’t take your eyes off of it. I reach down with one hand and spread my lips apart letting you see all of me, as closely as possible. You groan in a barely audible plea for mercy but you know better than to move.

“Jerk off for me, boi.” I wait to see your reaction. I know you are reticent to do so even in the dark of night and here we are in the well-lit bathroom in the middle of the day. “Go on, I want to watch you. If you’re a good boi, I promise you can have what you want. If you’re a bad boi, well…” I take my hand away and begin to pull my skirt down. Your hand immediately moves to your rock-hard shaft. You begin to pull and stroke your boi-clit and I can feel my breath quicken. I shift again and reach down between my legs, fingering my own clit in a very different way. Your gaze is unwavering. You stare down my pussy with a cocky, almost challenging attitude. I know you choose to do this, and it pleases me.

Your hand moves faster as my own rhythm picks up. I taunt you by dipping my fingers in my vagina and offering them to you before I quickly put them in my own mouth. Your eyes follow my hand and you moan again, shutting your eyes briefly before you face forward again. I verbally urge you on. I tell you non-stop what a good boi you are and, finally, when I’m ready, I tell you to come.

And you do.

When your trembling subsides slightly and your body has gone limp, I reach out and grab your hair, pulling your face into me. I can no longer deny you. I can no longer deny myself. Torturing you was more than I could stand and as you bury your face in my cunt, I melt into you. I am no longer in control. You have it all. You have me completely. This then, is my reward.