On Saturday night, after we got home from the show and dinner, I took off my suit, clad in my undergarments, walked up behind Emily, who was in her closet looking at herself in her mirror, similarly dressed only in lingerie.
I kissed the back of her neck, her shoulders, each bra strap, licked, slowly, down her spine, down to her garter belt, the thong of her panites.
Emily mumbled something. "What, love," I asked, licking the curve of her ass.
She turned her head towards me. "I said I don't want to screw tonight. Before you go too far, I thought you should know."
She turned all the way around so she faced me, looked down at me. "I mean it," she said.
"Yes, Ma'am," I answered, knowing she did.
"Do you still want to continue?"
I looked up at her, at her body, at her eyes. Did I want to continue?
"Yes, Ma'am," I said softly, knowing that to continue meant serving her tonight, serving only her, knowing it meant licking her, massaging her, pleasing her.
Surrender.
It meant surrender.
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