Who’s really in control
Lucy waited in house when She heard the front door. She slipped out behind him. One hand clamped over his mouth as she spun him around to face her. His eyes widened for half a second before the cocky smirk returned.
“You’ve broken into the wrong fucking house, sweetheart.”
He tried to take control, hands grabbing, bodies colliding. The wrestling was brief. she was stronger now, sharper, and she used it. She drove him backward onto the bed and climbed ontop of him, holding his wrists.
“You’re going to submit,” she said, And you’re going to give me what I came for.”
She secured his wrists to the bed, then stood and peeled the catsuit down her body, letting him watch every inch of shiny black fabric leave her skin. Naked, she climbed back on top and settled her weight against him, grinding slowly while she kissed all over him. She wanted him distracted. She wanted him aching.
His boxers came off next. She tied his ankles, and took out the vibrator. She used it without mercy, slow, deliberate teasing. When she finally took him into her mouth. She worked him until he was fully hard, until thinking straight was no longer an option, until she could feel exactly how badly he needed her.
Then she rose, lined herself up, and sank down onto him. She rode him in long, controlled strokes, watching his face the entire time. He was on the edge. He was about to explode.
She started to give him a handjob. Edging him a little more. “Submit to me and I might just let you cum”. He did. But She was enjoying this far too much to end it. She edged him a little longer, then calmly gathered her clothes and walked out of the room, leaving him bound and throbbing.
When she returned the bed was empty.
He stood behind. Then drove her down onto the mattress, and climbed over her before she could recover. The balance had flipped. Now it was his turn.