Evan - Control

We talked in the morning; Evan was working out. She told me about their night, their encounter. 

"How...how was it?" I asked.

"Special," she said.

She said she there, half naked, dressed like a whore, waiting for him. He poured himself a drink, slowly, taking his time, knowing even a moment's hesitation was a lifetime of tease for her. Sipping his drink, he stared at her, finally nodded.

She stood, anxious, walked to him, reached for his hand. He stood there, waiting, not moving. Her fingers found him, touched him. He looked at her, spoke. "It's been too long, Emily," he said.

"I know," she said, meaning it. 

"I'm not going to be gentle," he said. 

"I'm counting on it," she answered, "I have Sara when I need gentle."

"Take off your dress, kneel there," he said, pointing at a padded coffee table in the middle of the living room of their suite.

She slipped from her dress, knelt as he instructed. He stood behind her, admiring her ass, the way her garter straps framed it. 

"What do you want?" he asked her.

"I want to feel you inside me," she said, trying not to beg, knowing she was.

He smirked. "In time," he said, implying it wouldn't be for some time.

"Evan," she said, "please." Begging, unable to control herself.

"Sluts don't get what they want when they want it," he said, "they do, however, get what they deserve."

He reached for her, ran a hand over her panty covered pussy, up the thong separating her ass cheeks. 

"Oh, god," she moaned, shaking, a mini-orgasm tearing through her body. 

He played with her, only on the outside of her panties, pleased with her reaction to his touch. 

"Please fuck me," she begged.

He grinned when he heard the words he hoped to hear from her. Without warning, he pulled his hand back, spanked her ass once, twice, three times, over and over, alternating between cheek, five on each side. "I told you," he said as he spanked her, "sluts don't get what they want when they want it."

He took off his jacket, picked up his drink, sat in a comfortable chair. "You want cock?" he asked, "you start with your mouth and earn it."

She dropped to her knees, undid his pants, pulled him out, took him in her mouth without a word. Was it really denying her? In a way as she wanted to feel him inside her but in another way, taking him in her mouth was one of her greatest pleasures.

Of course, in a situation like that, the one who thinks he is in control often is not, for after a few minutes, she stood, turned around, and without asking, lowered herself onto him, fucked him.

But she didn't have the control she thought she had. "Don't cum," he growled at her as she got near.

"Evan," she begged.

"Don't cum," he growled again.

"Please," she begged as she rode him, as he got closer.

"Don't cum," he said a third time.

She knew he was close, was afraid she'd miss the chance, afraid he'd deny her. He had her hips now, was guiding her up and down, grunting. "Now," he hissed as he tensed, exploded inside her, pulled her down hard onto the full length of his cock, held her there. She did as she was told, let the waves of pleasure wash over her as he held her. She was shaking, uncontrollably, her movements draining every last drop of cum from his cock.

When he was done, he nudged her up, eased his cock from her pussy, the head of it pulling globs of cum downward. He looked at his cock, smiled, pointed. "Finish," he said.

She said she felt a twinge of humiliation as she knelt, licked his cum and her juices off his still hard cock. There was more than usual, like he'd held all his cum for her, so she tasted him, tasted herself, served him, was his slut, his whore.