His shirt slid slowly from his shoulders. He was stripping for her, she realized.
“The best things take time,” He said aloud, bringing her attention from his hard, male nipples to his mouth, his brilliant green eyes.
“The butterfly does not transform from the caterpillar instantly. As the caterpillar, she exists for the purpose *of* transforming. She craves, she eats, and when she is ready, she rests for a time. Sleeping in her safe cocoon, she becomes, slowly, what she was meant to be all along.”
She lay back on the bed, watching him, absorbing his words, each falling softly upon her, the way a gentle mist falls on verdant woods. She felt coated in him, his rampant needs evident, but knowing he would not be rushed into a fevered pitch.
She understood his metaphor. He’d waited for her to be ready for this. For Him. She swallowed the sudden pool of saliva in her mouth as his shirt fell to the floor. He was gorgeous. He wasn’t hursuit, yet there was a rich swatch of hair which arrowed sharply at his lower belly, pointing, definitely pointing, to what lay hidden from her view.
And yet, not fully hidden. She swallowed against the sudden rushing of need. The urge to possess him. The sudden ferocity of that need stunned her. Her pussy throbbed to the thundering rhythm her heart set, as she saw his fingers reach towards the tented khaki slacks.
His fingers mesmerized as they wove in and out of the hasp of his belt, the tinkle of the hardware a soft counterpoint to her ragged breathing. She wanted, oh gods how she wanted him.
Her nipples crinkled tightly, her areola fully clenched with her desires, the small buds deeply ruby, from theearlier work. The ache there was partly from his handiwork, but mostly from her lust. It nearly matched the ache from between her thighs.
“Open your legs and let me look at you.”
Slowly, almost shyly, her legs parted. She opened her mouth to speak, but he placed his finger across his lips and “shhhh’ed” her to silence. She was blushing, she felt the heat of it on her face. He looked. No, more than that…he saw. She wondered if she had ever met anyone with such deep intent before. She tried to picture her lower body. She didn’t have the body of a 20-year-old anymore.
He reassured her, as if reading her mind, as if understanding her worry.
“It looks lonely. All those soft folds, swollen and slicked now with your sweet juices…I wonder, little one, how long it’s been since someone besides you sated that beast inside of you?”
She looked up at him, her voice husky when she replied…
“too long, Sir. It’s been too long.”
“Not Sir, little one. I will be your Master before we are done here.”
The sound of his zipper lowering punctuated the statement that brought a rush of fine goosebumps along her arms, her belly.