Awaiting his Pleasure

Toni waited.

She was used to waiting.

She was – after all – there for him, waiting for him. It was a warm summer day, but the sun had shifted, turning where she stood – still waiting – from sunlight to shade. She shivered and her nipples hardened. She looked down at them, from one to the other. He liked her nipples – so he’d said, once. The way their darkness contrasted with the light skin of his fingers. The way the nipples grew under his touch as though he brought them to life.

There were many other parts of Toni that his touch brought to life, brought to life in a way that no other man ever had, or ever could. That was why Toni waited for him, waited patiently for him. That was why she stood there naked in the centre of the room awaiting his return.

Just the thought of him coming back, coming into the room and being there naked in front of him, open to him, available to him and his whims, made her wet. She shivered and her nipples hardened even more. Toni had an urge to stroke just one finger down her stomach, down further into the warm and wet, but she knew she could not do it the same way he could. His fingers were magic; they could weave spells over her body, enthral and enrapture her with his single touch.

So she was prepared to wait. Prepared to await his pleasure, because she knew that his pleasure lay entwined with her pleasure in such a way as to make it almost impossible to tell where her pleasure ended and his began, or where his ended and Toni’s began.

So Toni waited, shifting from foot to foot as the warm and the wet grew between her thighs into an anticipation that made every fluttering of the breeze outside into a foretelling of his step in the hallway beyond the closed door of the room where she waited for him.