“Don’t look at me unless I give you permission.”
The muscles in Xavier’s arms were taut, standing out in sweeping swaths beneath his smooth skin. He’d just got back from a run and I’d told him to hang his sweat soaked crumpled v-neck on the door hook to dry. Now there he knelt, shirtless and stiff at my feet. His fingers were interlocked, thumbs on top, and wrists tight together as if bound. He didn’t need restraints though we liked them well enough on occasion. Today was a hot day. The rotating fans whirred a breeze I hoped would help him cool down momentarily.
Xavier knew to keep his eyes low, his back straight, ass tight, and head down. He listened so well,
“Straighten up.”
His torso and thighs stiffened visibly but the shoulders stayed low.
Light from the evening sun took on a ruddy orange hue as its rays cast through the western window. For a second, I just admired the scene. I could see our shadows splayed across the carpet and partially up the bed skirt and I knew the slight tremble in his silhouette was from exertion. He liked long runs as much as he liked to serve. Still, his posture didn’t slip. Gosh, the stretch of his back was as clear and ready to mark as the rest of him. If I had it my way, I’d use my nails to streak that tan expanse with thin red lines only barely fading by the end of the night.