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“Take charge of me,” I said. It came out gruffer than I’d planned. “Please.”
Behind the mask her eyes lit up, and the whole room seemed to shift on its axis.
“Good,” she said. “On the chaise. Hands behind your head. Don’t move them until I say.”
I sat. I put my hands behind my head, like a man being arrested by somebody he really wants to be arrested by. She stood in front of me and peeled off her gloves, one finger at a time, and dropped them in my lap.
“Everything stays on except what I take off,” she said. “That includes your mask.”
She unbuttoned my shirt and my trousers, without hurry, and drew my cock out into the candlelight. She looked at it for a long moment, head tilted, ears tilted too.
“Hm,” she said. “That’ll do nicely.”
Then she knelt between my knees and licked me. One slow, wet stripe from the base to the tip, and I made a noise I’m not proud of. She did it again. She took the head in her mouth and sucked, just the head, while her hand worked the base, and when my hips lifted she tutted and stopped completely.
“Hands,” she said. “Mask. Words. What do you say, highwayman?”
“Please,” I said. “Please, may I come in your mouth.”
“No,” she said, smiling. “Not yet.”