She steps out of the shower, wearing nothing but a white tank top and plain grey panties — and looking at her, he can’t help himself. A change takes over him. He seizes her by her wrists, she cries out in surprise – a series of squeals that’s a sonata to his ears. Before either of them realise it, she’s up against the wall, her lovely hips and thighs pinned, her right leg bent at the knee. He thinks of her ass up against the wall — and feels himself growing hard, can feel the ache with every passing second.

‘What are you d-‘ He raises the water bottle he has in his right hand — and squeezes it. Water comes squirting out. Like paint to a canvas, it paints the image of her curvaceous tits, adding shading to where her areola is, adding lines of depth in the drenched fabric where her nipples are hardening.

But the best part is not how the now-soaked cotton tank top clings to her tits, to the frame of her body, it’s the shifting expressions across her face. The fury, the shock, the indignation. She turns her green eyes onto his dark brown eyes, shaped in her shifting moods, and he can’t stop the smile that comes to his face. ‘Play with yourself for me, little pup. For my own amusement.’

Gone is the fury, the indignation. But shock remains, so does humiliation. Kinda like how the T-1000 shifts through its multiple forms upon its destruction in the sea of molten steel. But there’s something else written in those deep green eyes. Understanding. Her mouth is open, cute little lips glistening with saliva in the light of the hallway, but only a guttural click is coming out, as the words are trying – and failing – in her throat.

As her left hand runs down the frame of her body and slips ‘neath her cotton panties, he says to her, ‘Look at me while you play. I want to watch you.’ And still she cannot talk. She merely nods her head in understanding, knocking loose strands of her wet dark brown hair down around her forehead.

Her hand starts to move from under her panties, knuckles taking shape against the thin cotton. It’s a sight that takes hold of him – he slips his own hand under his jeans, grabs hold of his cock and squeezes out the ache. It only helps for a few seconds. The ache returns almost instantly. Her eyes don’t leave his. He sees her wavering breath in them, sees the struggle to control her breathing, sees her FEEL her own knees buckling as she touches herself.

‘And what are we doing, hm?’ Her mouth – still open – tries to form the words. ‘I’m…’ She cuts off as her eyelids flutter. She fights them open, keeps her eyes focused, tries again to speak. But he can see the struggle in her eyes. ‘I’m…playing…w-w-ith m-my clit.’ ‘Yeah? How’s it feel?’ She swallows – it’s an audible click in her throat. ‘So….good…’ Again, her eyelids flutter as her fingers work her delightful slit. Again, he can’t help himself. How has he ever managed to be a dominant around this wild untamed brat when he can’t discipline himself? He yanks her panties down, exposing creamy pale thighs and her hand parting a bare, beautiful slit.

Her eyes bulge, almost turning golden from green as she looks at him, that shock registering. But she doesn’t look away, she keeps going. Her fingers are working smoothly, delicately – she has this rhythm down pat. She doesn’t even register her delight when he tears down his own pants and reveals his throbbing, pulsating cock.

Which wants her as desperately as he does – it bobs in the air, eager to rid itself of that maddening ache. That ache that he can feel like cobwebs across his arms, like butterflies fluttering about in his stomach, like chills creeping down his spine. As he watches her, he can hear his own heart in his ears, pump pump pumping away. Badum badum badum badum.

With his right hand on his cock, he reaches out and pulls at her tank top. It comes down in the most humiliating fashion, with her left breast slipping out, her nipple looking achingly hard. Her pale face flushes a shade of red as she keeps her eyes on him. She sucks in her lower lips and bites down.

And he can’t handle it. He breaks his own rule, breaks eye contact, he needs to taste her. He pins her to the wall further as he presses against her, his cock hitting her thigh.

As he grabs her left breast and squeezes it violently, his fingers catching her stiff nipple and pinching, he feels her hand brush against his cock and grip it firmly. He lets her grab it. He continues where she stops, spreading her lovely lips with his fingers and finding her clit. By then he presses his lips to hers – and they both exchange a rushed, throaty moan, the scent of their breath appealing to one another in a strange, primal way.

She breaks the kiss to let out another moan, a frenzied moan, a hurried gasp. He gets the message, he quickens his assault on her lovely slit, gliding his thumb over her clit, slipping his fingers inside her soaked pussy. She’s muttering something in his ear but he’s focused on the rhythm, the feel of her thickened arousal on his fingers. Then she cries out, sharp and loud in his ear but he doesn’t care one bit, he’s grinning, he’s admiring her, he’s enamoured with this wild beautiful woman that has chosen him to bare herself to. Her body jolts in a series of spasms as a shy smile creeps across her face, as she pants in his ear. They lock eyes. He grins. ‘My turn.’