"Silence, Mariah. Do not speak unless I ask you a direct question."
"But..." She's beginning to understand, but she's still fighting the notion. I can see her mentally reviewing all the tasks she has remaining on today's to do list.
"Did I ask you a question?"
"No...sir." In that fraction of a second delay, between “No” and “sir”, my heart sinks. What am I doing? Those days are gone. Then the honorific rolls off her tongue and my spirit soars. She remembers. My cock throbs inside my jeans. Her muscles relax. She bows her head, letting go of her rebellion, and I think for a moment I'll shoot right then and there, like the horny grad student I was when we met.
"Get over here, girl." My fifty-three year old, full professor wife seems to not find the epithet as ridiculous as it sounds to me. She crawls across the carpet, grasping my intent almost before I do. Her lovely fat ass (about which she constantly complains) is in the air. Her breasts swing beneath her. She makes her slow way to my feet, then rises to her knees once again.
Her cheeks are flushed. A barely perceptible sheen of sweat dampens her forehead. A lock of hair has worked itself loose to curl seductively under her pointed chin. Her hazel eyes meet mine for an instant. I can read her excitement and uncertainty. I nod and give in to the smile twitching at my lips. She exhales the breath she's been holding and lowers her gaze, awaiting my next command.
Power burns through me, raw and smooth as a swallow of fine Scotch. What shall I require next? I want to see her naked; should I tear her clothes off, cut them away, or make her strip for me? And then what? Alternatives fill my imagination, a delirious whirl of possibilities. I didn't plan this. I have no script.
I try to focus, to slow my own breathing and quiet my racing heart. Outwardly calm, inwardly quivering with arousal, I rise from my chair. "Stand up, Mariah."
She hastens to obey, stepping her feet apart and clasping her hands at the small of her back. I doubt it's even conscious. It seems that she's quicker to reclaim the old knowledge than I am.
Towering over her, I remove her glasses and set them aside, out of harm's way. Then I pull her shirt over her head and toss it into a corner. Her opulent breasts sag a bit more than they used to, but the plump nipples are as juicy and brazen as ever. Who'd believe they'd nursed a child? I can't resist the urge to give them a vicious twist. Mariah gasps but otherwise remains silent.
"No bra, slut?" I tip her face up to mine, reveling in her embarrassment.
"No, sir. You told me to always be ready for you." Indeed, I had given her those instructions, a thousand years ago, when we were first discovering each other.
"Quite so. And are you wearing panties?" Without waiting for a reply, I stretch the elastic and push the shorts down over her ample hips. The rich scent of her pussy wells up from between her parted thighs. I slide one finger into her slick folds and wriggle it deep into her body. She shudders with the pleasure of it. Her knees go slack as she struggles to open her thighs and give me better access.
I snatch my hand from her cunt and slap her left breast. "Slut! A couple of simple commands and you're soaked." I suck on my finger, savoring Mariah's salty ocean flavor. "What a kinky girl you are!" I want to sink down and bury my face in the damp thicket of her pubic hair, to eat her until she writhes and screams. Not yet, though. My Dom's sense of timing is coming back, and I know this is too soon.
Instead, I turn her around and land symmetrical slaps on each of her ass cheeks. "Into the bedroom. Now!" She scampers away like a kid.