I have a lover visiting. From far away. His accent smooth, blossoming in my ear with his whispers. His touch never leaves me. In a constant embrace, I am on the edge of climax wherever we go. His hands, they know how to handle me. He curls his fingers around my hips and I am quivering. A bite at my shoulder, sitting next to me at dinner, I can’t hold in my soft and helpless moan. From behind the table, my legs slowly part at the gentle command of his fingers sliding up my thighs. We are in a dimly light patio of a nice Brooklyn restaurant. It is late and we are in the back corner. We are subtle and quiet. There is a power he has over me. It is a dominance that is so soft, it’s barely visible. It’s a secret between only us. He knows with one quiet command, just a push of a finger, I have submitted. I am fully his. Yet he holds me up, not down. The freedom he offers is what traps me in his intoxication. I leak my desire onto his hand and he brings it up my vulva with two fingers, then up to my lips. He gives me a taste, then feeds me with his fingers up short dress, and his soft commands blossoming in my ear.