Confessions of a libra

Credit: here

11.05.25

I tried to tell him consent could be sexy but he didn’t believe me. Now I have to teach him the sexiest lesson of his goddamn life. I look at myself in the rear-view mirror and smirk at my impeccable makeup. An offering if you will. I hope he notices the effort I’ve put into curating my softness. I leave the car and quickly have to steady myself from the brutality of the wind.

I’m calm, I’m composed. I will my energy to settle and disregard the pitter patter in my heart. The thought of his gaze, his lips just made me want to strip in anticipation. I knock on his door and wait patiently. He lets me in all smiles and innocents. He has no idea what I’m about to do.

“I’m making your favourite pesto pasta,” he said with pride.

I felt a twinge in my heart and a flutter in other places. Nothing turns me on like a man who can cook. A man who can serve. He leads me to the couch and offers me water, wine or anything of my choosing. I decline and pat the seat beside me suggestively. He follows orders instinctively. I stare into his eyes, aware of the intensity I am projecting.

“Do you think I can have your attention for 5 minutes, or will you burn the food?” I ask, in a deeper tone.

I see a blush creep in his neck and I silently rejoice. He nods and mumbles something about how it’ll be just fine. With that, and before he can think his next thought, I straddle him on that couch. I look down at him from above and get turned on by his submissive gaze.

“Do you mind if I just stay here for a bit? Is that okay?” I ask, with puppy dog eyes.

He nods slowly and I watch his Adam’s apple bob. I continue, “How would you like it if I unzipped this jumper? I’m only wearing a lace bra underneath, is that okay?”

He tries to speak but has to clear his throat to let it out. His confirmation spurs me on. I never break eye contact as I slowly unzip the jacket and toss it somewhere behind me. I watch his eyes marvel in wonder. He’s like a kid in a candy store, and it absolutely my favourite thing to see. I see him hesitate to touch me, a switch go off in his head.

“Can I touch you?” he asks tenderly.

“Not yet,” I say firmly. He nods in understanding. Another hard swallow. I lean in to whisper into his ear. “I wanna take my time with you. Maybe start with your ear and make my way down your throat. Do you think you can handle that and keep your hands to yourself?”

His answer comes out in a huffed breath, “Yep I think I can handle that.”

His scent was already driving me crazy. Speaking to other parts of my body in language I will decode later. I start by biting his earlobe, softly but enough to electrify his senses. He’s mine now.

[ Asking isn’t a weakness – it’s worship ]