The Headmaster

Finally he slows, stops, collapses on my chest. "Hmmmm," he chuckles. We roll apart just a little, panting, his head still on my shoulder. He reaches for my slit, stroking the wet, sticky flesh. "Do you need more?"

I love a man who is courteous in bed. "No, thank you." I gently push his hand away. "Too sensitive right now."

"Ah," he assents. "You are satisfied, then."

I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. "O, yes." It's worth saying again. "O, yes."

Quietly we lie together in each other's arms, our breathing steadying out, soaking in the afterglow. Little by little, the dizziness fades, my senses regain. The soft blue LED numbers tick to 11:00. It's been a delicious two-hour fuckfest, time that slid by in a blink. Some of the candles have died.

Pleated at the foot of the bed for this moment is an organic cotton sheet. I pull the tender weave over us, stroke his back and cuddle him, as women do. I think he is falling asleep on my shoulder. This is so pleasant and warm, but it's a weeknight. I brush aside his beautiful long hair. "Master," I speak softly.

He looks up, fully awake. He puts his fingers on my lips. "Rob," he says. "My name is Rob." He looks at me. "Say my name."

Warmly I hug my friend. "Rob."