From Deutschland with love

We finished the bottle of Chablis, and I felt exhilarated—not just from the wine, but from the most engaging conversation I’d had in weeks. None of the superficial fluff I’d come to expect from others; this was filled with profound, ground-shaking questions and answers. The kid was smart, though a bit nervous around me, which I enjoyed. I could tell he admired me, perhaps a little too eagerly, finishing my sentences and taking in everything I said. Young, innocent-looking, but hungry to learn and serve.

As the restaurant grew more crowded, a familiar discomfort crept over me. "What do we do now?" I asked, sensing he didn’t know how to move things forward. The wine was in my veins, urging me to be bold. “They make an incredible espresso martini here,” I suggested, daringly. “I’d say it’s the best in town.” His eyes lit up. “That sounds delightful! I’d love to try.”

I smirked and ordered one. When it arrived, he glanced at it, hesitant but intrigued. “Can I try?” he asked, with that wide-eyed innocence that had captivated me all evening. “Try that request again,” I said, giving him a devilish smile. He blushed, gathering himself, then asked, “May I please try your espresso martini, Mommy?”

“Good boy,” I praised, watching his face beam with pride. But as he reached for the glass, I stopped him. He looked puzzled but kept his composure. I dipped a finger in the drink, then held it to his lips. He blushed so deeply I almost laughed. “I can’t,” he whispered, eyes darting around the room. Upscale patrons filled the space, yet no one was paying us any attention. I leaned in, testing his resolve. His nerves were palpable, but he didn’t pull away.

For a final test, I picked up his empty wine glass and looked around. The tables next to us were lost in their own worlds, and a celebrity at the back had drawn most eyes. Seizing the moment, I took a long sip of the martini, then, locking eyes with him, I slowly spat it back into the wine glass, creating a foamy top. This was it. He could either run or show he was ready.

To my surprise, he took the glass with reverence, as though it were a priceless gift. He savored every last drop, his gaze filled with unmistakable admiration. When he finished, he looked at me, eyes pleading, “More, please, Mommy?” I nodded, pleased with his eagerness.

After settling the check, we headed for his hotel. The hostess, ever attentive, escorted me down to the lobby, complimenting my appearance. I couldn’t resist returning the praise, admiring her red hair and the allure that was so rare to find. My companion watched, enraptured. “Can I kiss you?” I asked her, and she nodded, our lips meeting as he observed in awe. She tasted of cherry. “Give me your number,” I commanded, and she took my phone, quickly texting herself before leaning in for one last kiss.

“That was hot,” my young companion murmured, his voice soft with wonder. “People think I make these stories up,” I chuckled, “Glad to have a witness.” He gazed after her as she disappeared, “It would be so hot if you could have her.”

I rolled my eyes, “Focus.” He looked down, “I’m sorry.” I tilted his chin up, meeting his lips in a kiss, savoring the desire built over hours of conversation. “Thank you, Ma’am,” he murmured, tasting the traces of cherry from her lips on mine. “Now you can taste her too,” I whispered, watching his face light up.

A few minutes later, we were at his hotel—a discreet place in Midtown, elegant but unassuming. A box sat waiting on the sofa. “I got something for you, Ma’am,” he said, handing it to me. Inside were the most beautiful red stilettos. “Oh my…” I murmured, sliding them on. They fit perfectly. “This is a thoughtful gift, darling,” I smiled, admiring the shoes.

He stood, watching, silent. “Speak your mind,” I encouraged. He hesitated before softly asking, “Would you… step on me, Ma’am?”

A soft laugh escaped me. “You know what you forgot,” I replied, pausing just long enough to make him squirm. “Please?” he finally whispered, eyes wide with anticipation. I eyed him for a moment, feigning doubt. “Show me your ID.”

He quickly retrieved his passport, handing it over, his hands trembling. “1997,” I read, tracing my burgundy nail over the date. “Good boy. Fine, then, I’ll step on you.”

I watched him kneel there, bare chest rising and falling, his gaze fixed on my feet as though they were the most precious things he’d ever seen. I felt his admiration, the way he hung onto every slight movement, every word. 

Slowly, I leaned back on the bed, letting the tension build, keeping him at a tantalizing distance. “You may speak,” I finally said, my voice soft but commanding. He hesitated, his lips parting as if searching for the right words, “Thank you, Ma’am. For… everything.”

“Everything?” I teased, raising an eyebrow. He nodded earnestly, a mixture of reverence and desire in his expression.

Without another word, I let my feet drift down from his face to his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the sheer nylon. He tensed, muscles responding instinctively, and I pressed gently, letting him feel both the weight and intent behind the motion.

“Good boy,” I murmured, and he beamed with quiet pride. I reached down, tugging the belt still around his neck, tilting his head upward so our eyes met. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“To serve you,” he replied softly, sincerity in every syllable.

A smirk played on my lips. “And you think you’re doing well so far?”

He nodded, almost shyly, though his gaze never wavered. “I hope I am, Ma’am.”

I traced the line of his jaw with my finger, watching his breath hitch as he remained perfectly still. “Then show me,” I said, voice a whisper yet unmistakable in its command.

I leaned back further on the bed, a slow, calculated movement that made his eyes darken with anticipation. The room was cloaked in dim, sultry light, casting soft shadows that only heightened the intimacy of the scene. I loosened my hold on the belt, letting it fall from his neck, a silent invitation for him to draw closer. He didn't move at first, his expression flickering with a barely restrained reverence that I found deliciously intoxicating.

“You may crawl to me,” I whispered, and he obeyed, his body gliding across the plush carpet with a grace that belied his eagerness.

He stopped at the edge of the bed, gaze lingering on my feet still adorned in delicate, high-end nylon. His breath caught as I extended one leg, pressing my foot gently but firmly against his bare chest. I could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my sole, steady yet quickening, and his lips parted, as if he was drawing in every ounce of control just to stay still.

“Now,” I murmured, my voice a velvet edge, “kiss it.” His lips brushed against the arch of my foot, soft and reverent, as though he were worshipping at a shrine. The warmth of his breath and the tender, almost trembling way he caressed my skin sent a thrill up my spine, but I kept my composure, letting him feel only the slightest quiver in response.

With a languid, deliberate motion, I traced my foot from his chest up to his jawline, leaving a path of cool, smooth nylon against his heated skin. He exhaled a shuddered breath, eyes half-lidded with desire, his control waning.

“Hands behind your back,” I instructed, and he complied without hesitation, his muscles taut with restraint, a willing offering in his vulnerability.

I leaned forward, letting my fingers slide over his shoulders, tracing the contours of his frame with the lightest touch. “Have you ever been in this position before?” I asked, voice a hushed murmur.

“No, Ma’am,” he whispered, barely audible. The innocence in his tone was intoxicating, a perfect contrast to the smoldering intensity in his gaze. His honesty only heightened the thrill, the rawness of the moment alive between us like a secret language.

“Good,” I purred, running my fingers over his collarbone, allowing the tension to build. “Then remember this feeling… remember the way your body yields to mine, the way your thoughts slow to nothing but the space between each breath, each command.”

He nodded, swallowing hard, a flash of vulnerability crossing his features, which only deepened my own thrill of control. I let my hand drift down to the belt now resting by his side and held it out to him. He took it without a word, his eyes fixed on me as I reclined back on the bed, the silent, implicit command in the tilt of my chin.

He slid the belt back around his own neck, the leather pulling gently against his skin as he tightened it, a silent promise in his obedience. I could see the anticipation, the longing in his expression as he held himself in check, awaiting my next move with bated breath.

“Closer,” I breathed, and he leaned forward, my fingers finding his cheek, trailing a soft line down to his lips. He closed his eyes, the shiver that ran through him almost imperceptible. I smiled, pressing my thumb to his mouth, feeling the warmth of his breath as he parted his lips to kiss it reverently, tenderly, with a submission that felt like poetry.

“There’s a good boy,” I whispered, voice barely more than a sigh, yet it seemed to fill the room, resonating through him as he shuddered under the weight of those words. “Now, show me how much you mean it.”

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