Waiting

The waiting was the best part.

When Adrian first wakes up he takes a shower, barely touching any part of himself that might stimulate. He dresses in luxurious silks, satins and furs; greatly enjoying the way they caress his skin. He brushes his hair on the way to work.

At work he watches his employees, imagining what he'd do to the more attractive of them. He files them away for later use.

Maybe.

Then, when he has an hour or two to himself after lunch, he imagines what he'd do to each of his "peers", the other watchmen. A few times he has to catch himself as he slides his hand lower than he should.

"Wait, wait, not yet." He whispers to himself.

At the end of the day he goes home and fixes himself a light dinner, lingering over it. Waiting, waiting until the clock reads 10:15. He hand-cleans the dishes.

Adrian draws himself a bath, adding in his favorite oils and bath salts. He slowly removes each piece of clothing, layer by layer and folds them neatly before placing them in the hamper. When the bath is 3/4 full he slides in, sighing in pleasure. With calculated movements he washes away the stress of the day, awakening his body to his own touch.

At 11:30 he rises from the bath and dries himself, letting the bath drain as he blowdries his hair. He stares at his reflection and flushes with arousal.

Adrian walks back into his bedroom, not bothering with a robe. He lays down on his feather down mattress and looks up. His reflection stares back at him from the ceiling, naked, wanting, beautiful. Perfectly framed by the royal blue blankets and his own splayed out hair.

Adrian runs his right hand through his hair then down his face, his left hand slowly stroking the sensitive skin between belly button and groin. As his right hand slowly descends he briefly clenches it around his throat, hard enough to feel it for a day or two, but not enough to mark it where it could show, then slid down to his collarbone, pausing to trace it from one side to the other.

Adrian brings his left hnd up to join his right in exporing his chest, tracing muscles, caressing ribs and stroking over nipples as they're passed. He slows his hands down teasing himself.

"Wait for it beautiful." He murmurs.

As he reaches his pelvis Adrian drops his hands to his thighs and drags his nails back up. He shivers in anticipation and desire.

"Now my love. Touch me." He moans to himself. And he does.

With a groan he wraps his fingers around his aching erection and strokes himself roughly. Again and again he has to force his eyes open when the pleasure becomes too much; slow strokes soon quickening as he loses himself.

Adrian feels the tightening low in his belly, like a spring coiling, and then ...

Release.

Adrian gasps and trembles as he waits for his heart to calm, tracing gentle patterns in his oversensitized skin. After a time he reaches for the container of baby wipes he keeps on his nightstand and cleans himself up, dropping the soiled towlette into the trash. Blowing a kiss at his reflection, he slides under the covers and falls asleep.


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