His hands were on my waist. Strong and large, they made me feel as light as anything. He lifted me effortlessly and sat me down on the workbench, coating the seat of my expensive black wool coat with plaster dust. He gently pushed my shoulders back. I yielded to his hands and lay down, my hair, clothes, shoes covered in debris, but I was too turned on to care how messed up I got. I knew then that I would let him do whatever he wanted.
I was wearing high-heeled black boots. He unzipped first one, then the other, and rolled my tights down, taking my panties off with them. The warmth of my body clashed with the chill of the winter night, and heat rose from between my legs. The fiery waves pulsing through my body meant the thrill of cold air only served to wake me up and make me feel more alive than ever.
He lifted the folds of my black skirt and ran his hands along the smooth skin of my inner thighs. The combination of his rawhide hands and the softness of his touch was electrifying. With one hand on the inside of each thigh, he pushed my legs apart as far as I felt they could go. I could feel his breath on my waiting pussy. I wanted him to say something, anything, but he didn't. Instead he put his lips to another use, planting a kiss directly on my clitoris. He hooked his shoulders under my knees, so that my legs remained splayed, and used his fingers to part the skin around my clit, leaving it exposed to the cold air and his warm breath. Then he went to work with his tongue, tracing tiny shapes on the skin around my clitoris, avoiding the bud itself. This was a buildup slower and sweeter than any I'd ever experienced before. Round, up, down, round, up, down, teasing me and keeping it steady until I cried out, "More."