A new privilege

It was five in the afternoon in our house in Paris and everything was ready as we had planned, as I had imagined it for you. I had prepared it with great excitement, like when I think of the gift you might like the most, and this time that gift was a new privilege for you, those things that excite me to think are like rights you have over me, rights I give you so you can enjoy the excitement of having control over some things, those things in which “c’est toi qui decide.”

As I was saying, it was 5 in the afternoon and everything was ready. You were sitting comfortably on the sofa, wearing only a pair of short house shorts and an open short-sleeved shirt that allowed your hairless chest to be seen. Next to you I was standing by the bathroom door, wearing only a brief, through which a certain excitement could be perceived from what I anticipated was going to happen. Then the doorbell rang downstairs, and you got up to go open it. As you passed by me, I gently took your head in both hands and looking into your eyes, facing you, I said “enjoy your gift, love” and gave you a small peck on the lips. Upon hearing me, you put on your bad boy smile that knows he’s going to do a mischief he loves, and in response you grabbed me by the balls without stopping smiling or looking into my eyes, and squeezed until you felt a small moan of pain from me, not as a sign of gratitude, but as if saying “it’s my privilege, c’est moi qui decide,” and you gave me a kiss, biting my lips very lightly. You headed to open the door and I went to hide in the bathroom while telling you: “remember the magic words: allez, commence à faire bander ton Pacha.”

I shut myself in the bathroom, in the dark, but without closing the door completely, a small crack allowed me to glimpse a certain angle of the living room. After a few minutes I heard some sentences in French and approaching footsteps, and soon I could see the guy we had found come through the door; he was better than in the photos he had shared through the app, he was 37 years old, medium blond, somewhat long hair with curls falling over his forehead, light eyes, and a smile between ashamed and shy that I was sure you would be loving, but I couldn’t see your face at that moment, only his. From the darkness of my hiding place he couldn’t see me, he didn’t even imagine that someone was watching the scene, and that this increased your excitement.

While you were having an insubstantial conversation, you were caressing his torso, and the area of his neck and hair, which you loved, and you slowly moved him until he was with his back to the bathroom door, so that he couldn’t see me when you then pushed the bathroom door open a little to see my eyes at the end of the darkness, and above all so that I could see your face, could see how you were enjoying your gift, your privilege. The door remained quite closed, with the guy with his back turned, and I in silence, there was no risk of him noticing anything. ...