The mansion

Rumors swirl around George’s mansion like perfume on silk. Everyone says the same thing: once you step inside, the night ends with your knees sore and your face glazed. I laughed at the stories until the invitation landed in my palm. Thick paper. Gold edges. A single word, my name, handwritten in black ink. I showed up in a white lace bra and garter set that barely covered anything. The door opened. The house was quiet, the air heavy. George waited at the top of the staircase, already half-hard under his silk robe. He led me to a dim bedroom, stripped me down to nothing but the stockings, and laid me out on the bed. I took him in my mouth first, slow and wet, licking the length like I’d been paid to savor it. His hand stayed tangled in my blonde hair the whole time. When he pulled out, he painted my lips, my tongue, my cheeks, thick white streaks that slid down my chin onto the lace still around my tits. He left me like that, sticky and smiling, while the last drops cooled on my skin.