I’ve always been a sucker for a man in glasses. There’s a kind of intellectual, dominant tone about them. Not angry-dominant, or strict, just casually… in control. A guy wearing glasses makes me feel young and naughty—as ready for a gentle telling-off as I am for a casual spanking. The same thing can be said of tiny, frilly pyjama shorts if I’m honest. I like wearing them because they put me in this mood: that of a naughty little tearaway, ready to be tamed.
But the beauty of glasses is that when you take them off, the studious and professorial demeanour suddenly disappears, and the wearer becomes vulnerable. Taking off the shorts can switch things up too. No longer the girlish ingenue, suddenly a grown, powerful woman. If I can be said to have a kink, it’s this: the mix. The turnaround. The moment when the tables turn.
This morning provides the perfect opportunity for switchy sex. I’m lounging on the bed in these little frilly shorts, with Sylvan looking over the rim of his glasses at the way my smooth, long legs almost gleam in the morning sunshine. As soon as I get that shiver of longing I just think… yes. Right now. This is the kind of moment that cries out for this kind of play.
He kisses me, deep and long, while spooning me from behind. His big, gentle hands stroking and squeezing at my bum in those small silky shorts. It gives me a kick of that naughtiness that, for some reason, my heart’s always chasing. The need to feel insignificant-yet-cared-for at the hands of a softly dominant man.
I remember on one of our very early dates before we’d ever even seen each other naked, Sylvan asked me—over the rim of a wine glass filled with a...
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