It was his final suit fitting. For the last few months, she had been walking him through fabrics, cuts, accessories and shoes. Today was his first look at himself in the finished garments.

She was good at what she did. Growing up in her father’s business, she had developed a keen eye - a passion - for well-dressed men, which led to a career in bespoke male tailoring. Her boutique in central London brought clients of high status from across the globe. She had dressed many a sophisticated gentleman in the past 7 years, but was yet to falter in their presence, to give in to any of the showy offers of dinner, travel and more.

This man, however, was different. He carried an air of mystery about him and a calm self-assuredness that, though not intimidating, made her feel exposed. From his first appointment, running her tape across his shoulders to kneeling in front of him to measure his inner seam, she sensed an intimacy in what was usually just part of the job.

He gave away little about himself. He wasn’t awkward though; his eloquence and selectiveness with their discussion points was unusual, focussed almost entirely on her. Across only a few sporadic interactions, she had divulged more about herself than she ever had to this curious listener. All she learned of him were the intricate physical details. Perhaps more than any potential partner of his might ever know.

When he walked out from behind the heavy velvet drapes to stand in front of her large mirror for the final look, she felt a slight restraint in her breath. She’d done this a thousand times for a thousand men, but no suit had quite fit the male form like it did his.

He exuded a masculinity that was accentuated in every cut and line she had built around his frame. His long, lean legs stood with purpose in a trouser that hung perfectly from his waist. A waist she knew was toned and trained from wrapping her tape around him. The way he had looked at her in that moment, ran through her mind again as she caught her gaze drift towards his belt.

It was a stolen look. A knowing that the closeness they both instinctively felt in that moment shouldn’t be. Caught off guard, a fleeting thought, a sudden urge that neither one dare act on, but a paused expression if only for a second, said it all.

‘I want you.’

‘I want you too.’

She came back to the moment at hand. Witnessing him admire the jacket that was made only for him. Disguising her thoughts that it begged to be peeled away from his broad shoulders. He gently tugged each cuff then single-handedly buttoned the front to admire it’s form. She imagined meetings, pitches and deals; moments where this man would win. And she found herself wanting to be his reward.

The tie she’d picked out for him brought out the blue of his eyes. Standing face to face she held it against his chest while his eyes studied her. His hands lightly brushed hers as he took the selected tie and expertly knotted it himself.

She bent down to place the shoes in front of him. He slipped them on while she knelt at his feet. She dared to look up from this vulnerable position, knowing full well she was submitting in that moment. Capturing his gaze, her eyes gave him permission for something he didn’t need to ask for with words.

When he’d walked in this morning with his soft knitted jumper, chinos, and a book under his arm he held a gentleness that had disappeared now he was fully dressed. His posture in the suit delivered a powerful, undeniable control.

He had never explained what the suit was for, and she never asked. During his consultation it was evident he knew what he wanted, and she felt confident she could dress him. He made it clear from the start he’d known of her work and simply wanted to see how she would dress him.

Witnessing the complete look, she was proud of her work. And he threw a smile her way that suggested he was impressed.

“I guess I’d better take it off before I can’t bring myself to.” He said, glancing her way in gratitude.

“Thank you. You’re truly a supremely talented woman.”

She was used to compliments and gracefully nodded; a gesture that said, “you’re welcome”, whilst she folded the remainder of the tie selection into the big oak drawer. A bittersweet knowing crept through her that this was the last interaction they would have.

He turned towards the velvet drape and into the dressing area behind. It was a sophisticated space with rich wooden cabinets, dark tones and dim, complimentary lighting. At one end the walls were adorned with 3 opulent mirrors, providing her clients with multiple viewing angles of her creations. An extra-large tufted ottoman stood in the middle, and off to one side a strategically placed antique armchair: a seat for someone with a discerning opinion.

It was clear she had thought of everything when designing this space for her clients. Classical music played through discreet speakers, a gentle scent of oud and woody musk, long stemmed white roses in a tall glass vase and a well-stocked, vintage drinks cart. All these details offered a luxurious touch.

No sooner had he left the boutique floor, that he called out to her from behind the heavy drapes.

“Ms Carrington, can you come in here please.” He called her by her formal name in a tone that dare not be ignored.

She obliged and slowly followed him through to the dressing room. Her heart pounded although she remained composed on the outside. She moved calmly and confidently, despite the racing sensation through her body. She knew from every tiny look, every lingering moment, every small breath she heard whenever she touched his body in their previous meetings that this was an exchange waiting to happen.

When she closed the curtain behind her, he was already sat in the armchair, slightly cast in shadow. He was poised, waiting.

“Show me what you want me to see of you.” He commanded.

He’d listened to her over the past weeks of appointments and fittings. Somehow, he’d tapped into her own desires in their conversations from the weeks past.

She momentarily hesitated. ‘Was he being serious?’ his expression said he was. She walked to the drinks cart and poured herself a whiskey over ice. He swirled his own drink and sank the final sip. She brought the bottle to him and poured into his glass.

Standing over him in the armchair, she whispered “Can I trust you?”

“Yes.” He answered with unwavering confidence.

“OK then...” She took his word. An agreement was made. And it began.

She sipped from her glass and walked away from him towards the centre of the room. She placed the bottle, and the glass down and slowly unbuttoned her blouse. She turned towards him as the soft, silky fabric slipped away from her. She uncovered an intricate laced bralette that hugged her ribs and cupped her breasts.

He sighed gently in the chair and stared.

Her hands expertly reached behind her back and unzipped the black, tailored pencil skirt that clung to her hips. She teased it over her rear and it dropped to the floor, exposing her suspenders, and stockings. Delicate details of straps and lace decorated her feminine form, accentuating every part of her body that now begged to be touched.

He sat up and admired her beauty from across the room. Contemplating when he would approach the temptress before him. He couldn’t control his urges and felt the rising inside his trousers as instead, she approached him.

He stood to meet her and allowed her to admire her work once more. She circled him like prey, and he felt slightly unnerved. In the mirror, he spotted her behind him – a sight he’d imagined when she’d taken measurements of his shoulders – and she gladly relieved him of his jacket.

He wanted to turn and kiss her, feeling the heat of her whiskey-tainted breath on his collar. He refrained and she stepped back around to face him again. An unspoken rule was established that she was in control... for now.

She slid the rich satin tie through her hands and bit her lip as she tightened it momentarily. The restriction on his throat felt thrilling; an invitation? A warning? He squinted and smiled but her serious expression didn’t waiver. She began to undo the tie, and with every tug the heat between them rose.

She pulled him closer, and they moved back towards the over-sized fabric platform that seemed strategic in its placement and purpose. She slid the tie from his collar and hung it around her own neck. Button by button she undid the carefully crafted shirt that he now wore like a second skin. He took care of his cuffs without breaking eye contact, a demonstration of the seriousness of his intentions.

Once again, she got to her knees. A sight he’d seen many times before and wished he could take her head in his hands, to smooth her hair and stroke her cheek. So, he did just that while she unbuckled the belt from around his waist.

He could barely contain himself and he placed his fingers gently under her chin, tilting her head to look up at him. She saw in his eyes he wanted her to meet him there. He was desperate to kiss her.

He held her tight towards him, feeling her laced bodice against his warm chest. She smelled sweet and intoxicating. He slipped the tie from around her neck and lifted her arms above her head. He held them there while he wove the tie around her wrists. He pulled it tight.

“I’m going to do everything you want me to. I’ll only stop when you ask nicely.”

She leaned in and their lips touched for the first time. The dance had begun. He grabbed her intensely and kissed her like a familiar lover. With urgency he cast off his shirt and wrapped his arms around her. She felt small in his grip, and with ease he lifted her down to lay on the ottoman. She handed control over to him.

Her arms reached overhead as she embraced the feeling of submission. She took in the sensation of the dimpled pillows of the ottoman’s stretched fabric on her back. He pulled her by her thighs towards him at the edge of the bench. Shirtless, on his knees, he hooked two fingers in either side of her lace underwear and slid them over her thighs. He insisted her stockings and suspenders remain while he indulged in her.

Fulfilling his own fantasy to taste her, to arouse her with his tongue. He worshipped her.

With soft, wet instinctive, rhythmic strokes he explored her most sacred of places. Satisfying her with silent mouthed prayers from his lips to hers. She had not only clothed him – she now satiated his thirst.

The tingling sensations grew intensely with his poetic tongue lapping at her over and over. With his thumbs he delicately spread her like petals of a budding flower and found her ecstasy. She cried out with pleasure more than once.

He finally stopped when she pleaded with him that she could take no more. He would now fill her with the intense pleasure she had craved from when they first met. He hung handsomely to the right, a fact she discovered at the first fitting. She underestimated how generous she would need to be with the fabric for his modesty.

He stood up from the floor and looked over her. She lay there gasping, her body still electric from his favour. He took himself out from the fly of his trousers and bared himself to her, showing he was ready to make her ache and moan. It was as she’d imagined, hard and smooth, manhood at its most vulnerable yet strong. Her body knew instinctively he was more than capable of attending to her every need.

With graceful ease he bent down and flipped her over on her front and she willingly offered herself to him. His hands stroked up her thighs, lifting her at the hips to align with him behind her. She could feel him pressed between her cheeks and anticipated his length driving inside her.

She looked up to see her view was of him in the mirror. He was inspecting her from his advantageous perspective. He caught her eye in the mirror and smiled mischievously at her before he took hold of himself and made his entrance. He momentarily teased her, toying at the edge whilst holding her gaze, to witness her yearning grow with the potential thrust he was about to unleash.

They both held on to watch each other in the moment he gave her all of him. His size matched her suspicions, and he carefully stretched her to take him as deeply as she could. Once he was confident that she was comfortable he gave her his extended pleasure again and again with long, intense thrusts.

She embraced every push, and with each retraction she wanted more. As if he could read her mind, he responded without asking, reaching between her legs to once again tend to her while he continued his performance. His fingertip caressed her and she was spoiled for choice with stimulation. He eased off a little for her to find her pleasure and bent over her. One hand still massaging her, the other found her nipple and he held her there. He kept himself hard inside her, while he took her once again to that euphoric state.

She was shaking, and inside she was pulsating. The sensation took over him and he couldn’t help himself, building pace, he reached back up, sliding his hands under her suspenders, gripping her hips, he simultaneously pulled her back towards him to penetrate her further. It was divine creation in motion. The ecstasy of human connection. Her stimulated body, the catalyst for his own pleasure. Action and reaction that in turn prompted more action.

She wanted him again. And he honoured her request.

Eventually, soaked in sweat and breathing deeply, heavily, almost exhausted by the pleasure, she had to ask nicely with a hand on his cheek if they could stop. Only then did he oblige.