My room has a dresser.
Right now, it’s got my stuff on it.
But if you were here, I would sweep all my detritus off to the floor, to be dealt with later.
I would instruct you to climb up on the dresser, and to stand, facing me.
“Touch your cunt,” I would say. “Through your jeans.”
You would do as I asked.
“Turn around,” I would say. “I want to watch your ass.”
You would do as I instructed.
I would watch your ass, my cock in my hand, as it gyrated, gently, as you continued stimulating your pussy, out of my view, my view obstructed by your magnificent, round, meaty, delicious ass.
“Take off your pants, please.” I would say that, next.
You would shimmy out of them. Hard to do while standing on a narrow dresser. But you would, for me.
I would see your ass, in those red panties.
“Turn back around,” I would say. I probably would, by now, be forgetting my usual “please,” in my urgency.
“Take off those panties.”
Bottomless, you would face me.
I would walk over to you. Lift you down. Place you gently – or toss you, roughly? – on the bed. I would open your thighs roughly with my hands, and dive into you.