Dance hall music pumps through the room as Adagio dances on top of you, her lewd body rhythmically swaying to every beat of her favorite song.
 
You never try any dirty talk when she gets like this. Her libido taken up in the music, her expression intoxicated by the musky cologne you wear just for her. “It smells like sex,” she moaned breathlessly the first time you wore it, and she had never fucked you as hard as she did that night.
 
You gasp as she brings her heavy hips down on your erect cock and those plump, pink lips twist into a wicked grin, hands forming elegant gestures as she drags them down your bare chest.
 
No, not yet, you remember. Because…
 
“Mistress comes first,” she whispers, voice like embers, in your ear.