I bounce onto the bed with a grin and a plan. Tonight is our strip quiz. I ask questions about me and you get to touch only when you get them right. I am already in a tiny top that wants to quit. You are already hard and trying to look innocent.

Round one. Coffee order. If you answer it perfectly, you can stroke slow for five counts while I slide one strap off my shoulder. If you miss, you hold still and watch me pout and tease for the same five. No whining. The rules are cute and cruel for a reason.

Round two. Favorite toy from my nightstand. Say it right and you get ten smooth strokes while I shimmy the top the rest of the way down. Eyes on me. If you rush, I reset the count with a smile and a shake of my head.

Round three. What color panties do I wear to the gym when I want attention. If you nail it, you can go normal speed while I hook my thumbs in the waistband and turn slow so you can see. If you guess wrong, you hold the edge and tell me I am pretty while I keep them on.

Bonus round. Tell me my favorite way to be kissed after Pilates. If you get it, I peel the panties and let you stroke to my rhythm. I count. You match. I give you praise and pretty moans and every tiny look that ruins you.

Final. You can only finish if you can name my go to win pose when I beat you at a game. If you remember it, I show you. If you do not, I smile and tuck myself back in and say better luck next quiz, good boy.