You wouldn't think it'd get boring, a woman with a body like Felicia's going naked, but with no one around to appreciate her—well, there was only so much she could appreciate herself. And she was slightly too classy to actually call Peter's bluff and go outside while totally naked.
While she wasn't immune to the charms of staying inside and curling up with a book—watching TV—taking a bath—touching herself—Felicia couldn't really focus on boring niceties like those when she was naked! Dominated! Just waiting for Peter to get home for her life to spring into whatever erotic reward he'd devised for her anticipation to...
Reward—wait—she hadn't actually done whatever stupid thing he wanted from her, had she? Grousing to herself, Felicia went about doing the laundry. She went over and above that, just to be sure she'd put Peter at ease and show that there were no hard feelings.
She cleaned the apartment and fixed a meal she left simmering in the slow cooker. She would've hoped that Peter would be back by the time she was finished, but still nothing. This whole situation was supposed to humiliate her; didn't he realize how much that would turn her on?
She sat down on one of the wooden chairs that Parkers' apartment was furnished with. The feel of the wood pressing into her bare ass and back was initially thrilling, then boring and uncomfortable.
Felicia got up. Being naked gave her too much energy to sit around and wait for Peter to get back, or even Mary Jane. It invigorated her, filling her with a naughty sparkle that she didn't want to let MJ turn into monotony. Into defeat. Just because she'd submitted didn't mean she was broken.
Felicia went to the front door and opened it, receiving a kinky thrill at the prospect of unexpectedly happening onto a deliveryman, or any of Peter's neighbors. Thankfully—if a little disappointingly—no one was there to receive the utter spectacle she was dishing out with each step. Felicia stood in the doorway a moment, wondering if the universe would intercede. If Peter came out of the elevator at that moment, or the phone rang, she would take a hint.
But nothing dissuaded her. In fact, the cool breeze she felt singing down the corridor encouraged her. She preened in the open air, letting it caress her flowing curves. As if pushed by the air, like a feather or leaf, Felicia strolled to the stairwell.
She closed her eyes—she was the only thing worth seeing there at the moment, anyway—and imagined that it wasn't air pressing so lightly, yet so tantalizingly, along her sex. No, it was Peter's hand, his fingers hovering, almost touching, then
barely
touching. Teasing her into moving.
Slipping into the stairwell, Felicia went up to the roof. And even with literally nothing in her possession, she easily slid through the alarmed roof access. The hinges didn't even creak. Then the wind was all over her body, like Peter was touching her with eight hands. Her Spider.
She jumped and raced and even cartwheeled all around the rooftop. Anyone seeing her wild performance would be as impressed with her athleticism as they would be with her flawless physique. A stark naked woman, tight and taut as a teenager, but with the overendowed curves of a marquee burlesque dancer.
She cavorted as if she
were
putting on a show, her white legs flashing gorgeously, every sweep of skin poetry in motion as it rippled with muscle. It was enough to give any man a hard-on. And Peter, blundering up onto the roof, was not just any man—he knew that the feel of Felicia was even better than the sight of her.
Felicia was taken by surprise. Usually well aware of her surroundings, she'd had no idea Peter was approaching her. It astonished her that here, in this apartment building where she'd been shanghaied to be Peter's sex slave, that she'd felt so comfortable as to let herself be enthralled with these sensations rampaging through her flesh... themselves feelings she'd never had before.
