If perfect grammar is your thing, this story may not be. This is the second half of a story that is my first attempt at a kind of "stream of consciousness" flow, so I took some liberties with the punctuation. I fantasize more in words than images, so this is what happens when it comes out on the page. If you like it please let me know…vote!
Naked
"Strip."
Eyebrows arched, I gaze at you. A command professor? Are we learning anything this evening? Lips curved, I can't help but smile. It's fabulous really. You, naked, hot, the orgasm still running through your system, making your breath uneven, your balls still aching slightly from the force of the release, and yet that annoyed frown still tugs at the corners of your mouth. I can't remember the last time I so enjoyed pushing someone's buttons. Interesting isn't it, the need I have to twist your world just a little. Moth to a flame. Pushing you, a girl could definitely get her wings singed.
The taste of your cum still lingers on my tongue, it's like having you inside me, and makes my body throb just as if you were. My eyes on yours, I stand between your legs. Strip. Yes, I want to be naked for you now. Only sheer willpower keeps my eyes on yours. I crave the sight of your body, and you are such a picture, your cock half-hard, your balls still wet from my mouth. The shiver that runs through me is visible, and you smile. Damn that smile. Makes me want to give you anything, everything. We both already know I will.
I reach behind my back, fingers tugging at the narrow zipper. Soft sound of metal sliding on metal. I can almost see my reflection in your eyes as the thin straps fall from my shoulders. Your eyes narrow as my hands pause, palm lightly pressed against the swell of my breast, holding the dress in place. Impatience becomes you. My eyes dart down your body—I can't resist—then meet yours again. Your lips finally curve into a smile as my hands fall to my sides, the dress whispering down over my hips to pool at my feet. My nipples harden in the cool air of the room. I straighten my shoulders as your eyes cruise down, devouring as they go. The silky triangle between my legs is shiny and wet. You knew it would be.
Your hand, like velvet steel, wraps around my wrist, turning me in a sort of pirouette, until you stand behind me, the silk of my stockings whispering against your thighs. The tremor runs through me, makes me my flesh tremble. My pulse racing beneath your fingers catches me off guard. I knew it would come to this, that I would give myself to you. Here. Tonight. I'm not sure if I knew until now that I'd be taken. "Come into my parlor said the spider to the fly…" was this my web or yours Jack? I can't remember.
Was that a push toward the bedroom, or is it my own eagerness to be with you that makes me stumble? I can feel you. Close. Your mouth cruises lightly along my shoulder, lips parted to taste my flesh. I can't hear the words you're growling under your breath. Maybe they aren't meant for me. Can't tell. I can't tell anything but the way your fingers burn against my skin. "I want you Jack. Need you." I can give you the words. I'm not afraid of the feelings even though my head is swimming with them.
"Damn right." The growl turns hiss as you spin me around, your hand still around my wrist so that my arm is caught behind me, your mouth inches from mine. Still annoyed with me I see. Is it because you want to take me, or because I've already given myself to you that your eyes are sparking hot? Doesn't matter. Your temper is kindling to the fire. We'll burn either way. I rise on tiptoes to press my mouth to yours, and you let me kiss you, pulling my tongue into your mouth, sucking it hard so that you can drink my soft whimpers. Your teeth scrape, nip, bite into my lower lip and I gasp. Breasts pressed to your chest, muscles quivering I bend back over your arm, letting you push me wanting to be under you.
You growl, low in your throat and I'm falling. Suddenly released my body tumbles to the bed, and I lay, sprawled there, watching as you stand over me. The outside lights cast shadows over your naked body as you look down at me. Take me, touch me. Don't you know how much I've wanted this? Wanted to feel you. I'm so close its like you're already inside me. Now. Please. Now. The words tumble in my head. I grope for the ones that will make you reach for me. There aren't any. Your eyes. God. "Jack…"
My body arches, legs parting naturally as I feel the mattress dip under your weight. No words. My mind races as I try to see what you're seeing. To get inside you because I so desperately want you inside me. There's distance though, in this moment. You look not at my face but at the way my arms stretch over my head, fingertips brushing the headboard, curling around the antique brass as my body arches. I see you smile, and the sea I'm drowning in ebbs a little, letting me breathe. Your eyes meeting mine, finally.
"Mine. Mine now, little girl." The silk slips around my wrists. I don't flinch as you pull it taught. I didn't realize until just now that I left it there, draped across the headboard, for you. My fingers still curl naturally around the brass rung of the headboard, but its no longer necessary. My wrists are bound, and though the silk is soft and slippery against my skin the knot is unyielding. Your eyes devour my quivering frame. Your gaze lapping at me, making my skin burn. Please…Please…Please god touch me. The words are in my eyes as my hips writhe, shifting helplessly. I hear the soft whimpers float through the air, but I don't register that they're my own. Can I cum, just from you looking at me? It feels like it.
Minutes. Hours. Eons. Time is meaningless to me now as I wait for your touch. Your eyes never waver, your mouth, your hands don't move any closer to my weeping body. My taut thighs strain as I stretch my legs wider apart, my feet scrambling for purchase as I arch my hips, my lower body rising a few inches off the bed. Slowly your gaze drifts down my body again, focusing between my legs. Your eyes darken as you watch the way my own arousal glistens on my sex, the way the glossy, wet lips quiver as the inner muscles contract deep inside me, desperate for something to hold onto. I'm startled by the sharp, desperate scream, even more so when it registers as my own. The tip of your tongue flicks along your bottom lip, and I can imagine you there, tasting me. Jack I can feel you. I can feel your tongue, know how the solid heat of it will send me into oblivion. But you simply sit, inches from me, but miles beyond my grasp.