Erotic Lust

You patiently wait while sipping your drink. Your eyes watch the closed door of the room, and your ears strain to hear the sounds of my movements. You are unsure exactly where this is going.

When I appear, my hair is disheveled, and my makeup has long since disappeared, to be replaced by a natural glowing excitement. My lips are pink and full, and I nervously use my tongue to moisten them while looking at you. Your head turns from the opposite corner of the room, where the music originates. You pretend a nonchalance that belies your eavesdropping only seconds before.

You are sitting relaxed in front of me. I particularly like the casualness of a jean/t-shirt outfit. So that’s exactly how you’re dressed. I’m dressed in a lovely sea-green lingerie ensemble because I think packages are much prettier when enticingly wrapped. The spaghetti-strapped bodice is a tightly woven lace that fits snugly around my breasts. The material changes to silk at my waistline and tangles around my slender legs.

You motion toward the sound of the music and nod your approval. Your outstretched hand is easy prey. I don’t resist it. My small hand teasingly stops yours mid-flight, and I raise it to my mouth, where your palm meets my slightly parted lips.

You are surprised and make as if to jerk away, “Jadyn, this was not my intention. I don’t expect you to entertain me. Hell, I’m not even sure I’m comfortable with this real-life thing. Online is not entirely real, and there I can pretend our age difference doesn’t exist. In reality, I’m way too old for you.”

My expressive eyes tell you before I quickly turn. The words sting more than I care for you to know. I bow my head so that an auburn curtain hides my scalding cheeks. Your words feel like the sting of rejection. But they don’t serve your purpose; instead they make me only more determined.

I drop your hand and move as if to go into the dimly lit kitchen. You sigh and lean forward, intently studying the grain of the cabin floor, unsure of how to proceed. I’m not plagued by that dilemma. When my hands settle upon your broad shoulders, you realize my intent is not a trip to kitchen after all.

I gently urge you backward into your chair and lean in to whisper softly in your ear. My words are simple but meaningful: “But I want you.”

My breath stirs the hair alongside your neck, and, before you can respond, my tongue brushes the back of your nape. You’re not unaffected. I continue to whisper closely to your ear so that you not only hear my words but you feel them: “I’ve wanted you ever since you sent that first picture. The ones you took in the gazebo, taunting me…the way the sunlight sparkled golden on your skin. That was so erotic, and how you captured the images left me wanting to reposition you so that I could see more than you were willing to show. I was amazed that you were so easily able to incite my lust.”

My hands massage your shoulders, dipping into your skin as easily as my words imprint themselves into your consciousness. Slowly, I knead my way down the length of your arm and move until I’m standing between your sinewy thighs. Your eyes meet mine, and I lean closer so that the sight of my cleavage is unavoidable. The heavy weight of my breasts brush against your chest as I whisper, “Let me please you.”

Your answer isn’t forthcoming, but I’m beyond caring. My lips touch yours, and my tongue glides along the line of your closed mouth. For a moment, I’m afraid you won’t respond. But then you do. You forcibly pull me into your lap, and your mouth takes over.

Your tongue tickles the corner of my mouth, and I sigh. After months of only knowing you online, I’m overcome with the reality of finally touching you in person. I’m excited and anxious and want to hurry. But I also want to savor. My emotions run amok. I move away to gain control, and you frown slightly as I break contact. My head drops to your chest.

“What is it?” you ask. I brush my fingertip against the line of your mouth in a silencing motion, and then I move so that my legs straddle you. The silk of my gown bunches against my thighs, unveiling tanned legs and pink-tipped toes. Your hands touch the satiny material, and your head tilts back.

The strap of my gown falls against my shoulder, unnoticed. The corset-style bodice still tightly constricts my breasts so that the rise and fall of my breath is impossible to ignore. My hands journey to your belt; the buckle is easily undone. Next, your zipper. My hips rock gently away from you, giving my hands the room they need. The friction of that contact causes you to moan.

Leaning forward, I carefully position myself so that no part of me is touching your cock. I can see that it’s not yet hard, but soon it will be. My tongue snakes out to trail your neck, wetting a trail that leads down to your chest.

“You’re so damned sexy,” I murmur, almost to myself, “It’s your fault that I find you so irresistible. Your body is perfect. I get wet just by looking at you.” My words are true, but I’m using them to seduce you. The outline of your cock is now beginning to show through your briefs. Your fingers tighten on my thighs. “You really should just give in to it," I say. "Let yourself lose control. You don’t have a chance in hell coming out of this intact.”

At that statement, you lift your head and with raised eyebrows say, “Oh, I don’t?”

“No, you don’t,” I answer with confidence, and my body slinks down the length of your thighs until I rest in a silken puddle at your feet. “Why don’t you slide those off so I can show you what it is you’re missing?” I say with a gesture to your midsection. And then I touch you. There in that very spot that has you so torn. Through your briefs, your cock still reacts. The upper movement of your hips is noticeable to both of us.

My smirk is one you have memorized.

Your hands make no move to do my bidding, and I can sense my self-assurance has you unnerved, even a little angry perhaps.

“Have you ever been told no?” you ask. “Or do all men fall over themselves to do your bidding?”

“I’ve never been concerned about ALL men. I’m only concerned about you, and yes is the answer to your question. I have been told no. You seem to have no problem ignoring me. Or do you?” I stare pointedly at the object that has risen between us.

My finger dips to trace the outline of my breast, which is overflowing from its confining lace. The skin is soft, like the silk of my gown. I grab your hand and position it under mine. My skin feels hot and swollen. Your hand moves in sync with my breathing, and soon I no longer have to trap your hand in place. Slowly, I lower the bodice until just the pink tip of one nipple escapes. It’s already hard, and I want you to touch it.

“Okay,” you whisper, “This is give and take. Ask me. What is it that you want?”

“Please, stroke it.” My skin tingles under your hand. A path of fire follows your touch.

My nipple puckers and my eyes close, for I’m afraid you’ll see my lack of control. And then I feel your mouth. I jump and open my eyes to see your profile. Your lips suck forcibly, gentleness long forgotten. You know what it is I crave. The sensation runs the length of my stomach and settles as a steady, burning tingle in the center of my thighs.

“Oh, yes. Please…don’t stop.” The scent of my arousal rises from the heat between my legs. Finally, you sit up. My face revealingly reflects my unfulfilled lust.

But you’re only repositioning yourself to stand. Moving backward, I reach for the waistband of your jeans, pulling briefs down as I go. I find it difficult not to linger over your beautifully muscled thighs. Standing well over six feet, you tower over me as I kneel before you. After dispensing with your clothing, you lean down and gather me in your arms.

“We should definitely find a sexier environment for our first time together.” In the dim lighting, you carry me through a nearby doorway. The room is adorned with an elaborately swirled brass bed. The dark rich colors of the frame contrast appealingly with the pastel blue and white linens. A fire crackles and burns in the fireplace, and the music from earlier still plays, though it’s muted. “Pretty sure of me, were you?” you ask, upon observing the scene.

“Never," I whisper against your lips, as you easily place me upon the bed. "I just dreamed."

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