Five-Minute Fantasies for Women: The Ride
*Initializing fantasy program...setting parameters...activating pleasure stimulators...begin simulation in 3...2...1...*
You feel a crisp tingle on your legs as you step out of the car and into the chilly autumn evening. Dinner was superb with a delicious meal and subtle flirting both above and below the table, while the show was fantastic, holding him close as you were shrouded in the majesty of the music and awed by the grand spectacle. Now, it seems he has something else in mind to add a final crescendo to an already wonderful evening. The gleam in his eye and the warm smile on his face indicates that there is much more in store for you.
You walk hand in hand up the walk to his house, catching him stealing a glance at you, briefly taking in your beauty, closely clad in a rich, black velvet dress, your feet caressed by strappy high heals, and topped off by a simple strand of pearls, your silky hair done up just so. You smile secretly, as he’s been taking peeks all night, but never quite drinking you in, as if fearful of intoxication. He deftly unlocks the door, still holding your hand, and opens the door with a flourish, letting the warm air from the hallway pour out over your body. He steps inside, leading you in, then twirling you before him and shutting the door behind him. So strong and firm, yet so graceful. He holds you now, his hands sliding over your bare shoulders, his eyes now taking in the deep drink that he had held off for so long. His gaze locks onto your eyes, falling into their mysterious depths, then trails away, admiring the soft curve of your cheek, the slender lines of your neck, and the tantalizing hint of cleavage held up firmly by your tight dress. You begin to sway your hips ever so slightly, knowing he will be transfixed as he watches you move, your hem swishing seductively, both relaxed and ready at the same time, like the tail of a lounging panther.
With much hesitation, his eyes return to yours, searching, looking for a sign. You smile, as does he, and then he leans forward, pressing a soft kiss on your lips, his hands sliding slowly down to your still gyrating hips. His lips brush your cheek, your jaw line, your neck, pulling you slightly closer with each delicate buzz. The slight roughness on your cheek and his heady musk assail your delicate flesh, and you press against him, both powerful in your effect and helpless to his ministrations. Your push away slightly, your hands meandering up his chest, his lips and tongue finding that sweet spot at your collarbone, gently, nibbling, eating you up for what would be all eternity.
He pushes you away slightly, his eyes returning to yours once again.
“I have something special to show you,” he says, gesturing upstairs. You turn, following his hand, seeing the staircase, and realize that you are before the point of no return. He offers his outstretched hand to you, his eyes both tantalizing and begging you. Your heart pounds in your chest and the first hint of warmth wells up between your legs, the wine, the heat of his house and his presence weaving their magic into you. You take his hand, and he guides you upstairs into the warm darkness.
Without a word or a sliver of light, he walks you expertly to the bedroom, opens the door, and sits you on the bed. Instinctively, you slip out of your shoes and curl your toes beneath you, sitting like Sheba on her thrown. You hear him move with expert delicacy through the room, pick something up, and then in a flash of light, you see him holding a long-stemmed match, his eyes gleaming in the soft glow. One light becomes two as he lights a candle on the dresser; two become three, and then more, on the nightstand, and on the long wooden backing of his sumptuous king-sized bed. Six, Ten, Twelve, Twenty, you lose count as the room is bathed in the myriad tiny flickers of dancing candlelight.
You smile, now feeling a little vulnerable as he watched you lounging on his bed. He removes his tie, and you watch in rapture as he opens his shirt, his firm muscles gleaming in the sheen that his own hopes and fantasies have produced. The dim light dances over his rippling flesh, and he begins to unbuckle his slacks. You signal him to stop, shaking a teasing finger at him, and kneel at the end of the bed. You reach out with skilled fingers, slipping his belt from the loops, and then unhooking and unzipping his pants. The bulge beneath his thin shorts is painfully close, and you resist the urge to run your palm over his throbbing hardness. You let his pants slip to the floor, which he steps out of, and you hesitate before pulling down his shorts. The tension is palpable as you finally slip your fingers into the waistband, and with an unconscious wetting of your lips, you slide the flimsy fabric past his thighs, his bulge taking on the unmistakable glistening form of the strong, quaking member that until now you only dreamed about. With hands that now seem numb, you let the shorts drop the rest of the way, and he steps out again. You look up into his eyes. He looks both relieved at the release, and pleased by your appreciation.
Not taking your eyes from his, you reach out with trembling hands, ready to caress his bulging cock, to roll it between your palms, and then close your eyes only to lean further forward so as to press your lips to its magnificent head, slip your tongue out and twirl luxuriously over the vein and around the shaft. You anticipate his hands taking the carefully arranged chopsticks from your hair and tangling his fingers deep within your tresses to pull you closer to him, to slide his hardness deeper between your lips and reach for the velvet caress of your throat, but instead his hands press against your shoulders, pushing you back. You look up at him, curious, surprised, your hands still lovingly entwined around his stiff member. He smiles, removing your hands from him, and guiding you to your feet. You stand before him, a little self conscious despite his lack of clothing, or possibly because of it, this Adonis appraising you in your little black dress. His hands move up to your shoulders again, and your eyes close as his fingers caress your bare arms, and then slide the straps of your dress over your tender flesh. The straps hold briefly at the top of your arms and then nature has its unstoppable way as the simple weight of the dress races down your sides, pooling in a black velvet puddle at your feet. A wicked grin crosses his face as he sees the evening’s secret: Your panties were left at home. He marvels at the fact that you had both come to the same conclusion, even before casting your eyes on each other. You open your eyes and can’t help but blush in the near darkness at his obvious gratitude.
“Very well,” he says, huskily, as if his voice is catching despite his suaveness to this point. “Join me.”
He walks by you, moving to one side of the bed, slipping his fingers over your bare hip as he passes. With a practiced flourish he slides onto the bed, his taut body outstretched, his proud hard-on beckoning, his flesh dazzlingly lit from the candles glow and his own excited sheen. Now he looks as if he is the royalty, lounging sumptuously atop his satin sheets, the king, eagerly awaiting his queen.
You slide back onto the bed, crawling languidly towards him, defrocked of your midnight skin, but no less the stalking panther. You kneel over him, your breasts dangling for his outstretched hand. He cups them in his palm, his thumb rolling over your engorged nipple. Taking a cue, you lean down and peck at his strong chest, tonguing and teasing his own erect nipples and breathing in his dark musk. His other hands slips down your back, over your hips and caresses the silky smoothness of your buttock, down your firm thigh, and back up to your buttock. You tense as his big strong fingers tickle your belly, and then slide further, coming tantalizingly close to your soft pink well. You gasp as they press into the soft folds, already slippery with wild anticipation. He explores deeper, his knuckles disappearing between the petals of your hot flower, the firmness of his fingers pressing inside you, as you squeeze back on them hungrily. The stimulation on your nipples as his hand dances back and forth glides down your spine, crashing into your clitoris. The heel of his other hand adds to your squirming as it brushes your already sensitive nub. Then, as soon as it began, his hands withdraw, forcing a whimper from your throat. He brings his glistening hand to his lips and slowly partakes of your secret elixir. You look at him, silently begging for more, and he simply smiles.
“Are you ready to take ‘the ride’?” You look at him with a moment’s confusion, but then nod dreamily. Yes...’the ride’...that would be lovely, you think, as you gaze instinctively at his rock-hard penis, bobbing with pent up desire.
