"Dance for me."
"What!?"
"Dance for me."
We were fooling around on the couch in my living room after work one Friday. I had just touched her breast through her blouse when I got the idea.
"I don't even dance with you, I'm not going to dance for you. I don't dance."
"Come on, it'll be fun."
"For you maybe. Look, wasn't it enough last week?"
I'd convinced her to flash me her ass in her office. It took a half an hour, I had to promise to stand in front of her door, and she was visibly shaking when she turned around, mortified, and lifted her dress and pulled down her panties.
"Then why did you fuck me so hard afterward?" I whispered. "You sure seemed to love it."
She moaned. "I know, it made me very hot. But wasn't it enough for you?"
"Come on. Get up. Dance."
"No. You dance."
I stared at her without moving a muscle.
She started to slowly stand up. "Do you want me to undress?" She did not sound confident.
"Whatever you want. Dressed, undressed, whatever." There was hesitant movement in her rear.
"How about music? Do you want me to dance silently? Or should I hum?" Sarcasm wasn't really her strong suit. I got up to go over to the stereo while her eyes followed me. She couldn't figure out whether she was amused, angry, ashamed, or turned on. Or all of the above. The bluesy beats started up.
She was trying to move some more.
"Why do you want me to do this? I'm too old for this, I can't dance." Her hips were looking for the music.
"Just do it."