Strip Poker 6

'Okay,' he says. "I win." And he fans out the five cards, face up, on the carpet for her to see. She sees the row of tiny red hearts. Her own heart starts thumping.

She looks at him. His eyes have a dreamy, warm look. He smiles at her. She lays her own cards out on the carpet.

"I lose," she says.

She is suddenly nervous. But she can feel herself growing wet.

"Right," he says. "Now you have to do whatever I want."

"Okay," she says, trying for nonchalance.

"Stand up," he orders.

She stands. He lies back against the soft cushions stacked on the floor. His eyes are laughing up at her now. Her heart turns over. His voice is lower now. "Take off your shirt."

She undoes the top button.

"Slowly." His voice is soft.

She breathes raggedly, as each button slides from its placket. Her shirt comes off. Beneath it she wears an ivory-coloured lace bra. She throws the shirt on the floor, and stands there, eyeing him. Daring him.

"Lift up your skirt, slowly."

She bends to remove her stilettos, her hair falling in a silk curtain across her face.

"No," he says, "You can leave your shoes on." They both laugh.

She relaxes suddenly. More confident, feeling her power, she inches the skirt up her thighs, revealing lace-top stockings. She hears him draw in a sharp breath. She watches his face as she draws the hem up to reveal tiny lace panties. She feigns boredom. "What now?"

He lifts his handsome, flushed face. His eyes are alight with lust. She smiles. She feels drunk with lust and power.

"Come here," he says thickly.

She moves slowly towards him, her skirt rucked up around her waist.

"Turn around." She turns and he stands behind her. His hands are at her waistband. The skirt slips to the ground. His fingers linger on her skin. Gooseflesh pricks her entire body. She resists the urge to push back against him.

"Stay where you are," he commands.

His breath is warm on her bare shoulder. She can smell aftershave and a fresh, clean male smell. He unfastens the bra strap and slowly removes it. She looks back over her shoulder at him, smiling saucily.

"Tease." He is smiling. "Turn around."

She turns, her arms crossed over her breasts. He grasps her wrists and pulls her arms to her sides. He gazes at her perfect, full breasts.

"Beautiful," he breathes. "I always knew they would be."

Her nipples have hardened. He bends his head and takes her right nipple in his mouth, drawing it into the warm interior. She closes her eyes against the hot uprush of desire. All sensation centres first in her nipples, and then with increasing urgency in the throbbing centre of her vulva. She wants to feel his hard leanness against her. But she remains still. She is in his hands and he is calling the shots.

His hands are on her lace panties, slowly slipping them over the rounded curves of her buttocks. He kneels now in front of her thighs. She moves to let them slip right down her legs.

"No," he says, stopping her. "Leave them where they are." His eyes glint up at her.

"Is this another facet of your fantasy?" she asks, trying to control the trembling in her limbs, trying for lightness.

"Why? Is it part of yours?" He asks, disconcerting her with his directness. He knows she is aroused, and his knowledge excites her. She doesn't think she can hold on much longer.

His tongue is between her legs, parting her labia, searching for the bud of her clitoris. He finds it and she moans, parting her legs a little more. She can feel her wetness. She wants him inside her now, urgently.

He lifts her suddenly up off the floor, his mouth still between her legs. The sensation of helplessness as she feels herself being held as if she weighs nothing and the exquisite pleasure radiating from her clitoris send waves of ecstasy through her body.

"I'm coming," she gasps.

"No," he whispers, his mouth moving up over the mound of her sex. "Not yet."

"I can't stop," she moans.

"Yes you can."

He lays her gently back on the pile of cushions. He pulls his shirt and jeans off in fluid movements. He looks down at her lying back against the cushions, naked except for her stockings and shoes, her face flushed, her hair fanning out against the silken cushions. His erection is rock hard.

He kneels and, grasping her thighs, pulls her towards him. His hands are under her buttocks, supporting her. He enters her directly, in one swift smooth stroke. She cries out in pleasure, wrapping her long legs around his hips. He thrusts, and thrusts again, and her orgasm is electric, fizzing through her body, as she moans again and again with each stroke. And then he joins her in orgasm, his whole body shuddering with the intensity of his release.

They lie afterwards in each other's arms, their skins slick with sweat and body juices. They smile into each other's eyes.

"So what are you going to make me do when you win a game?" he asks.