You drop your hand from my shoulder down to my breast, your fingers reaching to brush against my nipple. With my free hand, I take your hand and put it back on my shoulder and shake my head gently, moving forward just enough that you can't reach me easily and I hear a gasp of surprise from your lips. I grin to myself, knowing that you were going to try to take back control of this and feeling bolstered at the quickness with which you tried to touch me ... you know my nipples are my undoing and if you can reach one, you'll turn the tide and have me gasping in moments. I press my hand against you more firmly, rubbing harder and faster, enjoying the power of hearing your breath quicken and feeling your fingers dig into my shoulder.
Slowly, I turn slightly in my seat and reach across to unbutton your jeans. I glance up to see your eyes widen in surprise -- and I grin at you mischievously, licking my lips seductively. Again, you reach for my breasts and I evade your fingers. While slowly lowering the zipper, I place my lips against your ear, drawing the lobe of your ear into my mouth and suckling gently for a moment, then whispering, "If you touch me, I'll stop what I'm doing. Understand?" I press my hand against you firmly and you arch into it, but don't answer me. I nip your earlobe and repeat, "Understand?" I hear your sharp intake of breath and feel your slight nod of agreement as my fingertips wriggle under the band of your boxers. Your hips begin to arch rhythmically and your breath becomes low and shallow as I push the tip of my finger under your cock to brush it against your clit. Your hands are clutching the armrest and the back of my neck. My finger rubs slow circles around your wet clit, teasing it, pushing against it, changing the pressure to keep you off balance and unsure. Inching your jeans down a little further, I pull your cock through the opening in your boxers and slide down on my knees between your legs. I hear you whisper, "Oh fuck." I grin at you and whisper back teasingly, "Not yet."
Losing grip on your control, you lean forward and roughly cup my breast, pinching the nipple harshly. Immediately, my finger stops moving on your clit and I pull back from you. "Those aren't the rules," I remind you, looking into your eyes while trying desperately not to show a reaction to your fingers ravishing my nipple through my shirt. I struggle not to cry out when you swear softly and clench your hands into fists and slam them into the upholstered seats in frustration.
Grinning that the rule about not touching me has frustrated you, I begin again flicking and rubbing at your clit, watching your fingers clench and unclench the air. You mutter to me lowly, "Stop this now." I laugh quietly and say, "Not a chance darling" then lower my mouth slowly over your cock. You groan loudly enough someone in the theater shushes you and you slouch down further in your seat as my fingers work faster and more firmly on your clit while my mouth is sliding your cock in and out of it. My breathing quickly matches yours and we are both panting ... you from my ministrations and mine from the rush of feminine power I feel over you at this moment.
You bury both hands in my hair and told my head firmly and I suck on your cock, your hips thrusting it in and out of my lips in time with my movements. I press hard, fast circles against your clit and I feel your orgasm gathering and gaining force when your hands suddenly go under my arms and you pull me on to your lap, straddling you, my finger still under your cock on your clit, rubbing hard and fast. You bury your head in my breast and grab my ass with your hands. The moment your lips close over the fabric-covered nipple, I stop the motion of my finger on your clit. You bite at my nipple and dig your fingers into my ass, trying to move against me, but I remain firm in ceasing all action with you touching me and bite my lip so hard so as not to react to your demands that I taste blood. "Not another touch until you stop," I whisper in your ear. You suck a sharp breath in through your nose and press your forehead in between my breasts and nod.
My fingers again start circling your clit, harder and faster. I lean forward and hover my lips just above yours, every so often flicking my tongue out to swipe across your lips, but never kissing your or allowing you to kiss me. I know the pressure of your fingers gripping my hips is going to leave bruises and I revel in having the power to make you lose that control.
I slide back down on my knees and take you once again into my mouth, my fingers on your clit working up and down, while I take my other hand and begin to inch, ever so slowly, two fingers into your wetness. Fingering you, sucking you and rubbing you to the rhythm you have set with your hips, I know your orgasm is just on the precipice when your legs grip my shoulders in anticipation ... and then with one final thrust you bury your cock in my mouth, as I bury my fingers in you and my finger pressing in and upwards on your clit and I feel your orgasm shudder through you.
Slowly, I wriggle your jeans back over your hips and give one final, long kiss to your cock before zipping up your jeans and returning to my seat, a self-satisfied smile playing across my lips. Leaning over to me you growl, "We're leaving now!" I gently place a finger over your lips and say, "Shhhh, watch the movie."
You shake your head "no" and grab my hand to pull me up. I untangle my hand from yours and look from your eyes to my hand and back, directing you to watch. Your eyes follow and widen slowly as I spread my legs slightly apart, pull my skirt up with the hand you are watching, show you I am wearing no panties, moisten my finger with my own wetness, then place that finger on your lips, while crossing my legs and pulling my skirt down and say again, "Shhhhh. Watch the movie."
You spend the next 40 minutes of the movie digging your fingers into my thigh, trying to reach my wetness, but I keep my legs firmly crossed and deny you access to my nipples by crossing my arms in front of myself. Your frustration is palpable.
The credits for the movie barely begin before you stand up, grab my hand and drag me out of my seat. "We are leaving," you growl. "What about dinner?" I ask sweetly. You turn, look at me, your eyes dark pinpoints that drill straight to my core, and say harshly, "Unless you want me to fuck you on the table at dinner, no dinner." You stalk out of the theater to your truck, me nearly running behind you to keep up.
Once in the truck, you flick the radio off and gun the engine, chirping the tires as you back up. A nervous curl starts in the pit of my stomach; the confidence I gained by my actions in the theater dwindles as I begin to wonder if you are angry with me or if I crossed some boundary with you that I didn't realize.
Gently, I clear my throat and say, "I hope ..."
"Not another word," you say, tension emanating from you. "I mean it," you add for emphasis. "Not another word until we get to the house."
Pursing my lips shut, I fold my hands on my lap and begin plucking nervously at my skirt, certain now this has backfired on me in a horrible way. Your face is a mask of concentration as you drive aggressively in the direction of your place. Without thinking, I begin once again to gently chew my already bruised lip as my nerves are stretched to their limit. With a low growl, you reach across the cab of your truck and flick my lip out from my teeth and say, "What did I tell you about that?" By the time you pull into the garage, my knees are so shaky I nearly stumble getting out of the truck. You haven't uttered another word to me, looked at me nor attempted to touch me. My head is swimming with a million flashes of thought and I take a moment after you enter the house to try and gather enough esteem to walk to the front door and leave without showing the turmoil of emotions I'm feeling.
Before I get to the garage door to walk inside, you jerk it open and just point past you, clearly indicating I should get inside and right now. I slide past you in the doorway, praying my shaking legs will carry me to the front door without incident, when halfway through the living room you bark, "Where do you think you are going? I pointed to the den and that's where I want you." Pausing for a moment to weigh my options; certainly not relishing a sit-down talk, which we always did in the den.
"I .. umm ..." I stammered, hating that my voice sounded quivering to my own ears. You approach me and take my hand roughly, glaring, "I said I wanted you in the den. I meant it." By the grasp you have on my hand, I have no choice but to follow you.
Once in the den, your hand still holding mine, I sink down onto the couch, too nervous to speak or look at you; I look at the carpet, skittering my gaze to inanimate objects around the room, thinking "I don't want to talk about this right now. I don't want to talk about this ever."
"I didn't invite you to sit down," you say, grabbing my other hand and pulling me to my feet. "So," you say, taking a step towards me, crowding my personal space. "You enjoyed your little game at the movie did you?" I nod slowly, not speaking. You take another step closer to me, so close I can feel the heat radiating off of you. "And you liked turning me on beyond control and then denying me what I want?" I flick at a quick glance at you to try to determine what's going on, but your face betrays nothing, and I give you a barely perceivable nod of agreement.
In a flash, your lips descend on mine roughly, your tongue thrusting between my lips, harsh and demanding. You drag my wrists behind me and hold them in one hand, while the other grabs my nipple and twists hard. Gasping at the pleasure-pain, I lean towards you and start to kiss you back. You jerk my wrists sharply, forcing me to straighten slightly and you say, while still twisting and tweaking my nipple, "You are not in control now." Dazed, I nod my agreement, your fingers on my nipple making my breaths come in short, shallow whimpers. Then without notice, you turn me around and quickly secure my wrists together with what feels like a soft tie. "What ..." I start to say. "You are not in control now sweetheart," you interrupt, placing your hands on my shoulders, turning me to face you and giving me a gentle push towards the couch. My knees shaking from the combination of events in the last few moments, I sink gratefully into the cushions.
Pulling the ottoman over in front of me, you straddle it and sit down facing me, then taking my hips in your hands you drag me forward closer to you and lower your lips to my nipple. The searing heat of your mouth and the wetness of your tongue seeping through my shirt and bra combined with your fingers harshly twisting and tweaking the other nipple cause me to wriggle, but I'm unsteady without the use of my hands for balance. You continue your assault on my nipples, your other hand kneading my thigh over my skirt. I whimper in desperation to at least feel your lips and tongue on my uncovered nipple, you grin, knowing what I want. A soft, "Please ..." escapes my lips.
"Oh no, baby. It's not going to be that easy." You grin when I cry out my frustration. "Careful baby, remember you did this to me when I had to be quiet -- and I have much, much more experience at this game than you do." My eyes fly open to look at you and I'm rewarded by the vision of your lips and tongue laving at my shirt. You continue your attention over my clothes, your hands roaming from my hips to the inside of my thighs, barely brushing my wetness through my skirt. "You aren't wearing panties," you state matter-of-factly. "I bet the tops of your thighs are glistening already." I respond with a low moan of frustration at the truth of your statement.
"Please," I hear my own voice, raspy. "Please?"
Your only response is to sink to the floor and spread my legs apart, gazing blatantly under my skirt and confirming, without touching, "Oh yes, you are wet." A heated blush at the blatant observation rushes to my face and I try to arch my hips towards you, but end up falling back against the cushions on the couch. "Oh fuck," I mutter, vaguely aware that I am repeating what you said in the theater. You chuckle and respond by pushing my skirt up around my hips, shoving my knees apart and whispering, "Not yet." As your tongue flicks out and touches my clit. With little leverage, I plant my feet on your thighs to arch up to your mouth. You counter by draping my legs over your shoulders, leaving me no leverage and completely exposed. Your lips close over my clit and suckle at it gently, but I want more. I want to feel you inside me, I want harder and faster and I cry out my desire to you, but you ignore my pleas and continue your gentle assault. Dizzy from being unable to catch my breath and frustrated at the helplessness of my position, tears seep out of the corner of my eyes. "Stop, please stop," I plead to deaf ears as you slip one finger inside of me, my muscles grasping violently at the invasion to hold you there, but to no avail as you quickly remove your finger and trace the wetness down my thigh. "Please, please," I hear a voice, not realizing it's mine until I hear, "Please make me cum."
You chuckle and completely withdraw from touching my clit. "No!" I gasp, as your fingers close over my nipples again, tweaking and grabbing the hard nubs, rolling them with little gentleness. I'm squirming now on the couch, uncaring that I can feel my own wetness on the upholstery.
"Frustrating isn't it baby?"
I groan without abandoned in response. You stand, lean down to kiss me and then rip the front of my shirt, exposing my bra, my hardened nipples poking and straining against the fabric of my bra. "I ..., want ..."
