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 ..."
