Loced Outside

"Would you go out in the back yard and grab the towel I left out there?" The request seems innocent enough, so I don't even think to question it, but I'm surprised when you run up to the door and slam it shut behind me. I know I've been played, but I still glance around for a towel, not quite comprehending the situation entirely for just a moment.

I'm irritated at first, but you cure that quickly with the look on your face. You're up to something, and whatever it is, I'm pretty sure I'm going to enjoy it. The naughty smile I see positively glows with erotic potential.

You disappear for just a moment and music starts -- our music. "Come Undone". You reappear at the door and start to dance, swaying back and forth, your hands starting at your hips, then moving slowly over your body.

I stand and watch, uncertain whether I should find somewhere to sit or stay where I am, not sure where to put my hands, not even sure how to express my enjoyment. Hooting and catcalls might bring attention, but silence might leave you feeling unappreciated. I settle for very loud smiles.

You start to strip for me. The way you're dancing makes it obvious you will, but it still surprises me a little when you start. I've expected you to start with your shirt, but instead you unfasten your belt, then unbutton and unzip your pants. I can't help but moan when you start brushing the fabric of your panties with your fingertips. I grin when you slide your fingers inside your panties, stroking yourself for a few minutes for my enjoyment.

Finally, you slide your pants down slowly, making a show of it, teasing me with your skin. As you do, your shirt loosens and falls. It's longer than it looked, and is covering up those panties I was so enjoying. The act seems a torment of cruel injustice.

You see my pout and take a bit of pity, turning as you dance and lifting your shirt a little, giving me a peek. A few more twirls that lift up your shirt an inch or two, just enough for a tiny flash. Hands moving across your body, favoring your breasts and your hair. In time, your panties come down, careful lest I see anything. A hand holds down each side, ostensibly to keep your shirt from coming up while you dance, but actually to help it once you're ready, which comes quickly. A flash, a peek. You bend over, promising a delicious view, but stretch out your shirt to deny me again, laughing as you do. Then, when you stand up, you finally pull the shirt up over your head, nude now in front of me.

You beckon me closer, until I'm standing on the lower concrete step, perhaps a foot from the glass door, then you approach as well, pressing your body against the glass. I can't help but touch the door, my fingers no more than a centimeter from your breast. I pretend to pet you, to stroke you, while you move slightly up and down, your pelvis pressed hardest against the glass.

"I'll open the door," you tease, "if you promise not to come in." I'm not sure what you're up to, but I'm happy to agree. You stand before me for a few moments, relishing my uncertainty, my desire, my need. Then you run a finger across your sex, letting it pick up some of the dripping evidence of your own arousal. You smear it on my lips, "Don't you wish you could cross that threshold and take me?" You take a step back in case I forget my agreement.

After a few more moments of teasing me, you lie down on the ground, knees bent, legs spread. You make a show of touching yourself for me, moaning and giggling, sometimes closing your eyes and thrusting your head back, other time staring directly at me. At one point you get carried away and "accidentally" let your leg slip out the door.

With so much arousal, and being deprived of your touch, your foot and calf are more erotic to me than they've ever been. I caress the arch. I massage the skin. I kiss from your toes up to the very edge of where I'm allowed, just below your knee. I feel your other foot rubbing against my cheek, then along my back. I tenderly caress that foot as well, and look up to notice an expectant look on your face. At first I'm not sure what you have in mind, but when I realize it, before I've even done it, you smile, knowing I've figured it out.

I gently pull on both legs, pulling you out the door six or eight more inches, then begin kissing and licking your knees, and the beginning of your thigh. A few more inches, and nibbling the rest of your thighs, close enough now to smell you. One last pull, and your vagina is barely out the door, your feet resting on the first step.

I begin expressing my excitement with my tongue, lapping at you, flicking your clitoris, licking up and savoring your juices. Just as I'm losing control I hear one more line from you, mixed with a moan, "I think your tongue is crossing the line."