Elizabeth Angela Williams

Elizabeth Angela Williams, she thought to herself. She was just like her name. Always a little formal. Detached. She was always thinking of her appearance and how she was perceived. Even how she had always used all of her three names, she realized, pointed to her aloof air. She didn't really remember deciding to be that way. She just...was. Maybe it was how she was brought up, maybe her way when she was young and insecure. Whatever it was, this had been her way for so very long.

She placed her hands on the chair arm in front of her and was struck by the silence in the room. She was leaning over with her weight on her arms, and she hung her head. She questioned herself yet again as she had alot lately. Why was she in this dark room? Why had she even come here to her son's apartment? Why had she talked herself into thinking that their recent behavior was just some sort of game?

Her eyes focused down to her shoes. Her exposed feet, dainty and with the toes freshly painted red, looked garish arched in her black high heels she hadn't even tried on in years. This was so very stupid, she thought. She took a deep breath at the sight of his bare foot coming into view between her own feet. It tapped back and forth against her feet in an unspoken instruction. She didn't really pause either, as she knew to part her feet wider. First, she raised her right foot and put it further, and then her left did the same.

She started to tell herself it was the challenging back and forth they had fallen into. The dare of what he said she would or wouldn't do. His chuckling at her awkward responses. At first, she had acted aggravated with him. Scolded him. Then, as he had kept it up over time, she had tried to embarrass him or denigrate where he was coming from. She was shocked when this didn't stop him. When he had acted like it didn't faze him, she was stunned.

Her thin dress hugged at her thighs, where it had risen because of her bent form. She had always liked this simple black dress. Worn it and felt attractive, she knew. She had been further surprised when he had admitted to her recently that it was a favorite of his. Their little game had reached a new level when he had told her to wear it over tonight. She had put it on earlier with shaky hands.

She openly flinched at the touch of hands on her back. He let them rest given her reaction. When she seemed to relax again, his hands rubbed long paths at her rounded back. The palms dragging across her thinly covered back felt at once soothing and disturbing to her. His touch was firm, but the movement up to her shoulders and then slowly down to her waist again was too smooth. His hands didn't travel over any straps or clasps to indicate a bra. He had to recognaize this, she thought, and she almost left right then. He knows, she thought, and her face burned.

She slightly moved as if to raise from her bent position, and his hands stopped her. For a second he held her in place. Then, his hands went back to their up and down strokes. Her head lightly shook from side to side in self-disgust.

When his hands came to her waist again, his left one stopped, but he used his right to venture over her hip and she froze. Her head tilted to her right as if focused. His hand reached to her to her exposed skin at where the dress stopped and she felt his finfertips pinch the fabric.

The skin on her leg bit by bit was exposed as the dress was pulled upward, and she thought she felt goose bumps. Never, never, never, she told herself, never had she let herself be so stupid, so dirty. His hand flipped at the fabric and she felt him put her dress over onto her back. Cool air was against her flesh on her inner thighs and she trembled at the thought of his seeing her with no underwear there in front of him.

His hand traced over her bare soft bottom and she fought to keep still. She was somewhat relieved when he ran his hand down her thigh and away from her bottom, but it soon traced a return back inside her other leg. Fingertips and a calloused palm inched along her flesh. He stopped at the little crease where her leg met her thigh. She sighed and his hand went between her legs.

She heard a low moan and was startled that it was her own, as his hand pressed her wet folds. He did small circles and she felt herself smear his fingers. His hand was manipulating her. She was weak and very wet. She jumped when his other hand found her breast. The thin dress held her somewhat, but the protruding nipple easily was found by his fingers and she squenched her eyes at the sensation of his touching her there. She felt she was gushing on his hand at her crotch, and she leaned into him.

She was surprised that he reacted by taking his hands off her. She again started to raise when he gropped at he ass with one hand and pressed himself to her. It was at her lips back there, and she froze. It had been months since any sex. But, no. This is wrong, this is crazy. Her thoughts jumbled when she felt a plunge into her. Her lips were gripping him as he entered her back there and his forward movement brought her into herself.

"No," she said aloud. Everything stopped. He was still lodged there, but they were both frozen. It was dark and quiet in the room. Only a moment passed and he started to withdraw. She pressed back to him and he stopped. Her body moved on down him and her looked forward as he heard grunt. She had psuhed herself fully back onto him, impaled flat against him. He didn't move.

She didn't hesitate long and she let her hips grind slightly. She brought herself forward and he twitched inside of her, as she clung to his shaft. She stopped where he was just at her lips again. He paused to see what she would do.

First, she hung her head down. Her eyes focused on the feet in the heels, at once both elegant but too far apart to be nice.

She lowered her upper body to a more bent position and raised her hips. He smiled as he knew what that meant. ...

(to be continued)