by Sandy Lowe
She waits, seeming indifferent in her patience. I feel her need, though. She turns me slowly to a new song, her thigh brushing mine. Her eyes glint. She’s going to make me say it.
I flush.
“Tell me what you want,” she whispers.
I know she knows.
My face grows hotter, and I avert my gaze. It lands on her supple lips, then her strong shoulders, then the knot of that tie. She’s too close. I can’t get away. I don’t want to. I want her. I want what I’ve never asked for before, and in order to get it, I have to say it. I take a deep breath and push out the words. “I want to surrender.” They sound foreign. Shit! I swallow. “I want you to take…”
“To take control.” It isn’t a question. She knows. She’s known all along.
I don’t have to answer.
She slides her hands from my hips to my ass and squeezes. As we make another turn, she pulls me against a hard bulge at her groin.
The pressure makes my clit surge, and I gasp.
“You want that?” She discreetly moves against me.
My knees weaken. I tighten my hold around her neck and moan ever so softly. My breasts, their tips stiff and aching with desire, press against hers. “Yes.” And with that single word, nothing but a sigh in her ear, it’s done.
She makes us finish the dance, then another. She holds me tightly, the hardness between her legs moving against my mound with each step. I grow wetter and wetter, until my panties are soaked.
Finally, the music stops. I barely hear the pianist announce a break.
Veronica nuzzles my ear, grazing the lobe with her teeth.
I groan softly and press more fully against her, desperate not to lose contact.
“Let’s get some air.” Her breath is hot on my neck.
She doesn’t step away, but shifts me around into the curve of her arm, her hand grasping my waist. I’m secure. I’m supported. I’m claimed.
She moves us through the crowd and out onto the patio, then across to the farthest corner, overlooking the ocean. The night is dark. There’s only the crash of waves on the beach far below and her…behind me, her breasts against my back, her cock pressed firmly to my ass. Her fingers close around my upper arms. Her teeth sink into the tender flesh where my neck curves into my shoulder. “You have me so hot.” Her tone is so low, it’s almost a growl.
I moan. “I’m so—”
“Quiet. I’ll find out what you are.” She sucks where she has bitten, gently at first, bringing the simmer of my arousal to full need, then harder as I arch back into her.
The deep ache of her mark rising to the surface of my flesh is excruciating pleasure. My hips jerk.
“Take off your panties,” she whispers.
Her meaning doesn’t register immediately. “I…What?”
“Take off your panties for me.”
I freeze. Here? Does she really mean here? I glance to my side.
“We’re alone.” She rubs her cheek against my temple until I look forward again. “Do as you’re told.”
She’s right. There’s no one else. I can do this. I find the hem of my dress, then slide it up my smooth skin. The sensation is exquisite.
Her hand follows mine, her fingertip trailing up my inner thigh. As my fingers reach the silky band at my hip, hers approach my crotch. I stiffen and hold my breath, desperate for her touch. It doesn’t come.
Instead, she inches to the side, then upward, and brushes the fabric. “Mmm, lace.” She strokes where my thigh meets my torso, slowly, teasingly. “I like lace.”
She’s so close to my throbbing clit, to where I really want her. I squeeze my eyes shut and press my head back against her shoulder.
“Take them off for me,” she says. Her hand is suddenly gone.
I whimper with disappointment. Maybe if I take them off…if I obey…Flashes of fantasies I’ve had for years, images of spreading my legs, begging to be touched, to be taken, make the pulse in my clit pound. Am I really doing this? My hands are at the waistband, then inching my panties over my hips, down my thighs. I have to bend forward, and I push back into that hardness and feel its full size.
Veronica moans. When I straighten, panties in hand, she holds her palm in front of me, a silent command to give them to her.
They’re soaked, and I’m embarrassed to surrender them, but I do. I wad them in a ball and place them in her hand. I feel her lips curve into a smile against my ear.
“Good girl,” she whispers.
My knees buckle at her praise, and I grab the railing in front of me for support, but there’s no need. She’s slipped her arm around my waist, and is holding me tightly.
She brings my panties to her nose and inhales—slowly, deeply, savoring. “Mmm.”
A hot blush floods my face, then creeps down my neck and through my chest. I clench my eyes shut.
She tucks the lace into the pocket of her slacks. “I’ll bet you taste just as good.”
I can’t speak, and even if I could, I have no idea what to say.
“Now, let’s see what you have for me.” She slips her hand into the low neckline of my dress, taking her time, gliding her fingertips over my heated skin. Then she dips into my bra. Her movement drags the lace that matches my panties over my engorged, aching nipple, and her fingers close over it.
I gasp and arch back into her, thrusting my breast into her grasp.
“Ooooh.” She breathes into my ear. “So stiff for me.”
The pleasure shoots straight to my clit. I clench my thighs together and wriggle my hips.
“Hold still,” she says, tightening her grip and twisting just enough to get my attention. “You only get what I give you.”
I manage to obey, but her words make it almost impossible. This is what I’ve always wanted. My breath comes in short pants. Then I feel it, the warmth of her hand moving up my thigh, underneath my dress, toward my sex.
She’s unhurried. She stops just beneath her destination. “Spread your legs.”
I can’t move.
“Show me what you have for me.” She rolls my nipple, first one way then the other. “Show me, or I’ll stop.”
Panicked at the thought, I scoot one foot a few inches, then the other, just enough to allow her access.
“Such a good girl.” She nuzzles my neck as she slips her fingers into my soaked folds.
My hips jerk of their own volition, and we both moan.
“Maybe not such a good girl,” she murmurs. There’s a smile in her voice. “Maybe a little bit of a dirty girl.” She slides her fingertips up, then down my slit, careful to maneuver around my swollen clit. She circles it a few times, then leaves it to tease my opening, giving me only the very tip of one finger.
I let out a pathetic sound of frustration.
Suddenly, piano music and laughter blare behind us, and I know the door to the lounge has opened. Someone has joined us. I stiffen in Veronica’s arms.
“Shh. It’s okay,” she murmurs, moving her touch back to my clit. This time there’s direct contact. She caresses it tauntingly.
I gasp and clench my thighs around her hand. “Don’t make me come,” I say in a harsh whisper. I’m so close. “Please. Not here.”
She chuckles. “No worries.” She pulls her hand free. “I have no intention of letting you come for quite some time. I do think we need to take this someplace more private, though.” Before her words register in my overheated brain, she’s removing her other hand from my bra and smoothing my dress back over my breasts and hips. “Take me to your room.”
As she closes the door to my room behind us, I’m expecting her to shove me up against it and take me hard with that cock she’s been rubbing against me. But then, I was also hoping she’d press my face to the side of the elevator compartment and plunge her fingers into my needy pussy. I wait for her to tell me what to do. Please, tell me what to do.
She makes me wait. She circles the room, surveying the artwork, touching my vintage perfume decanter on the dresser, openin
g the top drawer and caressing my panties.
It reminds me of the drenched pair still in her pocket. I blush fiercely all over again.
She grins, as though knowing exactly what I’m thinking.
The orgasm that’s been teased and taunted since early afternoon—first by me, then by Veronica—has receded, marginally, but it’s still prowling through my pussy, like a captive animal, desperate for release.
Veronica moves to the turned-down bed and picks up the chocolate from the pillow, then comes to me. The look in her eyes is smoldering. She unwraps the candy and slips it between her lips. Then her mouth is on mine, hot and demanding.
The chocolate melts in our kiss. She thrusts her sweetly coated tongue into me over and over, and I think of what waits for me between her legs. I reach down and cup it, then stroke it. It feels thick in my grip, and I imagine it stretching me wide. I groan. I’ve only had a couple of cocks inside me. It makes me feel so vulnerable. Tonight, that’s all I want—to be vulnerable to Veronica, to give up control completely.
She releases a deep, guttural sound and tears her mouth from mine, then yanks my hand away. She pushes me a step back, trapping me between her body and the wet bar. She kisses me again. She’s back in control of her arousal. I feel it in the sweep of her tongue, the easy slide of her thigh between mine. She lets me ride her leg as she unzips my dress.
I run my hands up her torso. I am desperate to touch her, to find skin. I cradle her breasts and squeeze, but I can’t feel her response through her clothes. I grit my teeth, consumed by the disappointment of so many unsatisfied needs. I pull her against me and pump my hips harder.
She tugs my dress off my shoulders, then grips my wrists and holds my hands to my sides.
It takes several more thrusts for me to realize there’s no longer anything between my legs. I cry out.
She’s moved away and is pulling my dress down my arms, over my hips, and letting it drop to the floor. Her hands are on my bra. She jerks down the cups. “Let me see these tits.”
The crudeness of her words and the grip of her fingers on both nipples sends a jolt of excitement through me. I grab the edge of the bar.
“Get rid of that bra. I want you naked.” She continues to torment my swollen nipples, while I struggle to do as she’s ordered.
The alternating bursts of pleasure and pain and the pounding in my clit are too distracting.
“I’m waiting,” she says far too calmly.
I reach behind me for the clasp, but miss it as her fingers work faster. “You’d better hurry. It’s only going to get worse.”
With a desperate twist, I get it unhooked and off.
“That’s better.” She gives me only a slight reprieve from her fingers before sucking one nipple into her hot mouth.
I can’t help but clench my thighs together and start pumping my hips again. I bury my fingers in her thick hair and hold her mouth to me.
She sucks until my moans become one long groan, then she pulls my hands down to my sides again. She gives my nipple a sharp nip and lifts her head. She stares into my eyes. “I think somebody might need to come,” she says quietly.
“Yes.” I’m begging. “Please, yes.”
She smiles and arches an eyebrow. “Do you think I mean you?”
I whimper with an intensity of need and disappointment I’ve never felt before. It’s exhilarating.
She glances down at my still thrusting hips. “You want something between those legs?”
The only answer I can give is another squeeze of my thighs and a moan.
She grins at me. “You’re a slut, aren’t you?”
I writhe in her grasp. This is the part of my fantasies that drives me wild. I want to say yes, but can I? I avert my gaze. “Yes.” It’s only a whisper.
“Say it.” Her tone is hard. “Look at me, and say it.”
I meet her eyes and gulp for air. “I’m a slut.” With those words, a cold, hard lump within me begins to warm. Years of inhibitions and denial start to melt.
“And are you going to be a good little slut for me tonight?”
Does she know what she’s doing to me? “Yes.” My face burns hot.
She gives me a warning look.
“I’m going to be a good little slut for you.” The meaning of the words hits me, and my already dripping pussy floods with utter need.
“Yes, you are.” Her lips quirk in a lascivious smirk. “But first, we need to do something with these.” She brings my hands to her mouth and kisses the palms. “They keep touching things that don’t belong to them. Take off my tie.”
Oh God, the tie. I work the knot with trembling fingers, my breathing fast.
She’s no longer touching me. She waits, leering at me with lust-filled eyes so dark they look black. As soon as her tie is free, she loops it around my wrists. Her movements are quick, and in seconds, my hands are secured. She pulls me to the bed. “On your back.” Her voice rasps as she issues the command.
I scurry to obey, my hunger overwhelming.
She makes short work of tying me to the headboard, my arms stretched above my head. She opens my legs and kneels between them, then unzips her fly and reaches inside.
My heart pounds with the throbbing ache in my pussy.
She watches me, an amused look on her face. “Tell me what you want,” she says, her tone teasing. “What does my little slut want?” Her hand moves in her pants.
I blush from head to toe.
She laughs. “If you want it, you have to say it.”
I do want it—so fucking bad. My pussy is hungry for it, for a touch, a stroke, for it to plunge deep inside. I whimper in frustration, in desperation, in pure need. “I want…that.”
“You want this?” She pulls her cock out and holds it in her hand. She strokes it.
The sight steals my breath. It’s beautiful.
She fists the black shaft. She toys with the head. She groans as she presses the base against her body.
“Yes,” I manage a whisper.
She eases the tip into my wet slit, then moves it in tiny, quick circles.
I gasp and thrust my hips to meet it.
She pulls away. “Keep still. You wanted to surrender, remember?”
I grind several curse words between my teeth.
She chuckles, then slips the full head of the cock into my opening. It cuts off my expletives instantly.
She holds steady.
I want to thrust again, need to, but somehow I obey her order.
“Good girl.” It’s a sultry croon. She caresses my inner thigh.
The combination of her praise and touch threaten my restraint. I grit my teeth and clench my eyes shut.
She pushes into me, no more than an inch, and begins a slow rhythm.
I moan loudly and arch my back but manage to keep my hips still.
“You like that? Is that what my little slut wants?”
“Oh, yes.” But it isn’t. It isn’t deep enough or fast enough. I squirm and twist. “More. Please, more.”
“Look at me and tell me,” she says harshly.
I snap open my eyes.
She’s staring down at me, her dark gaze ablaze. She pushes in deeper, then pulls back.
I’m panting. “I need more. Please.”
She grips my hips, gives me that inch again, then pulls out.
I clench my thighs around her. “Oh God. Please.”
She’s ruthless in her teasing, her torment, her patience.
Finally, something breaks within me. “Oh God,” I cry out. “Fuck me. I want you to fuck me with your cock.”
She lets out a long moan. “There’s my good little slut.” Then she leans over me and plunges her thick, hard cock into me, filling me with one long thrust.
I scream and tighten my legs around her. I thrust upward. “Fuck me!”
And she does, slowly, and deeply. Then faster but teasingly again with just the head. She keeps me aching and begging, until I can’t take anymore. “Please. Please let
me come.”
She pushes all the way into me and fucks me deep and fast and hard.
And I come. And I come again. And again.
When we’re finished, she doesn’t hold me, or snuggle, or whisper sweet things. She gets up and strips off her vest, then her shirt, to reveal a sheer, black, sexy-as-hell bra.
I want to touch her, play with her stiff, swollen nipples through the oh-so-thin fabric. When I try to move, I remember I’m still tied to the bed.
She removes the undergarment, then stands at the foot of the bed and squeezes her hard nipples between her fingers, just the way I want to.
Impossibly, my pussy jolts with new arousal. I writhe a little with the sensation.
She smiles and turns away, then sits and begins to take off her shoes.
I admire the smooth, olive skin of her back. I want to touch it, run my hands over it, press my breasts to it. I want to lick the bright colors of the lotus tattoo on her shoulder, trace the thin black outline with the tip of my tongue.
She stands again, pulls off her pants, unfastens her harness. Then she’s at my feet. She moves up my legs, trails her lips and tongue along my inner thighs, but she passes over my exposed pussy, moving up to my stomach, between my breasts.
I ache to feel her naked body against mine, her weight pressing down on me, but she stays on all fours as she moves farther and farther up, until her knees are on either side of my head. “You’re going to lick me,” she says, lust and dominance in her voice.
I shiver with excitement. “Yes,” is all I can manage.
She reaches between her legs and opens her pussy lips. Her scent, musky, full, and hot, fills my senses. Then she’s on me, covering my mouth.
I push my tongue into her swollen, drenched folds—suddenly not so embarrassed about my own wanton condition—and lick the full length of her slit. I’m rewarded with a loud groan and a hard thrust. I lap at her hole, drinking thirstily. I fuck her with my tongue. I forget again that I’m bound. I try to wrap my arms around her hips and pull her harder into my mouth. I want my fingers deep inside her, fucking her while my tongue works her clit. The denial reawakens the ache in my pussy, wrenches a moan from me.