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In the Mood for Love

Page 8

by Harper Bliss


  “Well.” There’s that dark hint in her voice again, even noticeable in such a short word. It’s enough for me to know that she’s just as aroused as I am. “I can’t help but think this is what you wanted all along, Gail.”

  Kissing is always considered such an intimate act, but, to me, staring into someone’s eyes, not averting my gaze but really looking back, is just as much an act of closeness—if not more so. I gaze deep into Joanne’s eyes, into the darkness of them. They’re not just dark because of the absence of light, there’s something else there. More than shadows. More than desire.

  She brings her hand up to my chin, stroking a finger along my jawbone. “Is this what you dreamed of?” she asks.

  My only reply is a further silent stare into her eyes. I can hardly give her the satisfaction of a response to that question. It would undo me instantly.

  “There’s no use in playing hard to get anymore.” Joanne’s finger trails lower, hovering over my collarbone now. “I saw you. I saw how much you wanted me when you spread your legs the second I left the room. Is that how much you want me, Gail? Hm?”

  It’s the last ‘hm’ that gets to me the most, that connects with the fire in my belly and sets it free to travel throughout my flesh.

  Her finger dives even lower and has reached the curve of my breast. My nipples are so eager for her touch. For a caress or, even better, a daring pinch.

  “Tell me,” she insists, not just with her words, but by catching my nipple between two fingers and squeezing oh-so softly.

  “If you want more, tell me now.”

  “Yes,” I hiss, lust tumbling down my stomach. “I want you.”

  She nods, a smug little smile on her face. “Good. We’re getting somewhere.” With that, her fingers lock hard around my nipple, pressing it into a hard, taut mass of exquisite pain. Meanwhile, her eyes are still on me, still blazing fire—and I blaze right back with mine.

  “I’m going to undress you,” she says, in between violent pinches. “You’re going to stand here naked against this tree, for anyone who wishes to see. But mostly for me, Gail. I knew you wanted me from the second you offered to switch rooms. Hell, I knew it twenty years ago, when you came to my class all coy, but really, it couldn’t have been more obvious.”

  She releases my nipple from her painful grasp, and her hand thunders down to the button of my trousers. With a fast, confident flip, she opens it, not waiting long to lower the zipper.

  “Kick off your shoes,” she commands, and, as though in a trance during which I have to automatically obey every command she utters, I heel them off. It leaves me standing a bit shorter than her, but not by much. Enough to make me feel smaller than her though, or at least in a complete submissive state.

  She lets her gaze drop from mine for an instant while she guides my pants off my legs. Before she hikes down my underwear, she runs a finger across the soaked panel.

  “Let’s see how wet you are for me, huh?” These words coming from Professor Ferguson’s mouth leave me wet like a river. “Damn.” There’s something new in her voice again. Awe? Surprise at exactly how drenched I am for her? “Jesus.”

  Next thing I know, my knickers are part of the pile of clothing next to my feet. And there I stand: completely naked, and for no one else but her. Although, of course, I can’t be sure. For all I know, the man I was sitting next to at dinner might be gazing out of his window, casually staring into the garden, only to find me on full display. But I believe we’re hidden enough. Still, the hint of doubt arouses me, and contributes greatly to that hot river running between my thighs.

  “Spread your legs,” Joanne says, her voice shot to pieces, and that ignites an even fiercer kind of throbbing in my clit. “Bring your hands above your head and hold on to the tree.”

  Again, I do as I’m told. Positioning myself the way she asks and, in the process, offering myself up to her. My breasts jut out and my cunt is completely accessible to her.

  “Enjoy the show, Gail.” Her eyes fixed on mine again, Joanne starts undoing the buttons of her own blouse. She doesn’t exactly go about it in a sexy, slow manner. There’s an urgency to her movements indicating that her own arousal is growing as well, that she’s riding this wave of desire just as much as I am.

  I haven’t seen her naked yet, and my eyes are glued to her hands, to how they methodically unbutton her blouse and let it slide off her arms. Her bra is maroon-colored and, when she bares herself, her breasts are pale orbs in the darkness. Small domes I want to touch, cherish, kiss for hours. But I do have a strong tendency to believe I will have to wait quite some time before that happens.

  She doesn’t take off her pants. Instead, she brings her hands to her waist and stands there defiantly, as if asking, “Do you like what you see?” She doesn’t say it out loud, and this question doesn’t beg an answer. I started liking what I was seeing a long time ago, the wetness between my legs can attest to that.

  It’s also not the curvy shape of her breasts that arouses me the most, or their delicate paleness, or how hard her nipples poke upward; it’s that she bared them to me at all. Of course, we have no manual here. She’s playing by her rules, and hoping—gauging along the way—that they align with mine. So far, they do.

  When she comes for me, I’m already half there. I’m already half-suspended in that space leading to momentary oblivion, in that frame of mind where I know no boundaries, that addictive state of surrender, of giving it all up to someone else. I can feel my clit throb between my legs, reaching into the hot, thick air that surrounds it, as though vying for attention. I know she won’t touch it. I know women like Joanne. It’s only my luck that she turned out to be like this. But perhaps it was there all along since the moment we clasped eyes on each other again. Perhaps the opportunity presented itself in that instant when I addressed the reception clerk and offered up my room and, in offering that, she knew I was offering much more. Last night in the hotel bar is a distant memory now. Foreplay almost gone wrong. Or maybe it was part of her plan all along.

  In situations like this, I’m not always the one submitting. I give as good as I get and because of that I try to guess what she’ll do next. In my head, I’m still trying to outsmart her. Additionally, because I’m familiar with the thrill of being on the other side, my arousal increases.

  “I have a question for you, Gail.” To my utter surprise, her finger finds my clit. She rubs through my wetness creating tiny, tight circles around it, making me gasp for air instantly. “No need to raise your hand if you know the answer.” A small chuckle in my ear. “How long can you resist? Show me now, and I’ll give you everything I’ve got.”

  Is she asking me not to come? While her finger starts applying more pressure? It would be easier if I hadn’t shown her how I liked it this morning—and if she wasn’t pressing her breasts into mine when she asked this of me.

  “Save yourself for the big one, Gail,” she says. “I promise I won’t disappoint you.” With that, she locks her lips on mine, trapping my tortured moan in her mouth, and my knees buckle. If I was half-way there earlier, I’m only one quarter removed now. Joanne’s kiss floors me more than anything, more than I had expected. I want to simultaneously push my pelvis against her, and pull myself away. The tree is hard against the delicate skin of my behind, and will certainly leave scratches the way she has me squirming against it. In the air, I smell late summer, a faint whiff of flowers, Joanne’s perfume, and trees. Although I’m not even sure trees can be smelled. I’m not sure of anything anymore, except that if she keeps kissing me like this, and rubbing my clit like that, I’ll come in a matter of seconds.

  But then, she releases me, leaving me both frustrated and relieved. Even though she promised me bigger things, I feel deprived of something in that moment. I’m guessing that’s exactly how she wants it.

  “Good girl,” she says, in a husky voice. Because of our kiss, her lipstick has been smeared across her lips and the skin around it, giving her a dirty, devilish look. And in that ins
tant, I wish the tables were turned. Am I too far gone to shove her up against a tree? I can barely still stand on my legs—and she did an excellent job of making me submit. Would she even allow it? The thought makes me go dizzy again.

  One thing, however, is for sure: the woman standing in front of me, about to ‘give me all she has’ is no longer Professor Ferguson, my Applied Economics teacher of twenty years ago. What I see now, is a woman possessed by shadows, by the desire to take something from me while giving me everything. In her eyes, I see how much she needs this. How much she wants me. It’s in the slant of her head, in how her eyes have narrowed and, now, also, in the frenzy with which she unbuttons her pants. She lets them drop to the ground, no doubt soiling them, and kicks them off her feet, along with her shoes. I never thought she’d go fully naked for me, not here. She’s still wearing her panties and instead of slipping them off, she slides her hand underneath the hem.

  “I’m hot for you, Gail.” She spreads her legs wider as she lets her hand sink deeper into her knickers. “Let’s see how much more you can take.”

  Her arm crosses her chest in a diagonal line, and her hand and most of her wrist disappear into a pair of maroon knickers. Is this an invitation? Or another challenge?

  “Take them off,” I hiss, but I don’t move. I stay moored in my spot against the tree, my hands still above my head. If anyone walked past now, they’d either get very aroused very quickly, or suffer a heart attack.

  “Are you sure?” Joanne tips her head again. She looks like desire personified. Like someone about to lose the control she so carefully exercised all day. “Are you sure you can take that?”

  Of course I’m not sure, but I’m not going to come just watching her touch herself, am I? What with my hands still obediently wrapped around the tree. “Yes. Please. I need to see.”

  “You need to see my pussy? You need to see how wet I am for you too?” She flicks her tongue along her lips, smudging the lipstick even more. It’s the sight of a woman undone, of a woman surrendering to her own desire, and I know I won’t be able to take it, not the way she asks.

  With a few shakes of her behind, she wriggles out of her panties, and stands in front of me in all her naked glory. My eyes are instantly locked on her glistening pussy lips. Despite the darkness around us, I see enough. There’s enough on display here to tip me over, and I can’t help myself. As soon as Joanne brings her hand between her legs again, I do the same with mine. I watch her touch herself, her lips slightly parted, and flick a finger along my clit. It’s too much. The whole scene and the lead-up to it. Joanne doesn’t stop me—or order me to stop. Instead, we both touch ourselves, and I come in seconds while watching her. Was this what she meant when she said she’d give me all she had?

  My climax is violent and quick, tearing through me with compulsive need, and after I catch my breath, my back propped against the tree, I see my opportunity to turn the table.

  “Stop,” I say.

  Joanne does so momentarily, locking her eyes on mine, but probably more from the shock of hearing me say it. She paints a grin on her lips and starts stroking herself again with slow, languorous strokes.

  “Why don’t you let me take care of that?” I ask, while stepping closer to her. Without the support of the tree, my legs are wobbly, and I’m more aware of my state of undress here out in the open, but the pull I feel toward her is too big to give that too much notice. I need to touch her now.

  I put my hand over hers and take over, not waiting for permission. I’m floored a little more when my finger meets her wetness. Slowly, I walk her to the nearest tree, figuring we both need the extra support. When her back touches the trunk, Joanne fixes her eyes on me intently. Her hand, which she let slip from my grasp between her legs for a split second, is back.

  “Fuck me, Gail,” she says. I’m surprised at how she can still put more command than desire in her voice. “Put your fingers inside of me and fuck me.”

  I can’t remember an instance in my life when I ever wanted to do something more. I’m looking at her face so I don’t see what she does with her hand, but she keeps it there, circling around her clit by the feel of it, while I, without further ado, slip two fingers inside of her.

  At the sound of Joanne’s breath being cut off as I enter her deep from the start, my own throat closes as well. I press my lips to the frail skin of her neck, kissing her there, while I fuck her. The brushing of her fingers against my hand as she touches her own clit, while I thrust high inside of her, is an unexpected turn-on for me. I feel my clit swell again and, figuring I have a free hand anyway, I touch myself, again—it seems to have become a common thread for the weekend.

  We’re a tangled-up mass of intertwining arms, pumping hands, and busy fingers. Here, between these five trees outside our hotel, where anyone can see, but no one does.

  “Oh, Gail.” Joanne is starting to unravel now and with her free hand she latches on to my shoulder, digging her nails deep into my flesh. The mark will go nicely with the ones left by the rough surface of the tree.

  The sight and sound of Joanne approaching climax enforces my own, but I hold off, lifting my finger from between my own legs to focus on her.

  “Take me there,” she says, and starts pushing me down.

  Without giving it any further thought, I sink through my knees for her, for my first close-up encounter with her pussy. The angle of my strokes inside of her is different now, giving her some pause, but not for long as I touch my tongue to her clit. Joanne’s hands are in my hair, pulling, grasping, twirling. I delve my fingers high and deep inside of her, while my tongue dances around her clit.

  “Oh jesus,” she moans. “Oh, damn.” Her hands still in my hair, her fingertips trying to dent my scalp.

  I halt my motion and give her clit one last devilish lick, which makes her knees buckle slightly, before slipping my fingers out of her and pushing myself up. At the sight of her—conquered, sated, pleased—I forget about my own pulsing clit for a moment.

  “Jesus christ, Gail.” Joanne’s smudged lips form a half-smile.

  “Just another conference night for you?” I send her a smirk back. I can smile now because I already know the answer. What just happened between us here is not over yet.

  She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and slowly shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “As much as I’d like to stay here a few more hours, I think we’d be wise to go inside now.”

  Joanne quirks up her eyebrows. “Always the smart one.” She starts scanning the ground for her clothes. “And the night has only just begun.”

  * * *

  After we make it back to our room, smiling sheepishly at a few fellow guests we encounter along the way in our wrinkled clothes, we break out into spontaneous laughter. I look at Joanne’s dirtied face, her disheveled blouse, her panties half-peeking out of her blazer pocket, and I just giggle—although I’m still acutely aware of a pulse between my legs.

  “Best get this dry-cleaned,” she says, while stepping out of her trousers again. The action is stripped of all eroticism in the half-light of our room. I’m not sure we can ever go back to the intensity we shared between those trees, but once again, Professor Ferguson displayed her genius when she took me outside to shove me against one.

  “Do you want to shower first?” she asks, already half-naked. There’s nothing left of the woman who stepped out of the bathroom in a pair of silk pajamas last night. Last night feels as though it took place months ago.

  “You go first.” I sink down on the bed, suddenly hit by a wave of fatigue. My speech. The day. What happened this morning. A slew of new emotions and experiences my brain is eager to process through sleep. And then there’s the heat between my legs which still seems to consume me. The words Joanne uttered when she came still echo in my ears. And, again, I can’t help myself. I wait until I hear the water of the shower beat down onto the tiles to slip my hand inside my unbuttoned pants. It’s a wet mess down there and I realize, once again
, that Joanne has barely touched me. Is this what she has specialized in during her conference tours? Driving women crazy by not touching them? No wonder I was so infatuated with her in college. The hold she can so easily have over someone, just by looking at them.

  My finger circles around my clit, but my wrist is too constrained by the waistband of my panties. I quickly get up and push them off me before positioning myself on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide.

  “Ahum.” A noise by the bathroom door startles me. “Enough of that for one day, Gail.”

  She tricked me again, letting the water run to fool me into thinking I was alone. I don’t care this time. I even revel in the blush that, inadvertently, creeps from my neck to my cheeks.

  “Unfinished business,” I say, and bring my hands ostentatiously between my legs.

  “Come on.” Joanne extends her hand. “Let me show you what I can do with a shower head.”

  I swallow hard, her words not missing their effect. Automatically, I rise to my feet, astounded by the lust that keeps building in my gut. I let her coax the rest of my dirty clothes off me and guide me to the shower, which is steaming already.

  Underneath the spray of water, Joanne grabs me by the back of the head and pulls me close for a kiss. Although she kissed me once before, this one feels like the first kiss we skipped. It goes on and on, as the water cascades onto our faces and shoulders, lubricating the expanse of our skin.

  And if I feared we could never get back to the intense atmosphere we shared outside earlier, I was wrong, because I feel it in my blood again, and I see it in Joanne’s gaze when we break for air. Her hair is matted against her head, strands of it streaking her forehead, but beyond that screen of water, I see it clearly. I think I’ll invite her to Dartmouth sooner rather than later. There’s lots of greenery there. Loads of trees which she can shove me up against. And if she stays long enough, I may even acquaint her with the good sides of monogamy. But I’m getting ahead of myself, as she pushes my back against the wall of the shower, shoots me a longing glance, and kneels down before me.

 

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