Foreplay

By

Sebastian Lugo

She felt ashamed. She hadn’t felt ashamed for probably a decade or more and it kind of excited the hell out of her. Shame, embarrassment, being naïve, getting shy, even giggling uncontrollably sometimes; goddamn him for making her feel like this. She just loved it. And, of course, it made her wet. He could do that in the most surprising ways. She wondered if he had tilted her upside down and shaken all the hidden bits back into view. ALL of them. Goddamn him anyway.

He made her do crazy stuff that she didn’t dare tell him. Like looking at herself in the mirror and touching herself, then bursting into joyous laughter. Or rolling herself into a ball on her bed, rocking back and forth with a grin she couldn’t wipe off her lips no matter how hard she tried. It was crazy and stupid and she hoped it would never end. She began to wonder if other people were trying to keep the same kind of secrets. She’d catch herself giving a co-worker the side eye and wondering if their panties were soaking wet, too. Or if that guy sitting at the desk was hiding a massive hard-on under the desktop. No, of course, they weren’t. They didn’t have Him.

It took her two months or more to accept he was just what he presented himself to be. She just knew it had to be an act, some studied performance or sociopath defense mechanism at work. No one was that in control of themselves. No one moved that perfectly. No one didn’t fuck up at least half the time. No one went about their life constantly respected and respecting others that way. Eventually, she grew tired of trying to wake herself up from a dream. “Okay,” she finally told herself,” He’s real. And he wants me!”

And he just rang the doorbell to my apartment…

Damn, she actually had to stop herself from instantly dropping to her knees and kissing his cock when she opened the door. “Keep it together, damn it!” she silently told herself.

Of course, he looked great. A tailored suit, crisp pale shirt, geometrically knotted tie, shined leather shoes. She felt a little shiver move across her body and bit her lower lip when he reached out a palm to caress her cheek. “Very nice,” he said softly. “Let’s go.”

Go? She thought. Sure, anywhere with you. Seventh hub of Hell, across the universe, it didn’t matter.
Want me to walk across burning coals in six-inch heels? You got it. In a heartbeat. She felt her cheeks blush hotly and the wetness between her thighs begin again. Ashamed of her own responses. Oh, what the fuck. Just go with it. As if she had a choice, right?

As they pulled away from the curb, he lazily let his right hand drape between her thighs, pushing the short skirt even higher. His eyes flicked across and down for an instant as his palm settled, fingers just barely touching.

“I’ll have those off,” he said quietly and moved his hand back to the steering wheel.

She swallowed hard and, keeping her eyes down, pulled her panties off, stuffing them in her purse.

“That’s better,” he said calmly.

That’s how he was. He never made a big deal out of things, never freaked out when she didn’t do things perfectly. He just said what he wanted and she…obeyed. Because she wanted to. And that was part of what shamed, excited, scared her. And made her adore Him.

As soon as they were seated at the restaurant table, she fidgeted and squirmed. All she could think about was sliding under the table and taking his cock in her mouth. She even had to use her napkin to wipe a little drool from the corner of her mouth as her mind kept painting the same picture over and over: on her knees, sliding his cock out of his pants and kissing, licking, sucking it until she made him groan and cum. Damn Him for not letting her. She had to act like His lady and not some cum-craving cock worshiping slut. Well, maybe later, back home. If she was a good girl. But what was the point of being a good girl when she so desperately wanted to be bad for Him.

The wine was good. So was the food. Eat faster, she mentally urged Him. Let’s do this and then go back to your place and you can tie me up and fuck me silly. Or make me bend over the kitchen table. Let me kneel in front of you and worship your cock. Anything, everything. Just don’t make me wait any longer.

But as usual, he ate at a leisurely pace, as if savoring every bite, every sip of wine. How did he do that when she was burning a hole in the chair seat because her pussy felt like liquid fire was dripping between her thighs. Behind her smiling face, masks of raw emotion rippled: hunger, lust, desire.

He made small talk like a connoisseur. How was her day? Did she work hard? Blah blah. She answered as he had instructed her, with full details, but all the time she really just wanted to burst out and tell Him “Fuck me! Lick me! Use me, I belong to you!”

After an agonizingly slow dessert and a small glass of sherry to top it off, he called for the check and the relief that it was over almost made her orgasm right there. In the car, driving back, his hand again between her bare thighs, she blushed again hotly at the shame of her own flowing wetness on his fingers. She slid her hips forward, pushing her pussy against his fingers, but he moved them away again.

“Sit up straight,” he murmured.

He opened her car door and ushered her into his hallway and then the living room. Silently he pointed to the center of room and she went and stood there.

“Take it all off. No, leave the stockings and shoes on.”

Gasping and sighing, she slipped the short black dress off; naked, but for the stockings and high heels.

He let his eyes drift across her flesh as she trembled in want. Then undressed himself; her eyes immediately going to his hard cock.

“Now,” he said softly.

END