Debbie Dances

She bends her legs to kneel in front of me. Her hands are still on my shoulders and she drapes her body over my lap, her face on my stomach. I have a moment of self-consciousness, surely she will notice my erection. But I let it go, accept my own arousal, let her know it, have it, take it. I want her to know, to feel it.

Her hands have dropped to my chest, resting there. She begins to rub herself against me, against my hardness. I am between her breasts, soft cushions massaging me, sliding over me. My arousal builds.

Lifting herself off of me, she slides her hands down my body, lower, lower. They merge at my stomach, still moving lower. Will she? A hot contracting pulse shoots through me as her hands lightly trace over my hardness. It is such a light touch, accidental? Intentional? But her fingers, those beautiful fingers, have found the end of me through my clothes, have lingered there and explored my length, caressing, caressing as they discover my root. Her hands continue sliding out, over my thighs.

She presses down against my knees to stand again, her eyes on mine. She slides her hands up her body, grasping her breasts, lifting, squeezing. She bends at the waist, letting me see the beautiful curves, the softness inside her dress. When she stands again, her right hand slides up over her stomach, over her left breast she grasps the strap of her dress. It slides over her shoulder until it is free and she lets it drop. Her fingers trace the skin of her chest, sliding across it, feeling the pleasure of her own touch. The other strap falls and the dress is free. She eases it down slowly, over the swell of her breasts, full, natural, her nipples erect.

The dress is at her waist, lower, lower. Her stomach is flat, smooth feminine skin. She wiggles once, again, working the dress over her hips. Holding it, prolonging the beautiful picture, she releases it and it falls to the floor. Stepping out of it, kicking it to the side, she gives me the picture of her, swaying to the music, naked but for tiny black panties.

She reaches for my shoulder and raises a knee to the couch, coming to me, straddling me as she eases herself closer, closer. She lifts her breast, offers it to me. I take her nipple in my lips and kiss it wetly, touching, teasing with my tongue. Her own arousal seems to overwhelm her as she pulls my head into her breasts, enveloping me there in the hot flesh.

Straddling me, she pulls back from my face and looks me in the eye. Slowly she lowers herself on me, nestling my hardness against her pussy through the clothes. Slowly she begins to circle her hips, pressing softly on me, stroking me through the fabric. My arousal leaps and I feel my back arch uncontrollably. She circles, circles, slowly, eyes locked on mine, caressing the side of my head with her hand.

Circling, circling, reversing, never stopping, she starts to rock her hips forward and back, a full stroking now, forward and back. Never too heavy, never too strong, it is a perfect rythm, soft and regular.

Her hand is on my face and she leans in, close now, probing my eyes. Deciding it, she kisses me, her lips open, soft. The softest touch of her tongue, a tiny exploration of my willingness, then a deep committed kiss. She strokes me with her pussy through the clothes, back and forth. My arousal leaps, vaults itself.

"I'm going to come."

The words burst hoarsely out of me as if I haven't the time to say them, haven't the means to stop them, urgent, uncertain if I really want to. The release, the blessed release here in the darkness, but to come in my pants, to make a mess, to be in the world again in a soggy mess.

She hears the uncertainty of it, maybe the desperation of it.

"Yes... Yes...I want you to," she says, deciding it. She will take it from me. At this realization, I tip over, not caring anymore, letting my arousal climb, climb irretrievably. There is an imperceptable quickening of her movement against me, just that much more pressure. Everything shifts. I have no choice. Now, it is she who willmakeme come. Somehow she has found the place on my cock, the centre of my arousal. Back and forth, back and forth. Her hand is behind my neck, our foreheads pressed together, waiting for it now, waiting.

My arousal is almost unbearable. Not yet, not yet, not yet. Wait. Wait. My whole body is steel. She moves against me just there, right there, right there...

Now. My hips heave skyward as I come, wave after wave, convulsing. She rides me as I come, bucking. As I strain with the pleasure I want to see her, want her to watch me as I come, want to look into her eyes.

She is there for me, taking me through this, beautiful pain on her face as there is agony on mine, her gift to me, her reward. At long last I collapse. I feel her kisses on my face, wandering over it, healing. My gasping breath slows, returns to normal. There is long silence. I sigh.

The mischief of her returns.

"I won," she says, and we both chuckle lightly. For a moment she remains straddling me on my lap. I don't know what to .

She breaks the silence and brings me back into the world. With the crooked smile, she says, "Unfortunately for me, Dr. Ridley, John, now you will have to recuse yourself from my thesis committee."

"I concur," I say with formal words and a smile on my face.

She moved in three weeks later.