When you lick your lips and look like you're about to take my cock into your mouth, or raise your eyes at me through half closed lids and look abashed through your lashes. Or sway your hips in your "just fucked good" way. Or curl your foot under your calf and jut your hip, raise your torso to pronounce your curves.
These are nothing. Just your little ways.
You lean forward with your arms folded so your cleavage all but spills out everywhere and open your eyes wide into a little girl look of naivete. You finger bottlenecks and candles and slide your palm down to the base of a glass with your hand wrapped firmly around.
Just your everyday self.
These things are nothing for me. Every woman has them, tries them, does them. When you tell me your deepest secret desires and dreams, that's a beguilement I'm unable to avoid.
Will you decide, when you see me tonight, to attempt to make me want you so very much that I will suddenly grab your wrists, pull you to the couch and over the arm? To yank your shirt over your head and down your arms, twist it so the wrists are tied above your head and tie it with my own to the leg of the couch? Will you try to make me tie your legs to the sofa legs so that your ass is in the air over the arm and your tits hang down where your arms are stretched out and your neck arching when I touch you or make you want to squirm -- if only you could?
Will you run your finger along your lips, suggestive of the way you might suck my cock or even how you might finger your pussy lips open for me? Make me want to fuck your dripping, steaming opening, ram my hard pole in and out of you while you push and try to buck against me?
Will you turn your hips, just so while sitting on the cushions of the couch? Exhibit for me, the curve of your waist as it moves from the soft slopes of your thighs to the firmness of your stomach and the pillowy fullness of your chest? Will you jut your tits ever so slightly towards me? Even subconsciously, these things you know will tempt me. Make me think of something new to surprise and delight you.
Your skirt rides up and you flash your thighs even as I think of shoving the cloth up your back, yanking your panties down and exposing the smooth orbs. Your fingers even trace little circles on the top of your knee while you talk with me in a dance of rhythmic enticement.
I want to hold those fingers between my own as they splay with agony and abandon. As your back arcs in immoderate indecency, thrusting your ass at me as hard and as fully as you are capable of within your bounds. Thrashing and straining, your cunt grasping and clenching. An agony of struggle. And then you cum.
A violent bursting. As you scream and flail, my own eruption matches your intensity and vicious, base need.
"Oh my fucking god!" You say. There is a collapse, a deflating that happens after the maelstrom. It is deceptive.
You would sleep. I could untie you now and walk you upstairs and gently place you onto our bed. I could hold you sweetly as you drift along into delicate chaste dreams. For a few hours.
Then you would wriggle closer. Press the tenderness and the warmth that is your flesh into me and draw me inside. My arms sighing around you as your breasts succumb to my chest and my very skin sinks into yours, merges with your heart. More and further you would draw me as you first press, then insist yourself into my body and my sleep. I'll waken and take you. How could I not? It would be more true to say that I would be taken. You would have your way.
Knowing this, knowing that you would have that in store for me. The loss of rest and the denial of sanctuary for my wearied corpse, I keep you tied and sagging against your bonds. My hands move up and back upon your firmness. Slide to the soft and fragile places. They travel the paths between your graceful neck and shoulders to your ankles.
They bring you sighs and moans. Gasps and ooohs. They bring a scream of surprise when they slap your bottom. A gushing of liquid follows and more slaps after that. You're back awake.
Your ass is red with waves of heat pouring from it when my lips touch it. my tongue flickers in a cooling motion as it moves soothingly but unhaltingly toward the moistness between your thighs.
You're tugging now at the shirt holding your wrists. There is a frantic lust in your scuffling that tells me you know what is coming. Torment you call it. Sometimes torture or agony.
The grappling gets more adamant as my breath touches the light hairs and it makes me pause and question you. "Do you want me to stop? I could let you loose?"
An answering moan. "You know I don't. I just can't..." Your voice trails off.
You used to say "I can't" often. It was almost a mantra for you. A barrier. A way to keep yourself safe from your needs and desires. Your darker, corrupted self. Every now and then it still slips out.
Your arms are stretched out as far as they can and still be -- not comfortable -- but not in continuous ache and hurt. When you twist and tug and yank, the shoulders ache and let you know that you should stop, but otherwise you could stay this way for several hours. A fact not lost nor unappreciated by you.
Your legs are stretched just as though they were wearing three inch fuck me pumps. You can feel the cords of muscle running down your calves, but again, it's not unreasonably tight or hurtful and you feel as though it may last hours. It certainly seems as though that is the intention.
That's what makes you say "I can't..." The thought -- no, the knowledge -- that from the time I bring you to the edge of orgasm to the time you get release may be more than you can bear. It's the amount of time between foreplay and consummation that has reduced you, in the past, to a begging, sobbing, pleading mass of flesh. That I can do this to you both makes you want me more and fear me going too far.
There's an edge to our relationship you wonder at even as you know you could have it no other way. And what is your part in this? Is it just that I do this to you and take you where you've never been, pass your borders and make you someone new? Am I driver here? The one who causes this?
Even as you squirm and wrestle with your bounds, so does your ass also push out in little circles. Your flesh present for attention. Your neck arcs and your back arches. You display your breasts in a way that exposes the stiff and wanting nipples to me. To my touch. To tease my craving.
Your luscious lips open enough to tantalize. Your tongue taunts me. Flickers in and out in provocative exhibitions. The same way you enticed me tonight. You placed yourself before me as temptation. Made me want you. Charmed and lured me until I could do no more than grab and take you now! Unable to wait even for the routine of bedtime, the wine and chat and holding hands. This is not mine. This was your beguilement.
Thinking this, with my cock ramrod stiff and aching to pound inside your smooth wetness, the pressure of need and hunger urging me, I reach out and take one of the proffered nipples between my fingers and pinch it enough to provoke a scream of anguish.
"You can't?" I ask. In my softest, most polite voice. You can tease and flash and be as alluring as any woman, but as you get what you want and ask for, you say "I Can't..." Oh no. That won't do at all.
My cock brushes the side of your breast as I move in closer. "What do you mean?"
The fingers of my free hand slide along the skin of your back. They dance across muscle and soothe the sinews. You sigh despite your distress.
"I can't..." You begin again. "Unnghh." My fingers have pinched your nipple again. Your mouth opens and closes. And again. "Please." You whisper finally and your head sags against the bindings. Your cheek comes to rest on your arms where they have been pulled out toward the opposite end of the couch. I see your hips sink into the cushioned end they held up by.
Your ass is pushed up even further by the release of tension. An even better positioning for me to shove my pole in your sopping hole. My hand wanders down onto the firm globes. Squeezes. One then the other. I want so very much to walk behind you and fuck you. Like a bull in heat. Knowing nothing but the rageful pounding and imminent release of need. I tell you this and you squirm to provide me an even better view.
Instead, I slip my body under your arms. Work my lap underneath your hanging head. My cock knows the lips there and leaps for joy! But my hand holds your hair. A full fist of it. lifts your head and brings your lips to mine. Those twin temptresses.
I nibble them and suck them one after the other into my mouth. I lick the width of them and kiss them -- both hard and soft. They are full and fresh. Soft and sweet. They are a summer rain light and misty and a spring gale for me.
"So, my love. What is it that you can't?" I ask. My voice is but a husk. A stage whisper heavy with sex.
She responds with the same voice. The same rough hewn whispery tones. "I can't take it. I can't do it." She shakes. The last came out more as a sob.
"Oh?" My tone softens. "What can't you do?"
"I can't..." She begins and it turns into a scream as my hand finds her nipple again. "Aaah". Then a moan as it weighs her breasts. Sets them one and the other into my palm and feels them. Completely knows them. Loves them. She has a rhythm to the moans now that tell me she is ready to give in.
"Tell me, love." My voice, on the other hand, is soft and gentle. The bull is being held for now. "What can't you do? You've never not done what I ask of you. Even the times you were so sure you could never do such a thing, you still did it. More than that, you loved it. Every bit of it." My hand squeezes more firmly around her tit, my fingers press around her nipple and she gasps in response. A breathtaking gasp.
It turns out she can do it. Just as the other times, she can again do what I ask of her. This night, she gasps out how she wants me to make her cum. With shuddering and tears of need and desperation, she tells me how she wants my cock sliding in and out of her mouth until she begs. How she wants it stuffing her, filling her cunt. She wants me to release that bull to rage inside her, thrusting and churning and pounding her with a fury borne of hours of deprivation and frustration.
It turns out she can tell me exactly how it will feel when I take her until we both crash insensate. It takes her hours to tell it. Hours spent writhing and wriggling, begging and crying. Shivering with her nerves flayed open and pleading for release.
It turns out the seduction wasn't her petty teases, but the story of her need. The tale of her desire and oh how I was taken.