Finger Trap

I kind of had a feeling my friend Jaime had plans for me that night, but honestly, I didn't care. See, I had plans of my own...

I'd been hot for Jaime for years. We used to work together five years before that night. We met during a smoke break. For some reason, we'd been alone out there—usually there was a crowd of milling coworkers, but that evening it had been just us. She sat down next to me on one of the benches and we struck up a conversation. This surprised me. For one thing, she could have sat anywhere. For another, she was a knock out. Well, I was in a relationship at the time, and so was she, so we kept it light. I must have made enough of an impression on her for her to add me to her social networking sites a few days later. Through there and instant messaging, we stayed in contact for five years, long after we'd both moved on from that job.

We had only hung out a couple of times, meeting for drinks at a bar downtown, seeing a movie—stuff like that. Not actual dates, just friends. I never made my move, because the girl always seemed to either be in a relationship or looking to snare the next guy she had her eye on. I was the comfortable, "harmless" friend. The one she could tell her love problems to, always good for an ego boost when she felt down. That seemed to be more and more as the years passed. She hadn't known it at the time, but when we'd met, she'd just gotten knocked up by her on again / off again boyfriend. When he discovered this, he bailed, leaving her alone to raise her daughter. She had the support of her family, but there were many times she would call me crying because of something a guy had done to break her heart, or the general difficulties of her life. I always made sure I was there for her. Through her second kid and countless guys, I was always there. I had no illusions that I would ever end up in bed with her—it was more that over time I'd genuinely come to like her as a person and appreciate her friendship.

When this story took place, I'd been alone for some time. My last girlfriend had been nearly a year before. I wasn't a very outgoing guy, unless I already knew and trusted a person. I don't consider myself much of a looker. I'd always been tall and scrawny. I have narrow features and my brown hair is always messy and untamable. I was the kind of guy a woman wouldn't look twice at. It made for a lot of lonely nights, but for the most part I didn't mind. I had a few good friends that assured me I was great. That was usually good enough for me.

Jaime and I had been keeping in touch fairly regularly. I couldn't figure out why . . . I just assumed she liked having someone around who listened to her. She didn't begrudge me my awkward flirtations, but also didn't make any reciprocating moves. My friend Sara was convinced I was her "back up cock". She had a theory she swore by—all hot women keep one guy friend in reserves, just in case. She will give him just enough attention and validation to make sure he sticks around, but won't make a move unless she's really desperate. I didn't agree with her, but she was certain she was right. I always wondered if I was Sara's back up, but decided it was probably better not to know.

Anyway, like I'd said, Jaime and I had spent years as friends. We had started talking more and more often, moving to texts. She would text me throughout the day, minor things, sometimes sending me pictures of herself, asking me what I thought of her hair or her makeup. I never missed an opportunity to compliment her.

After a couple weeks of these texts, one day she asked if she was annoying me. I told her no and she explained that she really just needed a friend right now. She'd broken up with her most recent boyfriend, who she'd thought was "the one". They'd even gone so far as to buy a house together. When they'd split up, she and the kids moved out and had to live with her brother. She was feeling very low. On a whim, I invited her over for drinks the following night. She accepted immediately, as though she was waiting for the offer.

In preparation for her visit, I bought a couple of bottles of wine and tidied up the living room. (I didn't bother with my bedroom because I didn't want to get my hopes up.) I put on some soft music and lit a couple of candles. I couldn't think about anything else the entire day and was surprised I'd been able to get any sleep at all the night before. I kept telling myself to not get so worked up. It was just like all the other times, just two friends hanging out. But somewhere deep inside I wondered. This time felt different. For one thing, she'd never been to my house before.

I had a couple beers while waiting for the agreed-upon time. Not enough to get drunk, but enough to calm my nerves. With the liquid courage in me, it began to seem more possible that maybe tonight would be the night I would make my move. I was afraid to lose her as a friend, but with our increased communication, maybe she'd be more receptive than she had been.

When the time finally arrived and the doorbell rang, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I went to the door, my mouth dry and my heart hammering in my chest. It seemed to stop completely as I opened the door and took in the vision of beauty standing demurely on my porch.

Jaime had always been beautiful, and the years had been kind to her. She was fairly short, maybe about 5'3", kind of slim, but with amazing curves. Her hips sloped and her breasts pushed out the front of her white knit blouse, which displayed an enormous amount of cleavage. Her long, straight blond hair framed her round, smiling face. Her smile had always knocked me out. The edges of her almond-shaped hazel eyes crinkled and her face lit up as she noticed me looking her over. My eyes travelled down to her short black pleated skirt, which showed off her lovely bare legs.

"You look . . . amazing," I said, awe in my voice.

She giggled and put a hand to her hip, cocking it coyly. She was wearing an impish look. "You think?"

I nodded, speechless.

She giggled again and said, "Thank you, Travis." She stepped inside; slipped her sandals off and I led her into the living room. "Oh, this is cozy," she said, noting the candles and the dim lighting. She set her purse down on the coffee table and sat on the edge of the couch. I pretended not to notice as her skirt rode up high on her round, firm thighs and wondered if she had done it on purpose.

I cleared my throat and tried to keep an awkward silence from setting in. "I'm really glad you came . . . er, visited. Would you like some wine?"

She grinned broadly, batting her eyes a bit as she replied, "I would love some. Thank you."

I walked to the wet bar I installed a year before and opened one of the bottles of wine. I took my time, grateful for something to do to keep my nerves in check. "So, you got a babysitter for the evening?" I asked, casually.

"The whole night," she said softly. I glanced at her and was shocked to see her face redden. "Um, I needed a break. I love 'em to death, but they can drive me crazy sometimes."

I smiled as I finished pouring the wine. That had seemed to be a slip. It occurred to me for the first time that maybe Jaime had entertained the same thoughts as me about this evening.

"I can understand," I said, offering her the glass. I sat next to her, leaving a bit of space between us, but not enough to seem standoffish. "We all need a nice break now and then."

"Yeah," she agreed, her color returning. She sipped her wine and seemed to collect herself. I decided to not push the issue, and to give her the moment she needed. The seconds of silence seemed to give her confidence. She inched closer, her leg touching mine. "Sooo,"she said, her voice coy, "am I interrupting anything by being here? What would you have been doing tonight if I hadn't come over?" She smiled at me over the top of her glass, a devious look on her face.

The look frankly worried me, and I found myself stammering out an answer. "Um, I. Well." I took a deep breath and looked down at my glass, ignoring that I could still feel her sly eyes on me. "Nothing, really. I had no plans," I admitted.

"So this is better?" she prodded.

"Yes, much better," I agreed. For the first time (and certainly not the last) I got the sensation that we were dancing, and she'd taken the lead from me. I found myself wanting badly to make her blush again. Without giving myself time to think about what was coming out of my mouth, I said, "I certainly prefer sharing a bottle of wine with a beautiful woman to sitting around alone playing video games."

It wasn't enough. She tipped her eyes down demurely for a moment before looking up again, the devious look back. "Oh yes. I can guarantee I'm . . . much . . . better than playing with yourself," she said, her red-stained tongue darting out to lick the rim of her glass before retreating back into her mouth.

I admit I couldn't keep my composure after that. I must have gone beet red. The combination of seeing so much of her incredible body in front of me, her seductive tone, and the little trick with the glass had given me a shockingly hard erection. I berated myself for wearing slacks instead of jeans—the soft fabric tented out with little hope of hiding it. Luckily my shirt was untucked. Trying to appear nonchalant, I rearranged the front of my shirt to hide the tent.

Too late. She'd seen. I looked up in time to see her looking down at my crotch. Her eyes rose and met mine, an evil-looking smile playing on her lips. "Sorry about that. Too much?" she asked, giggling. "I can be such a tease sometimes! I swear I don't mean to be . . . " she trailed off, leaning back against the arm of the couch. The movement made her skirt rise further up her legs, exposing more of her creamy thighs. She let her legs part slightly. Just enough to reveal some skin on her inner thighs. I wondered fervently if she was wearing panties. 'Not that I'll ever find out,' I told myself. 'She's just playing with me. Any minute now she'll stop.'

As if she'd read my mind, she said, "I sure hope I'm not making you uncomfortable. You've been such a great friend . . . I really don't want to make you hate me." As she spoke she held the bowl of her wine glass in her right hand, allowing the fingers of her left hand to play up and down the stem, stroking it lightly.

I gulped, my eyes huge. "Not possible," I managed to say, my voice coming out as a pitiful croak. I felt ashamed of myself. How had I lost control of this evening so completely? I'd always told myself that I was much stronger than most guys. I'd prided myself on my willpower, but now I could see that my resolve was just an illusion. Now that my fantasy girl was actually here in front of me, all my imagined suaveness had evaporated and I was putty in her hands.

"Am I making you nervous, Travis?" she asked softly, smirking and licking her lips after taking another sip of her wine.

"No, of c—course not," I stammered, draining the rest of my glass.

She bared her teeth in a grin, giving me a look that could only be described as predatory. "Good," she breathed, extending the hand holding her now empty wine glass out to me. "I want you to be at ease. Maybe we should have another drink?"

I nodded, getting up awkwardly and turning to the wet bar. As I stood, my shirt lifted and she was given another hint of my painfully hard erection. I rearranged my shirt and poured us each another glass, trying desperately to regain my composure. It was a losing battle. She had to just be playing with me, I thought. She was making jokes at my expense to get a rise out of me. (Literally and figuratively.) There was no way in hell my friend could be flirting with me!

Right?

Taking a deep, calming breath, I plastered what I hoped was a confident smile onto my face and returned to the couch with the glasses. I sat down and leaned forward, saying, "Here's to good friends and a nice evening catching up." With that we clinked our glasses together and each took a drink.

She leaned forward, her breasts pushing against the fabric of her blouse, and said, "I'm so glad to have you as a friend. I know I don't really say it, but I appreciate you always being there for me."

I forced myself to not stare at her cleavage as I replied, "Hey, I'm happy we're friends, too." There was more I wanted to say, but I couldn't figure out how, so I ended lamely with that.

That seemed enough for her, though, and leaning forward a bit more so that her ample breasts were almost spilling out over the top of her blouse, she touched my knee with her index finger, tracing it up to my leg slowly as she said, "And you know the best thing about having such a good friend? You can say . . . or do . . . anything with them without being afraid of the result. Because you have someone who truly knows you and who you feel safe with . . . "

My gaze was plastered on her cleavage, but I managed to look down at her finger and watched as it traced its way up my thigh. I felt lost. This couldn't be what it looked like . . . what it sounded like. Could it? I decided I had to know, so I swallowed the lump in my throat and spoke quickly, trying to avoid stammering or croaking. "Jaime. What are you saying, exactly?" My mouth felt dry, but I couldn't break the spell she'd put me under enough to drink from my glass.

She tipped her eyes up to look at me, smirking again. (God that woman could make a smirk look sexy.) "What do you think, silly? I want to fuck your brains out."

My breath stopped and my mouth moved soundlessly. I'm sure I looked like a red trout, with my eyes as wide as they could get, my blushing cheeks and my mouth flapping uncontrollably. My cock throbbed against my pants, and all rational thought left me. All my wildest fantasies were about to come true and I couldn't believe it was possible! Sara was right—I was a backup cock and I didn't want to be anything else at that moment.

Jaime sat back, swirling her wine in the glass and giggling. "I see I have your full attention now. Usually I'm not so direct, but I was getting tired of beating around the bush. No more games. I'm here tonight to do everything I've always wanted to do with you. Every. Thing. After that we return to our own lives like this never happened. It will be our little secret, only for us. Do you agree with this?"

As she talked, I'd managed to close my mouth, but I still couldn't form words. I nodded dumbly, instead. I still couldn't wrap my brain around these developments.

She smiled evilly, leaning back more and pushing her legs firmly together. "Oh, Travis. I'm sorry. This won't work unless you make a verbal agreement with me. A nod can mean just about anything, don't you think? If you want this night to go any further, you're going to have to tell me so."

I raised an eyebrow, wondering whatever happened to her assertion that there would be no more games. She was obviously enjoying this . . . playing with me like a cat plays with a mouse. But it was no matter. It was worth a little degradation if I could get her into bed. I would do just about anything for that. I hated myself for this and felt like I was selling out, but the temptation was far too great. If it had been anyone but Jaime . . . Even if it had been her online or by text, I'm sure I could have held out, but in person, seeing this gorgeous creature splayed out on my couch, I had no resolve left anymore.

Swallowing hard, I forced the words out. "I agree."

"Oh, now that's not enough!" she said playfully, looking like a devil in a short skirt. "Just saying you agree doesn't define the terms properly. I think you forget I've been working in a law firm for two years now. I'm no lawyer, but I've picked some things up. If you want to go further, you have to be way more specific." She gazed at me over the rim of her glass, as though daring me to continue.

I took a long drink of my own wine and then a deep breath. Slowly, carefully, I repeated back what she wanted to hear. It was easy—it was burned into my feverish brain. "I agree that if we . . . fuck . . . I won't tell anyone. We go back to our lives afterwards and act like it never happened."

She leaned forward, the light in her eyes dancing. Her red lipstick and wine-coated lips parted, showing a flash of her dazzlingly white teeth. "And what will this be?"

My mind reeled, unsure at first of what she meant. Then I got it. "It will be our little secret."

Her face brightened. "Right! And since it took so long to get a proper agreement out of you, I'm thinking I need you to continue to be more specific. After all," she said, her voice lilting flirtatiously, "how will I know what you want if you don't tell me?"

I had no idea what to say. I had always been horrible at dirty talk. I fidgeted, unable to get comfortable as my slacks felt way too small, for obvious reasons. I felt like I was covered in sweat and my heart was hammering in my chest. I was suddenly afraid that I was about to screw everything up. "I . . . I want to fuck you," I said quickly, desperately. "I've wanted to since we met. You're . . . you're my fantasy girl."

"Reeeeeally?" she said, leaning forward more, her hands almost in my lap. She looked excited. "Do tell!"

"Well," I said, finding it a little easier to talk with that kind of encouragement. "You're beautiful—the most beautiful woman I've ever known. And I just like everything about you. I've always considered myself very lucky to know you, even if I never had a chance with you." I finished my drink and she offered her empty glass to me. I refilled our glasses, waiting for her response.

She finally answered when I got back to my seat. "That's really very sweet Travis. I had a feeling, but I never knew for sure. Tell me something . . . have you ever played with yourself while thinking about me . . . or while looking at my pictures?"

I gulped again and drained half my glass in one go. She was looking at me attentively, waiting for my answer. There was no way out—the cat had me backed into a corner. "Y—yes," I admitted, blushing harder.

"Yeah? More than once?" she pressed eagerly, looking extremely pleased.

"Yeah. A lot," I continued. "I ca—can't help myself. I can't imagine a more perfect body than yours."

"I see. And so I'm sure you'd like to see more of it?" I nodded and she clucked her tongue at me. "Ah, ah. We talked about this. You have to be verbal with me, honey."

"I—I want to see your body!" I said frantically, worried she might change her mind if I took too long. "All of it. I want to see your breasts."

She laughed, and it was almost a cackle. "Breasts? That's just silly." She set her glass down on the coffee table and leaned in towards me, clutching one breast in each hand and squeezing them, moving them up so they were almost tumbling out of her blouse again. "Don't you be all proper with me. These aren't breasts. These are tits."

I nodded, swallowing. "Yes, they are. I want to see your tits." I had only been able to imagine what they looked like—the closest I'd been able to see were photos of her lounging around in the sand at the beach wearing a skimpy yellow bikini. Needless to say, those were among my favorite photos. I'd saved them and many others to my computer in a folder labeled "J".

"What's the magic word?" she asked, impishly. She continued to fondle herself.

"Please?" I said, my voice pleading and almost whine. She was really driving me crazy. I didn't know how much more of this I could stand. I wanted to tackle her and rip her clothes off, but she was totally in control. And what was worse, she knew it. I downed the rest of my glass and set it next to hers. The wine and the arousal, the smell of her perfume and the closeness of her body were all combining to make my head spin.

She grinned toothily at me and in one swift, graceful movement she grabbed the hem of her blouse and pulled it over her head. She extended her arm and let it drop to the side of the coffee table.