RoseAnn Discovers Dominance Pt. 23

I made Craig wait in the living room while I dressed. He assumed I'd be putting on the same dress I'd worn to the opera the month before. I lifted the new dress from its box and steamed out a few creases as it hung on the shower rod. It slithered up my body, over the smoky black pantyhose, over the black bikini panties, matching short slip, and black bra.

The dress appeared modest in dim light. But in the bright lights of the lobby of the Lyric, anyone would see that the panel across my chest was a dark mesh that emphasized, rather than concealed, my cleavage. The skirt of the dress had narrow, vertical panels of the same mesh sewn in. Tantalizing glimpses of my legs, from mid-thigh down, would appear and disappear as I moved. Harley Moss had giggled with glee at the 'kerfuffle'--his word--his creation would cause among the 'stuffy opera crowd'--also his phrase.

So I wasn't surprised when Craig's jaw dropped when I made my entrance into the living room. It was nice to surprise him.

"Um, can I ask...?"

"You can," I said. "But don't worry. It didn't come out of our account. I just worked my charms on your friend Harley Moss." I took Craig's hand in both of mine and explained the deal I'd made with the diminutive dressmaker. "So now your girlfriend is a model as well as an engineer with a hardhat and big, clunky boots."

Craig seemed puzzled, as if he didn't know whether to be happy, proud, or embarrassed. But by now, he knew better than to complain or object to anything I did.

After I'd finished my makeup and brushed my hair, I fussed with Craig's tie and brushed lint from his suit, and we headed out the door to find a taxi.

In the lavish lobby of the Lyric, Craig ran into some friends at the bar and proudly brought them over to meet me. The man raised his eyebrows, suitably impressed. His wife wore a green ball gown that would certainly be uncomfortable to sit in. She looked about to step back for a moment, but gathered her wits and took my hand.

"What a beautiful gown you're wearing," she said.

"Thank you. And I love that shade of green. They go perfectly with your emeralds."

She actually blushed, though she was at least twenty years older than me. "These?" She fingered the jewels. "They were my mother's. But you have to tell me--who made that scandalous gown?"

"Harley Moss, over on Wabash. You know, north of Monroe."

"Really? I'm impressed. I'm not sure I'd even dare to go to his shop. I've heard he's very selective about his clients. I'd be so humiliated if he turned me away."

"Oh, no, I don't think he'll do that," I said. "Here--take one of his business cards and tell him I sent you."

"Do I have to knock three times until the tiny door opens?" She lowered her voice and stage-whispered, "Knock, knock, knock. RoseAnn sent me." Even the men understood the joke, and the four of us laughed together.

To my surprise, I handed out three more of Moss' business cards before going in for the first act. During the intermission, six more. I wondered if Harley would be able to handle all the new business.

In the taxi afterward, I felt Craig's tension. Since I'd refused his orgasm the other night, I knew he was expecting it tonight. I leaned over close and whispered, "Don't count on anything, lover. I might and I might not. Surely you know that by now." I reached for his crotch and touched his cock through his pants. It was like an iron rod.

Back in the apartment, I made him strip naked and wait in the living room. In the bedroom, I quickly stripped and put on an uplift bra that made my breasts bulge. I put on a garter belt and a pair of dark nylons, without panties. Reaching into the closet, I put on another dress, the short black one that Harley had made in fulfillment of his promise. At last, I opened the door, and posed with one hand on the doorframe.

For the second time that night, Craig's eyes bulged and his jaw dropped. I beckoned, and he came over and kissed me deeply. I felt the bulge of his cock against my leg. I was so excited, I wanted to move right now to Act Three. But it was important to take my time and tease him.

"What do you think I'm wearing under this dress?" I whispered in his ear, touching it with my tongue as I did so.

"Those tiny bikini panties?"

I giggled "No. Nylons and garter belt, and nothing else. What do you think of that?"

"Oh, my," he said, and sighed as he reached under the hem.

I slapped his hand away. "No, you don't get that yet. I have to be romanced first, and you have to do it just right, or no treat for you. Get some wine, and join me on the couch."

He came back with a little tray, with two glasses of merlot and a slender vase with a single rose. I rewarded him with a nice smile. "Where did you get the rose?"

"I bought it on the way from work and kept in the fridge. Every time I see a rose, it reminds me of you."

"Flatterer. You'll do anything to get under my dress, won't you?"

He smiled, abashed, and looked down. "Absolutely anything."

He remained standing until I realized he was awaiting instructions. "Sit! Sit! Drink wine with me. Kiss me. Get me excited." In truth, I was already bubbling over with lust inside, but I wanted him to make some moves first.

He sat beside me and whispered, "Do I make you happy?"

I smirked at him. "Most of the time. But right now, I'm not happy. I need a kiss."

He put his arm around my waist and I bent to meet his lips. I loved his soft lips, neither dry nor too wet. And he didn't use his tongue until he had me thoroughly excited. His technique was perfect.

We set our wine down and kissed some more. I kissed his nose, and his forehead, and his eyelids, and moved back to his lips again. He responded by kissing my throat and under my ears.

But I was getting too excited, too fast. I pushed him away.

"Get down on the floor."

He moved quickly, pushing the coffee table back and lying on his back. His face was flushed; he knew what was coming. He licked his lips, and the brief sight of his tongue doubled my excitement.

I kicked off my heels and straddled his face. When his tongue touched me, I jumped as if I'd touched a live wire. I pulled my dress back so I could look into his eyes. By now, he'd become an expert at cunnilingus, and soon had me making little kitten cries as I rocked my hips back and forth. I was so excited, I soon tilted my hips to present him with my clitoris, and he automatically shifted to the slow, regular strokes that made me squeal with delight.

But something was wrong. I could not go that last inch to tip over the edge. I was bursting with the need for an orgasm, but it was just out of reach. I needed something else.

A thought slipped across my mind, like words across a movie marquee. Maybe I should make him go without for an even longer time. The idea took hold instantly. I thought of his desperate, erect cock, twitching with need, but unable to come, simply because I'd forbidden it.

That was all it took. A mighty orgasm welled up from my pelvis like a towering wave, and I cried out and bounced viciously on his face, while his tongue desperately strove to stay on my clitoris, stroking with that maddening slowness. The waves of pleasure threw me back and forth. For a moment, I thought I might be hurting him, but a moment after that, I realized I didn't care. My pleasure was everything.

Slowly, I descended from the dizzying heights he'd driven me to, and the realization slowly dawned on me: I'd needed him to sacrifice his own orgasm before I could have one. Was I really that selfish and cruel?

But now I'd had my climax, the best ever. I looked down into his soft blue eyes, shining from under my fluffy, dark bush of pubic hair. I couldn't in all conscience deprive him any longer. I slid down his body, so that my pussy left a trail of moisture on his chest and belly. I reached between my legs, but the assistance of my hands was hardly needed. His cock slid inside me, filling me, forcing my overheated tissues to accept it.

I began to rock my hips. "Oh, that feels good!" I said. I'd rather have stayed on his tongue for a second round, but I wasn't that cruel, not yet. Maybe in the future...

He didn't take long. He'd barely thrust two or three times into me, when he grunted, "Oh! Oh! Oh!" and arched his back. He cried out and his hips squirmed as I pumped frantically with my hips and felt his hot fluid inside me. Although his orgasm lasted no more than a few seconds, his semen already poured from me, running down my thighs and pooling on his belly.

I kissed him and said, "Don't move until I get back." More semen gushed out as I got to my feet. I ran to the bathroom on wobbly legs, holding my new dress to my waist. I returned with a wet cloth and mopped up the white jelly before it stained the carpet.

I pulled my dress off and kneeled astride him again. "Well, did that satisfy you?"

"I was aching from the pressure." He pointed to his crotch.

"Yes, but did it satisfy you?"

He paused. "It felt so good, but I kept worrying that I'd let you down, like you don't have the best climax unless you make me go without. You could have made me wait longer if you wanted, you know."

"Let's get this straight--if I don't want you to come, I'll make you wait, forever if necessary. But making you come gives me pleasure, too. So if I tell you to come, you come. If I say no, then you don't. Remember, it's all about me and what I want."

But even as I said it, I knew it was only a half-truth. Certainly, I loved the power to make Craig come, but now I'd discovered that, even more, I loved the power to deny him, to keep him hovering with his orgasm almost within reach, and then casually dash his desires. That was power, and I was becoming addicted to it.

"Now I'm going to go wash off, and you're going to lick me again. You stay right where you are until I get back."