The Door Game

And yet, she stood there, unable to move, waiting for him to step forward again.

This time however, he did not step forward.

Instead, soundlessly, he knelt.

She felt a hand slide between her knees. It twisted and the palm faced upwards, pressing lightly on the inside of her thighs. Instinctively she stepped, her feet moving out just a little wider, hoping that his hand would move up. It slid along her thigh, travelling up from the inside of her knee, hugging the outside of her leg to his chest. It stopped just a few inches below her shorts.

His head was level with her hips and the sweet musk that emanated was strong. She heard him breathe in, a long, deep inhalation as he reached up with his other hand and slowly pulled at the waistband, peeling the shorts down on one side. His mouth moved over the soft skin of her round, full ass cheek and he dotted it in slow, soft kisses, before suddenly dragging his teeth along it, the hand on her thigh tightening and pulling him closer as he did.

She shuddered as her skin lit up with a sharp sting, and a small yelp escaped. Instantly, the flesh he had bitten was covered in soft lips, gentle pads, soothing kisses. He gently let go of the material, allowing the elastic to ride back up, his fingers moving between her thighs and tracing gently along the insides of her legs.

He planted more small kisses on the back of her left leg just below her shorts and looked up. She was staring straight down at him, watching how he was touching her, how he was teasing her. As his eyes found hers, he smiled through a kiss and she immediately, instinctively looked away, embarrassed.

He stood up behind her, pressed his lips gently onto the side of her neck and wrapped his arms around her. His left hand reached under her t-shirt and started at her stomach, travelling upward towards her neck, his forearm resting flat against the centre of her chest. The material of her bra brushed against his skin, and the soft flesh of her breasts yielded outward as his arm moved between them.

He leaned in again 'Did you like looking at me?'

She nodded.

'Use your words please'

She kept her eyes closed, 'I did, I liked it'

'You liked watching me touch you and kiss you? Did you hope I would reach up and put my hand into your knickers and touch you there? That I might pull your shorts down and bend you over and put my mouth on you?'

Her cheeks rushed red and she exhaled hard, managing to form a sound 'mmhm, yeah, yes -- I did.'

'Where's your patience?

Are you greedy?

Are you a greedy girl?

I bet you fucking are'.

His words were fast, forceful, but the delivery was so measured, so quiet and breathy, they sounded more like some kind of whispered threat. She didn't know what to say and closed her eyes, staying quiet.

The index finger on his right hand began to trace the line of her waistband. First, drawing a soft stripe along the bottom of her stomach, then moving back around, his finger dipping just under the edge. It was amazing how this simple intrusion -- the tip of a finger making its way under the material, was like a barrier being crossed.

It was a violation of sorts, a declaration of others. It was his intention to touch her, her permission to be touched. It was small steps made, at every point allowing her to give tacet approval. To not use that word. To let him continue, knowing that once that line was crossed, it was only a matter of time before his hand would be on her, before his fingers would bring her that relief that she wanted. The release that she craved.

His hand moved down over her chest, the pads of his fingers wide, dragging over her soft skin. He stopped at the hard line that ran along the underside of her bra and from there, his fingers moved up to the right, tracing a diagonal line that ran across her skin, along the edge of the material, pressing on the soft, smooth skin beneath.

His lips moved up along the side of her neck to that sensitive area just behind her ear.

Her arms caved suddenly, bending at the elbow as his lips moved over her ear. He followed her forward. Her ears were so sensitive -- the warmth and pressure made her tingle all over and he knowingly tensed the arm across her chest, his hand gathering around her bra and closing gently.

His fingers sunk into the soft material and he exhaled into her ear.

His other hand moved downward, slipping under the waistband of her shorts, tracing the edge of her knickers. Their shape dipped in the middle and his hand travelled from her left hip, following their line.

It was starting to make her feel frustrated, annoyed even - his breath in her ear, the strength of him holding her tightly, the soft material of her bra rubbing against her nipple and now this.

She wanted him to touch her already. To put his fingers on her and rub slowly. In fact, she wanted to turn, to wrestle his belt, to pop the buttons on his jeans, to look down, to drop to her knees, to take him in her mouth. She wanted to speak, to demand - bend me over and fuck me - take me away from this fucking door and put your mouth on me - do something - do ANYTHING.

His hand moved over her knickers and then, just as he had done with the waistline of her bottoms, a finger moved in and under, intruding upon that most personal of areas -- the final barrier that she wore between her aching wetness and the rest of the world.

His hand slid under the fabric and felt her skin, soft, clear and smooth. She had prepared in the hope that he would put his mouth on her. She had removed all of the hair -- she wanted him to slide her knickers off, to plant soft kisses all over the area they had covered, to trace his lips along her, to open his mouth, to exhale warm breath onto her and allow his tongue to feel wide and flat while he dragged it up the entire length of her.

She wanted her taste in his mouth. She wanted to reach down, grab a fistful of his hair and pull it hard while he overwhelmed her. She wanted it now.

Her bottom lip found its way between rows of teeth and again she closed her jaw, digging into the same line she had bitten earlier. His hand moved up towards her shoulder and gently slid the strap of her bra along her arm. His fingers reached into her bra, moving down, peeling it away, exposing her breast. He was careful not to make contact with her skin or to touch her nipple, which was now swollen and protruding.

Outside, a noise, small but unmistakable -- something moved. It could have been the wind in the open corridor, it could have been a neighbour coming back home. Her whole body froze, and without thinking, she turned her head towards him, 'wait -- there's someone...' Instantly, his mouth was on hers.

His lips were soft, but the kiss was firm and insistent. Instinctively she kissed him back, a deep, greedy kiss. Bastard. This was the feeling she had craved, but he had ignored her protestation, in fact he had cut across it to make things worse. Like he didn't care.

Her mind raced, panicking at the thought of someone just outside, willing her to stop.

Her body wanted this. Wanted more.

His tongue filled her mouth and he spread the fingers on his hand that hovered just above her exposed breast. He pressed down and in, allowing her nipple to protrude between his two middle fingers. His fingers closed, simultaneously squeezing her breast and pinching the nipple.

She yelped, as his entire arm pinned her to him.

Again that feeling of being trapped, being drawn in.

Again, his chest against her back.

Again, that bulge straining against the front of his jeans, sinking into the soft material of her shorts. She couldn't tell how long it was, but it felt wide pressed against her.

The back of his hand gently leaned into the material of her knickers, moving downward, pushing them away from her. They were wet. Not damp, not moist - wet. The kind of wet where it's almost embarrassing. It was his fault, his doing, he had caused it and yet she felt... unladylike? Whatever the fuck that meant.

It felt like she'd fucking pissed herself.

It was the kind of wet where he could just bend her over, pull down her shorts and knickers in a single movement and with one thrust, bury all of him inside her. Not gently, not just the tip, not warming up and getting into it. Not seducing or teasing, not foreplay and his mouth on her.

The whole thing. To the base -- to where his body met his cock. To where the front of his hips smacked against her arse cheeks. Hitting that spot inside her, the spot that only a few guys had ever managed to light up. First stroke -- THERE, rubbing right against it.

Ladylike. She was more likely to come off as a quivering wreck at this point.

What the back of his hand knew from her soaked knickers, the front of his hand could tell from the heat that emanated from her. Raw and primal, her kisses became more insistent as she tried to focus, her mind a blur of images of bending over, of being taken, of being gloriously violated, of hands on a door.

The noise outside receded in her mind. It was too late now.

The kiss broke off, and he held her there in glorious suspended animation, breathing sharply. His mouth lingered near hers, but as her lips searched for him, his head moved in sync -- just enough to always be slightly out of reach. The hand in her knickers stayed where it was, no more than an inch from her skin, holding the material of her underwear off her, creating a gap of space, an emptiness that the slightest movement of his fingers could cross with ease.

And yet that space remained.

Bastard. He was teasing her. It was too much.

Her mouth closed and she breathed sharply in and out of her nose in short, fast bursts. His arm and hand relaxed across her chest and still she stood there, like someone on fire, teetering at the edge of cool dark water, somehow unable to fall in, but awaiting the tiniest breeze that would allow gravity to take her into the relief of the deep darkness below.

And suddenly, from nothing, there was everything. It was like an excruciating breath that they had inhaled together, then held for as long as they could, and when it was too much to hold, the whole thing collapsed in a glorious letting go. In a single movement, his mouth found hers, his tongue forcing its way between her lips, invading her mouth, his left hand squeezing her breast in and up, trapping her nipple, pulling her against him and finally, his hand was on her.

He stepped forward and pushed her up against the door. His whole hand covered her, his four fingers feeling a mix of soft flesh and sweet, hot wetness - his middle finger instinctively moving slightly further in than all the rest. It pushed inward just a little -- not trying to penetrate -- he just wanted to make full contact with her.

He began to move his hand upward, the skin on his middle finger -- the flat pads, the soft ridges between them, dragging slowly and purposefully along her. Her clit felt like it had lit up. The feeling was electric, like a long, steady buzz - and as the different parts of his finger slid over, that buzz was interrupted with short, intense bursts of sensation that made her buck and twitch.

Her hands braced the wall, palms moist and slipping. Her feet felt like they were somehow pushing downward into the floor, and as the muscles in her stomach tensed with each little flash, he could feel her tilting her hips forward -- as if there was something fixed -- like an object in front of her, something to lean against, something she wanted to be up against, to grind on.

The movement she tried to generate for the front of herself caused the back of her to grind slowly against his hard cock. He let out a short groan as they kissed, her hands sliding out to the side, one side of her face pressed against the cold wood.

As the tip of his finger finally moved over her clit, he was rewarded with a loud, sharp 'haaaaa' sound, an open and involuntary moan that she could do nothing to supress. His hand moved from her breast, up through the opening in her top, wrapping around her throat. His palm closed, his fingers becoming strong around her neck.

He spoke quietly, admonishing her like a strict schoolteacher 'You said you were going to be quiet.' She didn't know what to do. His hand in her knickers reset and began the same slow drag, his finger moving slowly from her tight, wet hole, sliding upwards to that same throbbing spot.

Again, he spoke, low and calm, but firm -- with more than a hint of disapproval.

'I put you at the front door so you'd behave yourself. I put you here because I didn't think you'd want your neighbours walking past outside and hearing those noises.' She opened her eyes and nodded quickly, trying to look round at him. His head was right by hers, the hand on her neck holding her in place.

'Do you think they're fucking stupid?'

Her eyebrows narrowed, her brow furrowing to wordlessly convey her confusion.

'I don't know what you...'

He spoke over her to emphasise that he didn't want to hear any more, delivering each word with sharp, pointed emphasis -- like she was some sort of idiot.

'Do.

You.

Think.

Your.

Neighbours.

Are.

Fucking.

Stupid?'

'Do you think if they walk past this door and hear you moaning like a cunt, they won't know what you're doing? Do you think they won't picture you inside, with your knickers so wet it feels like you've pissed in them, getting yourself off?'

Oh god -- he'd said it out loud. She knew it, but now he'd said it. Somehow that was worse. Had her face not already been totally flushed with the strain of... of all this, she might have blushed. She breathed sharply out of her nose again and tried to focus.

The hand in her knickers reset.

The single finger.

The upward drag.

The flinching, twitching responses she could do nothing to stifle.

'The only part that might confuse them, is why you'd be standing here roaring into the door, as if you were only one step away from doing it in the hallway so they could all watch.

Do you want them to watch? Are you a performer?'

'No' she croaked -- trying to speak at the edge of an exhalation.

'What?'

'No.'

He ignored her answer. 'I wonder how many guys there are - that live in your building - that you see every week. They go about their day, walk their dogs, bring home the shopping, go running -- they're totally unaware that when you look at them, you record it in your head. The shape of their shoulders, the shape of their back, their legs, their chest - the way they move, the way they talk, their eyes, fuck -- if you could get close enough you'd probably try to smell their hair, wouldn't you?'

She shook her head.

'So you can picture them when you get into bed and play with yourself?

Is that what you do?

How many of them?'

'No'

'No? What the fuck is no? No isn't a number.'

He squeezed her neck harder.

'At least tell me there's one guy. He can be married or someone's boyfriend. It's ok if you feel bad about it. Is he one of the hot dads?'

She nodded.

'And what do you use?'

She stumbled over the words 'I, I, I just use my -- I have a..'

Again, he spoke over her 'What? A rabbit? A doxy? A wand?'

She nodded.

'A wand?'

She nodded again, looking embarrassed, her breath fast and jagged. His finger stayed on her clit now. It was so wet, it felt like silk passing over her. He rubbed slow, gentle circles on it while he spoke.

'You dirty little fuck. So you watch Mr Hot Dad going around with his wife and his kids and then you come back home, get into bed and think about him coming in? Wandering in one day when no one's looking? Popping by to check if you're ok, if there's anything you need help with?'

Her head twitched and her back stiffened -- the soft circles. She couldn't understand what was happening. He was being so fucking mean to her, asking her shitty questions, making her think of that Greek guy from upstairs, touching her, squeezing her, she couldn't form words to even answer. It was confusing, disorienting, but so fucking hot.

She felt dirty.

She didn't want it to stop.

'It's ok -- you can tell me. Do you think about him coming in all slow and calm -- all gentle and sensuous? While you're pressing that awful machine right up against you and you keep turning the speed up until you can't take it anymore?'

She didn't react, but swallowed hard as his movement became firmer, grinding her clit into her. He applied a little extra pressure to her throat now, his shoulder leaning in behind her neck.

'It's not that, is it? Is it fast and rough? It's him rushing in here with you -- you don't even get undressed, you just burst open his buttons, he pulls you knickers to the side and he just starts pounding you. On the couch? On the floor?'

She nodded emphatically, bit down on her lip again and managed a short, strained 'mhhmm...'Suddenly he relaxed the hand on her throat. Blood rushed to her head, air flooded her lungs, and the grinding became a soft circular movement -- at first slow, but very gradually, almost imperceptibly, speeding up as he spoke:

'I wonder how quiet you could be if you knew he was outside the door right now. Maybe that's what that noise was. Maybe a package got delivered when you weren't here, and he popped round to drop it off. And as he got closer to the door, he heard you moaning like a fucking wounded animal. And he's stood right outside, listening intently, hearing you breathe, hoping to hear you moan again, his cock straining hard against his jeans, unable to touch it, to pump it, just standing there silently, hoping no one comes into the hallway.'

'Maybe he had reached up to knock the door, when suddenly he heard you, and he's just standing there, with his hand on the other side of the door. Through three inches of wood. Wanting to hear you come.'

With the word come, his lips covered her mouth, his tongue pressing inward, forceful, insistent. His fingers were moving quickly now -- a lighter touch, but a fast motion. Her breath was hard, heavy. It came out of her like a low note, a noise she couldn't control.

He felt her body begin to brace -- her mid-section becoming rigid, sinking into her hips, leaning down and back against his hard cock. He folded his arms in a little more, tensing them, constricting her. The hand on her throat, the shoulder against the back of her neck, her hands on the door...

And still they kissed. It felt like she was sinking down, like she was trying to get away from him, but there was nowhere to go to. Any movement she made just forced her back into him. He wedged his knee between hers and suddenly the fast, light circles were gone.

His finger pressed hard against her clit and he moved it as slowly as he could. A long, dragging grind from side to side that was so slow it didn't feel like a single movement -- it felt like a hundred tiny ridges moving over her. She couldn't make herself come like this. No one could move this slowly with themselves -- the feeling of build, the impending release just makes you speed up, makes you rub harder, faster.

Her mouth came away from his, her face looking straight down at the ground, eyes shut tightly. Her legs pulsated and spasmed, locking together. They wanted to close, but his wedged knee kept them apart, just far enough for his hand to keep moving. Rubbing. Grinding.

She pushed back, her arms locked hard against the door. It was like they were strong and the rest of her was falling apart. She sat down deeper into his groin, her knees bending, her feet wanting to sink into the floor.

And then it happened.

She couldn't stop it. His arms trapped her, squeezing tightly, feeling her whole body tense up, as if every muscle in her was engaged. Through her constricted throat, a low hoarse sound emanated. It wasn't some feminine sound of 'sweet pleasure'. It wasn't shitty porno noises or some faked orgasm full of cues to turn a clueless guy on, so he'll feel like he did a good job and hurry up and finish.