What I Want You To Do Ch. 01

She grasped the warm cup again and raised it to her lips, slowly drank in the last of the day's first cup of coffee. Sucked in the bitter edge of it and sighed. She always wanted more.

She was reluctant to start working, and drifted about the apartment, looking for distraction. Out beyond her bedroom window the builders were working, their green hi-glo vests beavering in the morning heat. It was not yet eight A.M.

She wandered into the shower, turned it on to its fullest and let the water almost scorch her. She wanted to be entirely clean, ready as if for a lover. She shaved her legs with her lover's shaving foam.

After the shower, she toweled herself down. It was summer. She was half-hearted about getting dry; she liked the wetness against her skin in the cool air. She wandered back, naked, to the bedroom. For an instant, she thought she caught the eye of one of the builders. They were four storeys up, maybe eighty metres away through the air. Enough to see she was naked, maybe, she wasn't sure. But the possibility brought some life to the day. She liked it.

She threw herself under the sheets and drew the soft cotton up around her. She leaned over on the pillow and could see the builder working away - maybe he could see in, perhaps it depended on the light; she wasn't sure. She nuzzled into the pillow, angled herself to get a better look. She peeled back the sheets and started to touch herself, rubbing the last of the moisturizer into her breasts. It was soft, supple, and it flowed around her like sex.

She imagined him doing that to her - the builder, doing it still dressed in his dirty overalls. She remembered her lover then, remembered looking down on him while he took her nipples in his teeth like a baby. The way her thighs trembled, the way he looked so peaceful, so beautiful, so dedicated to being there. The way she begged him to enter her, asked him to put his fingers inside her; how suddenly and roughly he did it, how full and contented it made her feel. Complete, suddenly, no longer adrift at all. She loved his hands, their forcefulness inside her, their hunger, their possessiveness.

She thought about displaying herself to the builders. She wanted them to be watching. She thought about them wanting to enter her, arguing, fighting over her. And then she imagined one, coming up to her from behind, teasing her, refusing to give her what she wanted. What did she want? Everything, probably, but slowly. Yes, everything. But she wanted someone else to be in charge.

She showered briefly again, threw on some jeans and went downstairs through the old building; she needed to get to the bank before it closed, lodge a cheque, buy some milk, maybe stop for another coffee, look at the passing men. Imagine being in bed with one of them, maybe. She walked past the building site, smiling.

"Hey..." she thought she heard. "Hey, you."

The voice was quiet, slightly shy, but strong too. She glanced behind her. He peered from around the boarding, hat and everything.

"Hey." he said again. "C'm here." She found herself walking back to him, knowing she shouldn't. "I need to show you something," he said. "You're the woman from that flat, aren't you?"

She blushed, didn't know what to say. There was nothing.

He surprised her, when she reached him, reaching toward her with his thick builder's hand, gruffly running a finger across her lip without warning. Huh? he couldn't just do that, could he? But he had. He took his hand roughly away, and she felt her lip curling away from him. She still felt his finger there. The floury, blank taste of it – plaster - or something? She loved that – how did he know that? It intrigued her.

"C'mon," he said. He grabbed her hand and led her across the empty site. "I liked doing that to you," he said. "I think you liked it too, though you won't say."

There was no one else around; perhaps they were at coffee. He brought her into the shell of the building she'd seen so often from her flat, thought about being fucked in. This was crazy. It scared her, yet she trusted it too. Something about him made her feel safe. They climbed the stairs; he was half dragging really.

"I want to touch you again," he said. "I swear ... " and then he let her hand go and she ached for him.

"So...".he said; they were four storeys up now, and panting. He opened the door into a shell of a room – just breeze blocks mostly, an empty space where the windows would be, some hunk of navy carpet on the floor, a stool, tea cups, a kettle. "This is where I've watched you from."

She blushed again, and was silent.

"And this," he said, "is what I've wanted to do to you."

He unbuttoned her jeans - slowly, methodically, as if he had done it a hundred times, as if he was her lover and had the right - peeled them away from her, half way down her legs, left her standing there like a child about to be punished. She wondered if she was, half wanted it. But he kissed her belly slowly – to make up - looked up at her, and stood away from her body for an instant.

"Now," he said.

He burrowed his face into the fabric just above her hair and breathed hot air, into her, through them. He was so calm and intimate about it all, it was terrifying. Then he let her go again, stood back again, wandered around her body, looking at and touching it as if it were his property - as if he was wondering whether to buy it, whether he really wanted it enough. He ran his fingers lightly over her ass, back and forward, nothing else touching – just his fingers, like a sculptor, caressing something he had just made, wondering if the lines were right.

God, she wanted him. She was hovering between excitement and some kind of lost outrage she thought she should be feeling but knew she wasn't. Louder than that was her hunger, though; she felt herself warm and flooded with him, pulsing invisibly, dying to be touched, entered, owned, even for a moment.

He leaned into her and kissed the back of her neck, his two hands slowly tracing their way down her chest till he reached her nipples. He rubbed, lightly, the whole breast, back and forth, and then he brought his hands down to her waist, snuck them under her top and through to her skin and found his way back to her nipples. As soon as she felt his skin against her, all her resistance melted. It seemed like he knew her, and her nipples ached for him. She wanted him to be rough, but he wouldn't; he just lightly caressed her, teased her, casually brushed against her nipples until they were taut and aching.

She felt him now, hard against her, felt his wanting of her, his lust, his tight control. Most of all his power. Then he brought out the boy. He cupped his hands over her eyes from behind.

"I have a friend," he whispered, and then she felt his teeth tight on her ear for an instant. "Don't worry, we won't hurt you. I'm only trying to train him."

He said something in another language then, and gripped her hands tight behind her.

"We wouldn't," he said, "do anything to hurt you, and afterward, you can tell me if I know how to teach."

She heard noises in front of her then, another body in the room, noises below and in front of her, another man breathing, and then the boy's breath, suddenly, on her. The builder still held her hands behind her, forced them back and told her the boy was only eighteen, and innocent, but that there was more he'd like to do to her.

"What I will want to do to you is..." he said, and described things she'd imagined but would never have asked for. Rough dangerous things she'd always wanted, never found words for. And then he said, "Promise me you'll ask for all the things you want some day, and I'll do them all, but first I'll do almost the opposite, violently if you like..."

And then he said something sharply in the other language.

"He'll do whatever I tell him," he said.

What he had told him was to lick her. The boy – the invisible, delicate boy - leaned his tongue forward tentatively and began to taste her. It seemed he wasn't allowed to touch her except with his tongue. The builder held her open, forcing her legs apart, gripping the inside of her thighs and opening her for the boy. And with his knee somehow he teased her ass; almost as if his knee could enter her. She would have wanted it to. Ached for him there. Also, he traced the top of her thighs with his hands, inching closer to her but never touching.

"I want to be in there," he said, "and I will be, whenever I want - but you'll have to beg."

She was flooded with him now, entirely open. She wondered if he knew how wet she was - if the boy told him, or found a way to show him, if he couldn't see. But the boy hadn't said a word. Her body hummed. It was like a tone or a song in her, growing ever louder, stronger, never nearing a climax, just building. She'd never tell him he made her feel this special, never tell him she nearly came just listening to him, felt she could come with his teeth gripping just her ear lobe – with his words whispered in her ear, with those alone, he was so sexy.

She was crazy, almost, with wetness, moisture, longing. She ached for him, yet said nothing. She wouldn't beg, or even ask. She wanted to see where he could bring her to all by himself. He seemed to know what to say to her, how to tease her, how to get beneath her mind and promise her things she barely knew she wanted. She felt known by him and it thrilled her.

"I want," he said again," to be inside you, but not yet, not until you beg me."

The boy was finding his way to the heart of her now, beginning to know how to move her, how to send her somewhere perfect. He reached something in her, a rhythm, and she gasped with pleasure. The builder pulled her away then, barked something at the boy. The boy withdrew his tongue and used it to tease her, licking delicately around her with his tongue, rolling it slowly up the inside of her thigh, glancing his lips on hers. Kissing her cunt as if it were the lips of a baby. He withdrew and breathed beneath her and she felt herself open. Every time she uttered a noise of pleasure, the builder pulled her gruffly away, tightening his grip, denying her fulfillment.

He wanted, he said, to be inside her ass, to humiliate her in front of the boy. But only if she wanted him to. The boy was Polish, he said, he spoke no English, had no idea what passed between them. She didn't want him to do it just then, but she loved the thought of it. The decadence.

"I want you to go home now." he said," and think of me - I'll be watching. These are the things I will imagine doing to you. I will lick you myself, but slowly, and I'll tease you. I'll caress your ass with my hand until you beg me to enter you there. And then I will break my way inside you and fuck you however hard I want, however much you protest, I won't care if I cut you open, I'll fuck you until you scream and cry in my arms. And then I'll hold you. And then I'll turn you over and fuck your cunt," he said, "soft and slowly at first, slower than you've ever felt it, just at the opening, slower than you have ever known, and then when you can't bear it, if you're lucky and you ask me right...I'll..." His words trailed off.

"...I'll leave your body for a moment." He said, "I'll leave you hanging. And I'll just look at you. And tell you what I want to do to you. And turn you over and rub my cock against your skin, as if it wants to get in everywhere. It will feel like this," he said, and he stood away from her and ran his hand roughly, then soft against her. Jesus. "If you want me," he said, "I'll come to you. Trace the code to your door on the window; I'll see it and read the numbers and come to you in the night – some night soon. I'll find my way to your bedroom in the dark, and I'll wake you with this," he said, leaning himself against her ass again, "and with my tongue on you, licking you open and awake. We can start from the beginning, and you can teach me everything I don't already know."

"Afterward...," he said, "afterward I'd hold you...and if you'd been good, in the morning, I'd let you suck me."

Her lips were suddenly hungry for him, fiercely so, this tingling she knew in them, this ravenous desire to suck a man, to wrap her mouth around him; it came out of nowhere, and she loved it, but he wouldn't let her touch him. He still held her hands behind her back.

"I'd surrender to you then like a baby," he said, "and moan as I came in your mouth and felt my juices flood you. And then I would beg you to drink me, to be tender, to cup my balls in your hands and your heart as well. And hold me late into the night."

"In the morning," he said, "we could do everything we hadn't done, and drink coffee and trace each other's bodies, slowly with the backs of our hands."