Whitman

Just when she'd been able to lean into his rhythm or anticipate where his hands would go next, he changed things. He added little pinches and taps to the long gentle strokes; he added short, light slaps to the gentle squeezing and rolling of her skin. He ignored her pussy and concentrated on her spine and ass. Sliding fingers along her crack, grabbing and pulling at one cheek, then pushing the other. Using his other hand to caress her breasts gently, maddeningly, softly rolling her nipples under his thumb. Cupping her whole breast in his hand and running his palm over her areola and nipples. He was kissing her neck, at first, just quick pecks along the side of her neck to her throat. Then longer contacts while his tongue flicked and licked at her skin. Then just exhaling and blowing little puffs of breath across the skin he'd just been kissing.

He let go of her, and then slid his hands slowly, in tandem down her front and back. One hand playing with her ass, tapping her asshole with two fingers, but not quite sliding them in. The other hand finally, finally, playing with her labia, finger and thumb opening her up and another finger flicking and tapping at her clit. She sighed and let out a long "hmmmm" and tried to lean into him. Tried to kiss his neck. Pressed her knee against his erect penis, still trapped in his pants. He stopped moving, took his hands away, and leaned back on the table and chair back.

"You want something?"

She opened eyes she hadn't realized she'd closed and gazed at him. He almost looked amused.

"I want you."

"You want me to do what?"

"More. It's not enough."

"So you say?"

Suddenly she felt very shy. Suddenly she felt she'd said something incorrect, and there was going to be a horrible punishment. Like him leaving. She felt herself blushing, not just her face, but her whole body. Could tell by the look on his face that he saw it. She tried for false bravado.

"Yes. I want us to fuck."

He almost laughed, but managed to hold it in and just grin. "You do, huh?"

He reached over and tugged at the belt she was still sitting on. Her hands jerked down. Incontrovertible proof that she wasn't in charge. She dropped her head, now completely unsure of what to do. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest, she tilted her head back and he kissed her, hard, insistent, possessively.

When he relaxed his grip he just said, "Stand up."

She had to think for a second about how to get her legs to cooperate. He was holding the belt near where it was wound through the tie wrapping around her wrists. He started to stand, tugged on her hands and helped her to her feet. Stood there patiently like a gentleman as she shook out her legs.

Then he walked toward the glass door, bringing her along behind him. She shivered, instantly covered in goose bumps, nervous and still very aroused. When they got in front of the glass door she realized the fact that the drapes were open was very, very important.

He was standing with his back to the door, holding up her hands by the tie binding, and sliding the belt through. When the ends of the belt were just about even he pulled her closer to him and stood to one side. Reached up and looped the end of the belt around the curtain rod, and then stood behind her, guiding her to the glass with insistent pressure on her back. He stood directly behind her, leaning into her, so that her head touched the glass.

He pulled her hands over her head, arms straight up, and was guiding the belt around the curtain rod. No, not the curtain rod; the bracket that held the rod. The bracket that she knew was screwed into a wall stud. The bracket with the end blocked by the curtain rod itself. The belt wasn't going to slide off, and it wasn't going to fall down. He cinched the belt tighter, so that her arms were fully extended, and pushed her closer to the door. So that her whole body was touching or within inches of the door. She was looking up, watching him make another loop with the belt, cinch it a notch or two tighter, and then buckle it.

Behind her, she felt him run a hand down each leg and push her feet out, so that they were slightly more than her shoulder width apart. When he ran his hands back up her legs, he cupped her pussy and squeezed it gently. Stood behind her and leaned into her with his whole body, his erection noticeable at her backside, the fabric of his pants a rough contrast to his skin. He ran his hands up her back, up the length of her arms, reaching past her hands, stretching himself to his full height, and pressing against her. Pressing her into the cold glass door. Her nipples touched the glass and bloomed more goose bumps. She sucked in breath and started to say something to him.

He leaned his head down so that his mouth was next to her ear. Softly, pitching his voice low, so the words were as much vibrations against her neck as they were sounds, he began talking.

"Listen to me; in a city this large, how many voyeurs do you think there are? Hundreds, at least, probably thousands. They're all out there. Can't you feel them? Can't you feel them watching you? This is perfect for them. Look out there. Look at all those lights.

"To most of the people out there, this apartment is just another light. But out there, all those peeping Toms are watching you. With their binoculars. With their telescopes. With their cameras and fancy zoom lenses. You want to be an exhibitionist. So be one. Feel them watching you. Know that they're inspecting every inch of you. Know that they're looking at your tits pressed up against the glass, they're looking at your pussy, imagining how wet you are, imagining how you smell.

"They're all out there. They're taking pictures. They're calling each other, making sure they all get to watch. They're telling themselves a story about why you're doing this. Each one knows it's just for him. They see you standing here, showing yourself off to them. They're playing with themselves. They're calling you names. You're all theirs. You belong to them. I just gift wrapped you."

She'd been opening and closing her mouth, trying to think of something to say. Trying to formulate some kind of protest. Through the whole monologue, he'd been rubbing himself against her ass, slowly, too slowly, dry humping her. Still teasing her with just enough contact to keep her arousal going. Now the contrast of the cold glass against the heat of his body was making her shiver and shudder. He ran his hands back down her arms, slid them around and pulled her away from the door far enough that he could fondle her breasts.

He rubbed and squeezed the globes of her breasts, rubbed his thumbs across her nipples, then placed her breasts against the glass, so that the weight of her body held them in a spot. He pushed against her back like he was trying to anchor them in place, then slid his hands down and around to her pussy again. Fondled her cunt, grazing her outer labia with his finger nails, gently pinching her lips and pulling her open so he could attend to her clit. Rubbing fingers in small circles around her clit, dipping fingers into her vagina to lubricate them, then flicking his finger rapidly at the very tip of her clit. Listening to her breathing; listening as it got harder; listening as her arousal intensified. Working her clit and labia until she was right on the edge, one sharp inhalation away from cumming.

Then he stopped. Cupped his hand around her pussy, kissed her neck and started that low monologue again.

"I bet they all enjoyed that. I bet all those perverts out there watching are on the edge of their chairs. Dicks in hand. Hell, probably some of them are working their own cunts. They're all watching you. I'm just a shadow and a couple of hands. They're watching YOU sigh and imagining YOU moan. They're probably pissed because you didn't cum all over yourself. But that's ok. The show's not over."

He stepped back, completely disengaging himself from her. She could see his reflection in the glass, not the details, but his shape and the contrast between his bare chest and those dark pants. Enough to tell that he was rubbing his cock again.

He noticed her gaze. "I'm leaving." She gasped. "I'm going to the bedroom. But it's hard to say how long I'll stay gone. So you enjoy that view. Enjoy knowing that you can't go anywhere. Enjoy knowing that all those perverts will be watching, waiting for the second act. Look out across that city, and wonder. How many peeping Toms? How many eyeballs? And who else is showing themselves off like this. What kind of company are you keeping. And wonder what I'm going to do to you next. Don't say anything. Don't call out for me. It won't do you any good. I'll be back when I'm back. Disobey me and I'll open that door." He let the threat lie, and she shuddered.

She saw him bend down to pick up the pile of clothes, and then turn and walk out of her sight in the reflection. Listened carefully and determined that yes, he'd walked toward the bedroom. That it was the bedroom door opening, not the front door. She tugged on the tie and belt combination and realized that there was no easy way to get out of her position. Tugged again halfheartedly, and realized she wanted to find out what was next in this game.

So she did stare out across the city. She stood there, leaned against the glass, bathed in light from overhead and floor lamps, certain that anyone who chose to would have a completely clear view of her. Her arms pulled up straight over her head; tits and pussy completely exposed; dressed only in stockings and high heels. She did wonder who was watching. Imagined these myriad voyeurs in their apartments, watching her, jerking off. Wondering what the second act would be. Wondering why she was obeying him. Wondering why obeying him just made her want to cum.

As he walked back through the living area, he collected his thoughts. He went into her bedroom, shucked off the rest of his clothes, and went to the nightstand. Got out the bottle of lube and the box of condoms, went to the linen closet and picked out a couple of towels. He dropped these items in a pile on one corner of her bed and sat down heavily.

Stroking himself and smiling. It was a wonder, that she'd reacted the way she had. How she just let him take control, seemingly without a second thought. His mind racing with vague ideas for the future, he fell back on the bed and caressed himself. He was trying to ride a line, staying hard without needing to cum, not yet anyway. He let go of his cock and reviewed his ideas for the second act. They'd already done the things he had planned, and she had professed to enjoy them. But these were different circumstances and the tension and power play might change things.

He waited in the bedroom, lazily stroking himself and fantasizing about what would happen next. He was trying to gauge the right amount of time. At least 10 minutes, he figured. He wanted her to still be aroused when he returned, but calm and nervous. He wanted her in some sweet spot between apprehensive, horny, and bored. It was trickier than he'd assumed to figure out how long to stay away from her, and he had his own wants to consider. He waited a little longer, calling up memories of other evenings, reminding himself of how she moved and how she sounded when she was ready and about to cum.

He rose from the bed, picked up the pile of items, and carried everything back through the living area to the table. Set them down and grabbed the chair, which he pulled over behind where she was standing, bound and exposed. He sat down behind her, enjoying the view of her back and ass, again stroking himself and running through the plan in his mind. If she noticed him back there, she didn't give any sign. Her forehead was pressed against the glass, and he couldn't tell if her eyes were open. He felt so powerful; this control over her and her acquiescence were heady drugs. He sat back there, stroking his dick and fondling his balls until he noticed her move her head, looking for his reflection.

He stood and moved the chair closer to her, just to one side. Then got the condoms, lube, and towels and put them down on the chair. Now she turned her head to try to see him, her eyes half lidded and searching for his face. He reached out a long stroke down her spine and she rolled her back in response. He stepped forward to lean into her, again stretching his own arms high along hers, gripping the frame of the door, and pressing his body against hers. She arched her back and pushed her ass out to meet his erection. He responded by pressing against her more forcefully, using his whole weight to press her into the door.

"Show's not over, remember. Know your audience. How many, do you think? How many watching you now?"

He stepped back and ran both hands down her leg, pulling the stocking down to her ankle. Reached over and repeated the move with the other stocking, then tapped her ankle to indicate that she should raise her foot. He took off her high heel, then reached over and did the same with the other foot. Somehow, she felt even more exposed and vulnerable with the stockings and shoes gone.

Repositioned in her bare feet, he sat down between her legs, his head level with her pussy, facing her, his back to the glass door. Dragged the chair over so that it was within easy arms reach. He began by kissing her inner thighs, alternating legs, starting just inside her knees and working his way up. He was roving his hands all over her legs and ass, and as far up her back as his could reach. Using light touches and no predictable pattern, he was simply exciting as much of her skin as he could get to.

Losing several inches from taking off the heels had caused her back and arms to become more taut. She felt fully stretched out, but more grounded. She responded to his touches by swaying and rolling her hips, trying to gain more contact with him. She wanted his mouth on her pussy, his tongue on her clit. If he gave her that, he could do what he wanted with his hands. But he was still in control, and there was only so far she could move.

The light touch he was using was maddening and he'd randomly add in a little pinch or dig which just accentuated her increasing arousal. He countered her efforts for more solid contact, until she just stood still again. He rewarded that decision by opening her labia with his fingers and placing a long kiss on the hood of her clit, right where her outer lips came together. She sighed heavily and he reacted by licking her clit, stroking the length of his tongue over it and gently sucking in.

He slid a finger into her pussy, moving it in circles to touch all the most sensitive parts nearest the opening. He leaned in and used his tongue to draw circles and zigzags over her clit, around it and then over the head of her clit. Around again and then his tongue was reaching into her. Sliding his tongue out and using his lips to suck on her clit and then kiss and suck the length of her labia. One hand still gently fingering her, the other gliding up and down the backs of her thighs. He alternated legs, and each up stroke led closer and closer to her butt.

Then he was reaching for her ass with both hands, squeezing and pulling her cheeks apart, all the while working her pussy with his tongue and mouth. She'd started to moan, softly, raggedly, and each noise she made seemed to encourage him. He took his hands away and she concentrated on the sensations he was eliciting with his mouth and tongue. The little pulses of not quite pain as he sucked her clit, the soft pinches of his lips on her lips.

She could feel herself getting more and more wet, could feel him licking her lubrication, almost like he was drinking her. She looked down and saw he was looking up at her. Even with his face buried in her cunt, there was something bordering on dangerous in his eyes. She shivered, he touched his teeth to her clit, she gasped, and she could have sworn she felt him smile against her pussy. She had to look away.

She stared out across the city; his speech from earlier was replaying in her mind. She tried to fathom where this aspect of him had come from, but the rational parts of her brain were shutting down as he kept licking, kissing, sucking and nipping at her. As he kept teasing her by avoiding consistent rhythms that she could get used to or anticipate. As he kept bringing her closer to some edge that he wasn't letting her fall off of. She'd noticed that he was caressing her ass but the sudden pressure of his finger at her asshole surprised her.

He'd slathered his index finger in lube and touched it to her asshole. Pulled away, tapped her asshole several times, pulled away and then put his finger in up to the first joint. She inhaled in surprise and looked down at him again and started to ask the question. But the look on his face was all the answer she needed. She sighed and felt herself relax, and he slid his finger farther in, first to the knuckle, and then as far as it would go. Now he was slowly thrusting with his finger, fucking her ass, his hand turned so that knuckles of his bent fingers were pressing against the tender skin between her ass and vagina.

She had rarely ever felt so aroused. And the thing that kept fucking with her mind was that she'd forget for a moment that she was tied up, and try to move her hands. Then when she couldn't she'd be startled. By the time she remembered what her predicament was, he'd being doing something with his mouth or his hands that would make her forget again.

The cold glass of the door had almost disappeared completely from her awareness, but then a light or a movement outside would catch her attention, and she'd suddenly realize how exposed she truly was. All the lights were on in her apartment, she was clearly illuminated even as she was rolling her forehead against the glass, even as she was rolling her hips, and shifting her feet.

He pulled his finger out of her ass and added another dose of lube to all his fingers. He focused his tongue on her clit, flicking the tip of her tongue as rapidly as he could. He was listening to her breathing, listening as it got deeper, and a little ragged. Every time she took a deep breath he stopped all sensation until she took her next. He was watching the way she was moving, the rhythm in her hips and the way she was flexing her feet, sometimes almost rising on tiptoe. Now he slid two fingers into her ass, index and his long middle finger, both all the way in, without pausing.

He heard her sharp intake of breath and starting moving his fingers in and out of her. Slowly, them more rapidly, then slowly again. Some short pulsing strokes, and longer deeper penetration. All the while licking and tapping her clit and the whole area at the front of her pussy. His hand and his tongue working counterpoint to each other, and him pacing his movements against hers to keep her off balance. To keep her guessing. To reinforce that she was his to command.

When he judged that she was ready, set up a steadier, faster rhythm with his hand, a steadier and firmer rhythm with his tongue, and now reintroduced the finger into her pussy. He listened as she started moaning and gasping. He watched as she laid her head back and took in a long deep breath, then tilted her head forward to let it out slowly. He knew her well enough to judge how close she was to cumming. So he stopped. Pushed his fingers into her ass all the way and stopped moving. Pulled his finger out of her pussy and pulled his mouth away. Waited a couple of heartbeats and exhaled slowly over the wettest part of her pussy and clit.

She let out a low moan. "Oh, God. You bast..." She didn't finish the word because she'd opened her eyes and looked at him. He was leaning back against the glass, staring at her, with his fingers in her ass like it was the most natural thing in his world.