tagErotic CouplingsGive In To It...

Give In To It...


He finds himself standing behind her in the queue of symphony goers waiting for the theater doors to open, closer than ever. The pale material of her dress lies in contrast to her smooth tanned skin. He admires the way the thin straps band across her slim shoulders. His focus narrows to the delicate tab of her dress zipper. He can't help himself: He imagines the tab pinched between his thumb and finger. He can see the back of the dress parting under his gentle downward pull, revealing the bare skin of her back.

Lost in his imaginings, he momentarily forgets where he is. Before he realizes he is doing it, his fingers reach out to brush the top of her dress between her shoulder blades, seeking the small key that locks her clothing onto her body. Her soft skin sears his fingers. The instinctive rearward jerk of his hand jolts him out of his fantasy.

What he finds upon his return from his imaginings is even more arousing. Her back arches to allow her to turn her head, so she can look behind her for the source of the touch upon her skin.

He struggles, his mind focused on her posture. It's the pose he imagines her in while she lies undressed before him. He can see her lying on her stomach on the crisp sheets, her naked back a plane of smooth burnished flesh. The turning of her head to look at him so she can beg him to fuck her would cause her bottom to arch up invitingly. He knows this. He sees his hands reaching out to grasp the twin round curves of her ass...

Tearing himself away yet again from his fantasy, he is greeted with her direct stare. He sees a mixture of amusement and annoyance. Her eyes dart away from his, aiming for the spot where his own zipper lies. If there was any doubt in her mind, the bulge in his trousers removes it. Her knowing eyes move back to his again.

"Can I help you?" she asks.

"Your, uh, tag was sticking out of your dress. I just wanted to fix it for you." His mouth has turned to dust.

She looks at him, the amusement in her eyes more pronounced. "My dress doesn't have a tag."

She has him at a complete loss for words.

A disturbance at the front of the line saves him any further embarrassment. She turns, her attention drawn toward the movement ahead of them. A wave ripples back through the queue, pushing those in front into those behind them. As with all waves, what started as a small ripple builds to a powerful undulation. When it reaches them, he finds her thrust against him off balance.

His hands reach for her hips to steady them both. He feels the firm curve of her ass press hot against his erection. He fights for the self control to keep himself from holding her there, for the control to keep his own hips from pressing his cock deeper between the cleft of her ass. The wave rolls past but she makes no move to break the contact.

She leans forward, peering around the crowd toward the front of the line. Her stance increases the pressure of her ass against his cock. He watches a small smile play across her lips, making him think that she's heard the low groan he couldn't hold back.

She rights herself, breaking away from him. Another look at him over her shoulder.

"Would you be so kind as to hold my place in line, please? I need to visit the ladies' room."

He swallows hard, searching for any bit of moisture to ease the dryness of his mouth so that he can answer. "Of course," he croaks.

"Thank you." She turns away from him, moving in the direction of the theater doors.

He's left with only the faint scent of her perfume and the maddening burn of his desire.

The minutes pass...ten, fifteen, fading softly away, but she doesn't return. He's both disappointed and relieved. It's dangerous ground he's standing on.

He knows he doesn't have any business here. He certainly doesn't have license to let his fantasies unhinge him enough to have touched her the way he did.

It's better this way. Safer, he thinks.

She'd given just enough of a glimpse through the keyhole of desire to allow him a vision of what might have been. He feels himself stirring again within his trousers at the memory of his hands on her hips, his erection nestled in the satin draping her firm ass.

He's drawn out of his reverie by the forward motion of the line. The doors to the theater have opened, allowing the polite queue of patrons their entrance to the lobby. He lets his eyes wander, searching for her, hoping for one more brief glimpse before being seated in darkness and swept up by the orchestra.

Nothing. She should be easy to spot,a splash of sapphire amongst the black and white of the other attendees, but there's no sign of her. She's either already been seated or has left. It's time to thrust his salacious thoughts to the back of his mind, to call up later in the cool secure darkness of his hotel room.

He glances at his ticket, noting the location of his seat. His eyes move up to the placards above the sets of double doors leading into the main theater. Finding the doors that correspond to his seat, he begins making his way through the crowd.

A flash of sapphire catches his eye,making his heart beat faster. His peripheral vision confirms what his eyes have already told him.

It unnerves him to find her gaze upon him. The buzzing in his mind makes him feel as though his brain has dropped all the way to his shoes then bounced back into place. She is headed in his direction.

In shock, he stops moving and is hit broadside by a heavyset man. The resulting fumble distracts his attention. He utters an apology to the man, receives an annoyed response. The man moves on through the crowd.

In the seconds it has taken for the exchange to happen, she has come to stand before him. He looks at her, not knowing what to say. She doesn't seem to know either. Instead, she reaches for his hand, drawing it up so his palm faces upward. She deposits something small and lightweight into his hand and curls his fingers around it. His mouth opens, to at least say hello, but in an instant she is gone again into the crowd.

His first impulse is to follow, to not let her go so easily. He looks in the direction she chose, but then his eyes look down at his fist. He stares for a moment, disbelieving. It dawns on him that he is standing in a very public place with a very intimate item in his hand. He shoves his fist into the pocket of his coat.

He's got to get to his seat before the ushers block the doorways. He thinks he has time, so instead of heading for the main theater he pushes his way into the men's room, locking himself in one of the stalls. His hand pulls free from his pocket; his assessment was indeed correct: Her panties lie crumpled in his palm.

He uses both hands to unfold them. When he does, a small piece of paper flutters to the floor. He bends to snap up the tiny folded note. Her panties find their way up to his face, filling his head with her secret aroma.

He reads the brief inscription. His cock is painfully hard.

One last inhalation before he shoves the panties back into his pocket. He shreds the note, flushes it down the toilet. He's moving fast now, knowing time is short. He needs to make it to his seat, needs the distraction of the symphony until he can act on the words she's sent. He makes it to his seat, barely.

In the anonymous dark of the theater, his hand repeatedly buries itself in his coat pocket, rolling the silken material of her underwear over his fingers. He presses his fingers under his nose so he can inhale the scent of her. It crosses his mind that the woman sitting to his left must think he has a cold or allergies, the way he keeps bringing his fingers up to his face. God, the scent of her is driving him mad. He doesn't hear any of the music, his mind in turmoil.

The symphony over, he somehow manages to keep his aching erection to himself and make it to the sidewalk without getting arrested for public lewdness. He hasn't seen her since she gave him the panties. Outside, moving away from the bright marquee lights, he finds walking clears a bit of the haze in his mind.

His conscience asks: What the hell does he think he's doing? He stifles it by drawing her panties back up to his face. To the people he passes, he is only wiping his nose with a handkerchief.

For all the possibilities the night holds, his mind is a complete blank. He's unable to conjure up anything beyond the vision of her in her evening gown. He's still trying to assemble some form of coherent thought when he arrives at his destination. Unsure of how to gain access, he begs help of the concierge. He thanks the man and makes his way to a single elevator away from the main bank of elevators serving the general population of the hotel.

He's alone with just his thoughts in the elevator while it draws him up to...what? He doesn't know. He's nervous and excited but not guilty. Not yet. He didn't expect that. He resists the urge to wipe his damp palms against his trousers. The elevator begins to slow. The doors open on silent rollers, admitting him to a short private hallway with a single door at its end.

The door is open. She is standing in the hallway, her back to the wall, waiting for him as though knowing he would show. Her dress shimmers in the dim light, drawing his eyes over her body. In a few steps, he is once again standing before her.

His eyes draw downward from the swell of her breasts: Her wrists are bound with black velvet-covered handcuffs.

Jesus God...

"Just for tonight. I'll be whatever you desire," she whispers.

She watches for his reaction to the words. More than one man has turned and fled. She can see his struggle, with her, with this new turn of events. Behind his eyes, she sees a whisper of panic.

Give in to it...

"What's your name?" He's stalling for time, and she knows it.

"Does it matter?" Her dark eyes defiantly hold his gaze. Shameless.


"I don't know." She can see he didn't expect this.

"Do you require a name to call me by?"

Give in to it...

"I don't kn...Yes actually, I do. I need to call you something, otherwise it feels..."

"...wrong." His unspoken word hangs between them. Of course it's wrong. This entire encounter is wrong.

He takes a deep breath before continuing. "It feels...impersonal," he finishes. This is the final hurdle. There's nothing more to discuss. All that's left is the doing. Her soft sigh reaches his ears.

Give in to it...

"Beth, then. You may call me Beth for tonight."

She can tell he's not quite satisfied with her answer. She'll have the answer to her own question within the next thirty seconds...Yes? Or no? His body language tells her that he's still struggling.

His eyes...

The panic from moments ago is gone, replaced by something dark and threatening. His gaze rakes her body, appraising, assessing, planning. She watches the tip of his tongue flick out to wet his lips. The raging anticipation running through her makes her grateful for the continued support of the wall against her back. Without it, she might very well sink to the soft carpeting of the hall.

He moves closer, invading her personal space for the first time since he arrived. The smell of him sends a deep wave rippling through her. His eyes move out of her line of vision, his lips seeking the small cup of her ear. Her head tilts back to give him enough space along her throat.

"I'm going to put your panties back on you...Beth."

His rapid breath swirls against her skin, loosing a soft stream of air from her own lips. His demeanor has shifted: Something primal has switched on. Even the timbre of his voice is different than when he asked for her name.

He backs away from her, his hand pulling her pale panties free from his coat pocket. She watches him press them to his face, inhaling her scent.

He's still holding the panties to his face when the fingers of his other hand hook over the gleaming chain suspended between her slim wrists. He begins backing through the doorway into her room, tugging her along by the handcuffs. Her feet drag just enough to offer some resistance.

Only when the door is closed behind them, does he make his way to the stretch of carpet by the sofa. The iridescent sparkle from the high rises surrounding them offers the only light in the room.

He takes a small step away from her. His fingers remain hooked around the chain, pulling just enough to keep her hands stretched out before her.

"Hold your hands out until I tell you otherwise."

"Okay." It comes out in a hushed excited whisper.

He's looking at her, not moving. The lights of the city behind him make it seem as though the night sky has fallen to the ground and shattered all around them. With his back to the windows, his face lies in shadow but it's not enough to hide...

His eyes...

Hunger. Power. Lust. Darkness. She'd seen his look only once before and had been searching for it ever since.

She dares not move anything but her eyes, for fear of breaking the spell. Only her gaze follows his body, watching him kneel in front of her. His fingers find the hem of her evening dress, pinching it between finger and thumb. He's running the pad of his thumbs across the material as though testing it, appraising it.

His hands cease their fondling. She watches his face tilt up toward hers.

God...his eyes...

Give in to it...

Her dress begins to be pulled up her legs as he rises to his feet. Cool air tickles her burning cunt, drawing a single quiet moan from her. He pulls the gathered skirt of her gown up through her cuffed hands, using her bound arms to drape the material off her body just above the hips.

She sees him step back, admiring his handiwork. Still as a statue she stands, letting him fill his mind with all that she can be. Just for him. The beautiful shoes. The silken thigh-high stockings that end in lace. Her naked cunt, which shamelessly advertises her lust.

He bends down again, retrieving the panties he cast aside.

"Put them on."

She balances on one slim heel and then the other. His hands curl around her ankles, thumbs hooked into her panties. A searing wave of wetness trails down her thigh to darken the lace of her stocking top. It's the first time tonight he's touched her this way.

His palms glide along her silk clad legs, drawing the panties up. From her ankles to the back of her calves, his hands move around to the outside of her thighs. She's still holding steady although it's taking every ounce of strength to do so. His hands slide up over the soft curve of her hips, settling the panties along the dip of her waist.

His thumbs trace the edges of her panties, moving down to the valley where her legs meet. She moans, louder this time, when she feels his thumbs sliding all the way down the outside of her cunt. They retreat just as slowly, tormenting her.

His hands come to rest on her hips. He licks his lips, wearing the expression of a starving man seated before an extravagant meal.

"Those panties are mine now. When I take them back I'll feel how wet you've made them for me."


"Where is the key for the handcuffs?"

She nods toward the small end table by the sofa. A silver chain with a tiny silver key suspended on it snakes across the top of the dark wood. He takes stock of the location before his gaze returns to her.

"You may relax your arms now."

Only when she lowers them against the front of her dress, does she realize how tired her muscles have become. The hem of her dress whispers through her hands as the skirt falls to cover her nakedness.

"Undress me now, Beth."

Her hands rise together, seeking the knot in his tie. Metal clinks softly against metal from the chain that binds her wrists together.

Give in to it...

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