tagErotic CouplingsTwenty Says

Twenty Says


September 2009

I should have known how things were going to end the moment Adam took his wallet out. We'd been dating for over a year and had gotten comfy with one another's mannerisms and foibles to the extent we were very couply so anything out of the ordinary meant trouble. In a good way. It was our scheduled regular night in: food and wine in front of a DVD. Except it appeared he had other ideas.

We'd been drinking a little during dinner and I was what one of my colleagues often referred to as 'socially relaxed'. Adam stood up in front of me in his typically nerdy attire -- as if to quell any doubt, his T-shirt sported the large phonetic spelling of 'geek'. With boyish charm wrapped in a lanky frame, balanced by an off-the-wall sense of humour, I adored my geek.

He counted twenty out of his wallet and handed it down to me. I looked up at him, puzzled. "Since when do I get housekeeping? What's the catch?"

A sly grin broke out on his face. "Go upstairs and change. You can wear anything you choose, but twenty says I have some say in your outfit."


He counted the rules on his fingers. "One: short skirt or dress; Two: hold-ups; Three: heels."

"Is that it?"

"Yep. Everything else -- your choice of top and underwear -- is entirely up to you. Show me your sexy side."

"Which side would that be?"

"All of them."

"What are we going to do? So I can dress appropriately."

"You'll find out."

"Not even a clue?"

He shook his head and proffered the cash. I had to trust him. The glint in his eye said it would be worth it.

"Deal," I said, snatching the notes from his hand. I stood and kissed him quickly then ran upstairs.

He called up after me, "Bring the money back down."

On the way up I was smiling to myself at how easy it was going to be, but by the time I reached the bedroom I'd altered my outlook. The trouble is that when someone says you can wear anything at all, suddenly it becomes difficult to make a decision.

Standing in front of the wardrobe, I pondered. Heels and hold-ups went well with my very short black skirt because the band at the top of the hosiery would just be visible beneath the hem. It was an attractive proposition that was sure to make his blood boil, but it wasn't very subtle. That could be a last resort in case nothing else presented itself. I had a couple of evening gowns from various functions and balls I had attended over the years, but what if they were too theatrical or too fussy for whatever he had planned?

I thumbed the hangers. There were plenty of regular dresses for different seasons but there was always something wrong with each one: too long, too elaborate, too flimsy, too everything. Decisions, decisions. Eventually I whittled it down to a handful of choices but it took a few attempts at holding each garment against me to decide that my black floral print dress with the integral belt would be the one. It made me feel glamorous and less like a trophy date than the alternatives.

Stripping to my underwear I admired myself in the full-length mirror. The gym sessions had started to pay off at last, and as I flexed my tummy muscles felt satisfaction at the results. Trim but not thin; lithe yet curvy in the places men paid most attention, and now -- thanks to my regular encounters with the rowing machine -- with stamina to match my burgeoning sexual appetite. Adam had really started to bring out the animal in me recently and the extra energy meant I found it easier to keep up with his physical demands.

I unhooked and discarded my bra in a corner of the room and cupped my ample boobs with petite hands. The pale pink nipples pointed straight out and topped large, toffee-coloured areolas perched on my soft, fleshy mounds. Was there a hint of sag about them now, or was it my imagination? I wasn't getting any younger, but hoped the latter held true.

Sifting through my bra collection I contemplated the options. Underwired: definitely. Balcony: why not accentuate? Lace: without a doubt. That left me Hobson's choice, which suited me just fine. At least one decision was easy.

Fastening the clasp, the burgundy bra felt snug against my breasts, taking up their weight as it performed the lift and separate task. I studied the effect in the mirror and made some adjustments to let the alabaster upper surface spill a little. Perfect, I smiled. Up and out, just as men like them. Now for the panties.

I rummaged the drawer looking for some that would deliver the right message: if I was going to dress up I was determined to do it properly. I adored dressing up, even just for a dinner date at a cheap local restaurant with Adam, so to be paid for doing something I loved was my kind of heaven. The unsettling feeling that there had to be a catch somewhere along the line tugged at my subconscious, but I trusted Adam so did my best to push such thoughts aside and concentrate on making the most of my assets for him.

My underwear choices were my dark grey boy-shorts with a blackberry trim, the damson cotton panties with a cutesy bow at the front, a deep purple piece of fabric that tied at the sides and left little to the imagination, a burgundy thong, or something completely wacky like Spongebob Squarepants knickers.

Eeny meeny miny moe. Although the colour wasn't quite the same match as the bra, I was drawn to the piece of flimsy material and nodded to myself. I'd been wearing a thong all day so something a little out of the ordinary would be a welcome change. And these were sexy as hell and didn't often leave the drawer.

Hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my thong I watched myself slide the garment slowly down, feeling it snap out from between my tight buttocks, rolling it onto my thighs then down the remainder of my long legs to pool at my feet. I stood there momentarily, observing the way the burgundy bra enhanced the rise and fall of my breasts with my breathing. Passing a critical eye over my stomach and curvaceous hips I turned left then right, pouting a little, sucking in my belly. I still had some work to do, but Adam didn't seem to notice. He'd notice even less once those tiny panties were on. Or off.

My gaze fell lower. Nestled between my legs was the object of Adam's desire: my virtually hairless pussy. A small two-inch-wide tuft of fur covered the area above my clit which Adam enjoyed nuzzling against as he went down on me. I'd begun shaving at his request on my 30th birthday, not long after we'd met. The act made us both so hot that we spent the afternoon in bed and, to make it fair, I shaved him too, enjoying the feel of his hair-free balls resting in my mouth as I swirled my tongue over their wrinkled surface. I shuddered in warm remembrance and stepped fully out of my thong.

After I had positioned the purple scrap of material over my smooth nether lips and gingerly tied the straps I stepped back to admire myself, front and back. I liked what I saw and was sure Adam would too: the panties barely covered the important bits. I sat on the edge of the bed and chose some opaque hold-ups, then guided them over my small feet and shapely calves to their resting place, snapping each of the cool black bands against my slender thighs. They made my legs look sleek and lean and I felt powerful, making a mental note to wear them more often.

Time for the shoes. There was no contest here: my most recent acquisition was a pair of Louboutin heels that added around four inches to my height. After slipping them on, I stood. That made quite a difference to the overall effect. My bottom jutted out provocatively and the angle of the instep ensured my breasts were thrust even further forward and skyward. Was he in for a surprise!

Eager now to show off I quickly pulled the dress over my head and zipped it, tying the belt behind me. Twirling to let the dress spin and float back to caress my sheer thighs I decided I needed some final touches. Lipstick: red of course. A delicate Tiffany chain around my neck to direct his gaze if the bra and low-cut dress were too subtle. A pair of silver stud earrings and some dabs of perfume behind my knees and between my breasts. I squirted a little for my neck too, then combed my dark hair so it half covered my face and danced over my shoulders, finishing midway down my back.

I grabbed the cash from the bed and a final check in the mirror confirmed what I already knew: Adam wouldn't stand a chance to get through whatever he had planned. I was far too irresistible.

That was where I had underestimated him.

As I descended the stairs carefully in my black heels and entered the living room I found him sat on one of our straight-backed kitchen chairs in the centre of the room. The air smelled faintly of struck matches, the only light now the soft glow from the lamp on the sideboard, and the mantelpiece lined with flickering candles. It was still warm for September so there was no need for the heating or the fire.

From the state of things it looked as if the evening had been a while in the planning. His T-shirt and jeans were gone and he'd changed his entire apparel. He was now wearing a black dinner jacket, crisp white shirt and a chequered tie. I stopped in my tracks and he looked up at me in the doorway. A hungry smile spread across his lips and he uttered one word:


I grinned and approached. "Not too shabby yourself. Are we going out?"

As I stepped into his space ready for some heavy petting he commanded me to stop. "Where's the money?"

I handed the rolled up currency over to him, which he unfurled, smoothed a little and folded in two. He then reached for me, slid the hem of my dress ever so slowly up my thigh at one side until the top of the hold-up was visible against the backdrop of my creamy thigh and slid the money behind the band. It felt cold next to my leg.

"That's yours to keep. You've earned it already," he breathed. "You look stunning."

I shivered at the compliment and beamed, glad to have pleased him. Part of my psyche yearned approval and it was deeply satisfying to receive it, even if he was biased. There was no time for further reflection, though. Adam reached into his trouser pocket, retrieved his wallet and counted out another twenty. He folded it just like the other one, pushed the hem of my dress up the other leg and tucked the cash behind the band of the opposite hold-up.

"Twenty says you're to go to the stereo and choose some pieces of music; two minimum. Turn it up then come back here." He paused and looked up at me. "I want a lap dance."

My eyes widened and I started to protest. "What?! I don't even know what a lap dance is! How can I do something I've nev..."

Adam held up his hand to silence me. "I don't want to hear it. I've never had a lap dance before either so I have no idea what to expect. You have carte blanche to create your own version and tease me with it. I told you I wanted to see your sexy side and I meant it. I've paid and expect a good return on my investment."

I stood there open-mouthed. So this was his game. To treat me like a paid-for service. The idea caught in my mind as I imagined him using me later for his pleasure, hot bodies sliding against one another, him panting heavily in my ear, biting the lobe gently as we prepared to make love. Before I had time to take the scene further in my head, Adam continued.

"If you really are stuck, I've printed some tips I found on a web site. They're in front of the stereo."

I exhaled heavily despite not realising I'd been holding my breath. I stared at him for a few seconds longer hoping he was going to break into a grin and say he was kidding.

No such luck. His hazel eyes were unwavering, watching me consider the proposal. He knew I could call it off and he'd simply back down; that was the nature of our relationship: open and honest, nothing forced. But his expectation would be for me to accept the challenge and see it through. Part of me was surprised he'd asked. I knew it was a fantasy of his but for some reason never thought he'd deem me the type of girl to deliver it. I didn't dance as a rule, and hadn't enough alcohol in me to even consider it a dare. But I felt inexplicably flushed; I guessed partly from the anticipation of what Adam had requested and partly excitement from dressing up for him.

I looked across at my wine glass on the mantelpiece, the crystal sparkling in the candlelight, wondering if Dutch courage was the missing ingredient. For a moment I considered the situation he had created; him resembling a well-dressed movie star and me his date, with money stuffed into my hold-ups like some cheap hooker. Was I ready for this; to be his harlot for the night? A voice inside me -- probably fuelled by the earlier wine -- said yes and made me strut decisively across the room to the fireplace, directly past his field of vision. The candlelight cast soft distorted shadows of me on the far wall and his gaze took in the sight as I reached out to lift the wine glass he had refilled, bringing it to my deep ruby lips. I sipped and felt the tartness of the tannin in my cheeks and long warmth of the red as it slid down my throat. It was difficult to beat the Australian Shiraz.

Over the rim of the glass I looked at him sat in the chair, waiting patiently for me. Would I live up to his expectations or make a fool of myself? There was only one way to find out. With steely determination to do it right I replaced the glass and heel-toe, heel-toed my way past him to the stereo with as much grace as I could muster in the shoes; the thin spikes echoing off the laminate floor in the room. Normally so familiar, tonight the shoes felt borrowed.

In front of the stereo, as Adam had claimed, was a piece of paper which I skim-read. It listed seven lap dancing tips that didn't sound as difficult as I'd feared, truth be told. I went through each in my head, imagining trying them out, picturing the positions I'd have to put myself in to make them happen. Perhaps this wasn't so daunting after all.

I put the paper to one side and browsed our music collection by track, clicking and scrolling, discarding songs as I went: too fast, too slow, wrong mood, wrong lyrics. I hadn't even reached the 'C' section when two records stood out, both close to one another. The titles both began with 'B' and the artists both an 'A'. Belle and Adam. Was it a sign? I envisioned them playing; me dancing in time to the beats as he sat there desperate to touch me but unable to do so. A slow smile grew across my lips. Yes. They were the ones. I cued both tracks up and rotated the volume dial. The neighbours were going to have to just deal with it.

My heart fluttered as I thought of what I was about to do for the next ten minutes. If a lap dance was what he wanted, a lap dance was what he'd get. With a coolness I didn't know existed in me I slowly paraded back to the centre of the room and stood a couple of feet away from Adam, facing him. Our eyes locked. Tip number one had said I should always maintain eye contact as much as possible. Tip two I was about to try for the first time in my life.

I lifted my arm and pointed it straight over his head at the stereo. I fingered the play button on the remote control for a few seconds letting him wonder what was going through my mind, then pressed and threw the remote behind me into the armchair. I caught the rhythm of the 8 count-in by gently nodding my head and then began to fling my hair from side to side as AC/DC's 'Back In Black' spewed from the speakers. I raised my arm and pointed at him, dropping my chin to give my best "I want you" face, and started to gyrate my hips in time to the music. Slightly awkward and self-conscious at first, after a few bars and seeing the look of amazement and adulation on Adam's face I loosened up. By the time the lyrics kicked in I was well and truly into the swing of things.

My confidence grew and my gyrations became more overt; it seemed no action was too sensational. I slowly rotated to show him my backside, watching him watch me the whole time. It was such a rush to see his eyes widen as I momentarily stopped wiggling and leaned forward, sliding my hands down my lithe legs. The hem of my dress rode above the band of the hold-ups just revealing enough thigh to tease. I broke eye contact and straightened one leg while bending the other then switched, rocking from side to side in time to Brian Johnson's raspy vocals. I knew the sight of the very tops of my hold-ups and maybe the tiniest hint of velvety flesh above as my short dress billowed would make Adam hot.

As the chorus began I stopped moving, held onto my left leg with both hands and gradually stood, sliding my hands and smoothing my hold-up with delicate fingers. With my back arched I looked over my shoulder at Adam who was grinning widely. Time for tip number 3. Twisting my upper body in his direction I raised my arm again to point at him and then swatted my backside. He arched his brows, eyes sparkling at his once shy girlfriend. Was there a visible bulge forming in his trousers? I liked to imagine so. Perhaps I should make sure.

I picked up the beat again and completed my full circle of gyrations to end up standing and facing Adam. I strutted forward right to him so our knees were almost touching and bent forward, showing him my ample cleavage. The Tiffany chain hung between us and I placed one hand on each of his knees, spreading them wide. Using his legs to support my weight I leaned forward further, sliding my breasts up his neatly buttoned shirt and into his face. My nipples were straining through the fabric of both my bra and dress as they grazed his face and I backed off, keeping my hands resting on his knees. He had the scent and I'd teased him as tip number four had suggested. It seemed to have the desired effect: he looked up from deep within my cleavage and we gazed into each other's eyes.

The passion was welling up inside me and I had to fight the urge to kiss him. To take the heat off -- at least off me -- I released his knees and began to do the gyrating and slow turn combo right there between his legs, just inches from hands that I knew were aching to grab me. I wiggled my curvy bottom towards him and replaced my hands on his knees to take my weight. Looking over my shoulder down at him I caught him gazing at my rear and began to swish my way lower in time to the relentless beat, the lyrics of which were no longer registering in my mind. It was just me, the beat, and Adam.

Dropping to within an inch of his lap I ground further; left, right, left, right until I was brushing the top of his trousers with my dress. A little further pressure confirmed he was indeed sporting a hard on: I felt it pushing up towards me, desperate for freedom, desperate for my soft, warm, velvety home, but being denied by the clothes we both wore. His obvious arousal drove me onwards as I made slow, rhythmic circles in his lap.

I began to rise until I could support my weight fully on my feet, continuing to sway to the music. Over my shoulder I made sure he was looking up at me and gave him another smouldering gaze then ran my hands down my sides, tracing the shape of my body from hips to thighs. I caught the hem of my dress and raised it over my gyrating backside causing him to tear his eyes from mine and cast his roving gaze southward. The expression on his face confirmed he'd noticed the tiny scrap of material that barely covered my tight buttocks. I saw his hands flinch but, to his credit, he kept them by his side as I let the dress slip back down to cover me. It was exhilarating to hold this much command over him, and the butterflies fluttered their wings in approval.

Adam looked up with imploring eyes. He wanted more. My eyes promised more; just not yet. I was becoming horny on this power trip and felt my pussy moistening. I'd never imagined it could be so alluring to make somebody want me so badly. I spent all day in the office subtly using my womanly charms to get what I wanted in the male-dominated IT world, but never had it occurred to me that the things I did naturally in the workplace could be transferred, magnified and used as a tool to drive my man wild. Yet here was the proof.

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bybellefleure© 4 comments/ 38213 views/ 13 favorites

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