Teasing Gets You Everything

"Hi, Mark!" you exclaim as you slip through the crowd of coworkers to greet me with a warm hug. You stand high on your tip toes and throw your arms over my shoulders while I bend over slightly to meet you half way. You're much shorter than I am but for some reason you always choose to hug in this manner, with your arms on top. But I don't complain. Honestly, if I had to classify it, I would call it cute. I enjoy the feeling of being the big, powerful man and you the little, sexy woman. Wrapping your arms around my neck and pulling me into you like we're old family, you ask into my ear, "How are you?!"

"I'm good, Steph. Good to see you! How are things?" I ask as we pull apart with our hands lingering on each other's arms. You give the obligatory "fine" response as I let you go and take my arms out of my jacket sleeves.

"Oh, here, I can take that," you offer after interpreting the movement of my eyes searching the room for a hanger. "I think they're keeping the coats upstairs on the bed."

I call out a "thank you" as you disappear upstairs. Turning to the mirror beside the entry way, I take a quick moment to make sure my oxford and slacks are still in order. If I'm being honest, I chose this look specifically because of you. You complimented me once before on the combination of my Express blue slacks and brown accents in the belt and Aldo shoes. It has always stuck with me so I figured I'd try it again.

A quick adjustment of my belt buckle and then I continue greeting other coworkers, meandering through our boss, Jenny's, house to make sure I hit everyone at least once. By the time I have made my first round of the living room, 20 minutes have passed and I see you now back downstairs, chatting across the room. The polite conversation buzzes around me but slowly fades into the background as my eyes focus in on you. Like a scene from some romantic film, I watch as you smile and laugh in apparent slow motion and silence. Suffice it to say, you are a beautiful woman. Absolutely gorgeous, really. I've been attracted to you since the first day we met, but have never said anything about it for fear of making things awkward in the office. So instead I resolve myself to admiring you from a distance when the opportunity presents itself.

My eyes run down your body trying to take note of as much detail as possible. The way your bold, red lips glisten slightly and your hair bounces with each turn of your head. The way your off-white sweater hugs the contours of your slim body. The way it drapes comparatively loosely just over the tops of your hips which are displayed magnificently in those tight black yoga pants. Your socks are an off-white knit material to match your sweater and are bunched up about mid-calf. It's obvious to me that you aren't really going for 'sexy' with this look, more comfortable and cute, but for me it doesn't matter. For me you're always sexy. And besides, I like the way you show off your body without being blatant. Your clothes are never trashy, but never quite loose either. I'm almost certain you know you have a great ass as that is the closest thing you ever come to really showing off. Always in tight pants whether they're yoga or jeans or dress slacks, you're not shy about that aspect at all. And the days that you wear high heels to accentuate your legs...well, that is just a rare treat. Today it appears I am not so lucky, but I still can't complain.

"...Mark....Mark!"

I suddenly snap back to my surroundings and realize that Josh has come over and is trying to talk to me. "You ok there guy?"

"Oh, I, uh....yeah..." I fake a quick smile, and turn toward him, but can't help allowing my eyes to dart toward you one last time. And in this brief moment I realize that you are staring directly back at me. It's only a split second of eye contact but it shakes me. How long have you been watching me? Did you know I was staring at you? Is that smirk on your face because of something funny someone said or are you laughing at me?

I quickly turn away and force a work related conversation with in order to pretend like everything is ok. Words come out of my mouth and I somehow coherently respond to Josh's questions, but I have almost no idea what is being said. The only thing on my mind is that look you gave me and praying that my face isn't a flushed as it feels.

After a suitable amount of time passes without any embarrassing incidents, I am beginning to calm down again. I'm sure it was just a fluke eye contact. I'm getting too much into my own head and worrying about things that aren't real. Nevertheless, that moment of panic has made me thirsty, so I excuse myself from the current boring conversation I'm having and head toward the kitchen to find a drink.

As I turn the corner, I see you again, bent over at the waist, looking for something in the refrigerator.

I freeze dead in my tracks as my mind starts racing again.

"Good lord, why does she have to stand like that?" I think to myself. "Can't she bend her knees or something?!" My eyes trace the slight swaying of your hips, back and forth, back and forth, as you rifle around the fridge. I can immediately feel the blood coursing through my veins and the beating of my heart increasing in intensity to the point I think it's going burst from my chest. I can hear it in my ears, and almost as if you could hear it too, you turn around and smile without standing up.

"Oh, hey, Mark. Enjoying the party so far?"

But the way you say it and that same look on your face almost makes it sound accusatory. More like what you wanted to say was, "Oh, hey, Mark. Enjoying the view?" But I quickly convince myself that this is again all in my head. At least it is for now unless I fuck it up by not responding like a normal human being!

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, it's alright. You know, it's a work party," I say trying to act casual. "You need help finding something?"

"Well, Jenny just said there was an extra bottle of wine in here." You stand up and close the fridge, grabbing an empty bottle from the counter next to you. "But we're fresh out I guess."

"No, what?! We can't be out already! The party's barely an hour old!" I run my eyes over the room. "Here, look!" I step over to the counter and grab two bottles of wine from behind a catering box, holding them up for you to see. "Jenny just probably forgot to put them in the fridge. Red or white?"

I know it's dumb, but seeing the smile spread across your face as you excitedly say, "Red!" kind of makes me feel like a small hero. Like maybe I impressed you in some way. At the very least I made you happy, and I never wanted that feeling to end. But even that feeling paled in comparison to the feeling that rushed over me as you bounced toward me and wrapped your arms around my neck again, squeezing me tightly. Once again you lifted onto your tip toes and this time rose one foot into the air behind you. I just stood there like an idiot in shock with these two bottles of wine in my hands, unsure of what to do. When you pulled back and looked up at me, I could feel my face going flush again.

"Oh, hehe, sorry, Mark! I guess maybe I already had enough to drink! That's probably not appropriate for coworkers, right?"

It takes almost all of my willpower to not just drop the bottles of wine right then and there and throw you against the kitchen sink. But somehow I manage to maintain. "No, no, haha, it's fine. I don't care. What's life without a little inappropriateness?" I say while turning toward a bank of drawers to look for a corkscrew (and to try and hide the magnificent shade of red that I am currently turning).

"Good. I'm glad you feel that way," you respond as you lean against me. For a moment I freeze again. My hand hovers motionless over the open drawer as my mind explodes. Time slows to a near standstill as my entire being is focused on the fact that you're..."Is she flirting with me?!"

After what feels like hours, I am eventually brought out of my trance by a gentle prodding of your elbow into my ribs. "Hey, you ok, Mark? Are you gonna grab that opener or just stare at it?...Or is that a thing with you? You like just standing there and staring at stuff?"

My own voice screams inside my head. "Does she know?! Maybe I'm not crazy! Is she teasing me on purpose?! She knows I was staring at her!...Right?!"

But before I gather up the courage to either apologize or call you out on it, calmer heads prevail and I talk myself out of it. "Maybe it's just a coincidence. Maybe it was just a joke about staring at this drawer. Don't go admitting to something you don't have to admit to, Mark."

As coolly and naturally as I can manage in my current state, I simply laugh ambiguously and grab the corkscrew, choosing not to acknowledge the fact that maybe you know about my feelings for you. In my head, however, I am frantically trying to recount every interaction I've ever had with you. Trying to remember how many times I made an ass of myself. Trying to remember if there was any incident that would have spilled my little secret.

As soon as the bottle is open I pour you a glass of wine. "No such thing as having enough!" I say, handing you the glass. "In fact, I need a drink as well!" I grab a nearby bottle of scotch and pour myself a glass. But the silence in the room is deafening. I can feel your eyes burning into me and I can see that little devilish smile on your face out of the corner of my eye, almost like you're sizing me up, trying to figure me out. I am just about to say something uninteresting about work just to break the silence when you speak up.

"Hey, have you ever had a tour of Jenny's house? Were you here for the office Christmas party last year?"

I take a long swig of scotch and reply in the negative, both terrified and excited about where this is heading.

"Come on then! I'll show you around! She might be a bitch, but she has a great house!" You take me by the free hand and drag me quickly through the crowd. I try to act calm and politely say "hello" to people as I see them, but my mind is elsewhere. All I can think about is where we are going. Where this is going. And how it might have been a bad idea to wear such fitted slacks. I am beginning to feel them getting tighter by the second and the fact that you keep stopping abruptly and pulling my hand into the small of your back, resting it just above your ass cheeks, is not helping the situation either.

When we reach the base of the stairs you release my hand and pause on the first step to turn toward me. "Follow me upstairs," you command and then turn to walk up the steps, I swear swaying your hips more than usual. The tone in your voice though, the fact that you released my hand, that familiar look on your face...it all made this seem more like an invitation than anything else. But an invitation to what, I am almost afraid to imagine. By this point I am already achingly hard. My bulge strains against my slacks, threatening to rip them at the seams.

"Keep it together, Mark. Keep it together," I plead with myself as I watch you walk up the stairs. "She's your coworker and you're at your boss's house. Don't do anything dumb." I take a deep breath and push my bulge to the side, following you upstairs. With each step I take, I reassure myself that nothing will happen. Nothing will happen. Nothing will happen.

I see you turn into the room on the right and follow you in. Obviously this is the master bedroom. A large king-sized bed sits on the opposite wall, coats and jackets piled high at its foot. To the left is the master bathroom and to the right are double doors to what I would assume is a massive walk-in closet. You pull the doors open and step inside as casually as if you own the place. "Wow, Mark, look at this!"

I follow you into the closet and see you standing there, your mouth hanging open in an adorable shocked expression. "Isn't this closet enormous, Mark?! Look at these shoes!" You motion toward a wall covered in what seems like every possible style and color of women's shoes. "And these dresses! I never knew Jenny had so many clothes! She's pretty Plane Jane at the office, wouldn't you say?"

"Uh, yeah, I suppose." But in reality I never even stop to think about what Jenny is like at the office. All I can think about is keeping my hands over my crotch and trying not to stare too hard at you.

And perhaps it's the shortness of my response or the lack of conviction, but for whatever reason you look toward me. At first with a confused look. "Oh, come on, Mark, are you honestly saying that you've never checked her out before? She's not a bad looking woman, really." But then I see your eyes flash downward for a split second and that confused look melts away to that devilish smile.

Fuck. Now I know I am busted.

You turn away from me, letting that question linger in the air. You pull your hand along the hanging dresses and stop at a black stiletto heel which you take out for closer inspection. "So, Mark...Which of these outfits do you think I'd look best in?"

The question nearly knocks me over, but I desperately continue to try and put on a calm act. My hand has instinctively started to squeeze my massive bulge, almost to the point of white knuckles, but I barely notice.

"Steph, I, uh...I don't really know. I mean, I think you'd look good in just about anything."

As I was thinking it, I thought it would just be a polite thing to say to a woman, but as my own words fall onto my ears, I could hear the flirtatious tone and slightly regret the forwardness of it.

"Aww, that's sweet of you to say, Mark." You put down the black stiletto you were holding and pick up an even sexier pair of bright red, patent leather, 5" heels. "Like...what about these? Do you think I'd look good in these, Mark?"

My cock ticks beneath my hands as I watch your painted finger slowly trace the contours of the heel. Half of my mind is yelling at me to run toward you and ravage you right here in this closet, but the other half is yelling at me to run away. That little voice in the back of my head is telling me that this isn't right. This is wrong. This is so, so wrong.

"Look, Stephanie..."

But before I can even finish the thought, I hear you giggle and interrupt me. "Haha, geez, Mark, look at you blush! I didn't know you had such a thing for heels. It's ok, you don't have to answer." Your eyes flash down momentarily again. "I can see how much you would like it."

Shit, now I am really in trouble! My mind immediately goes into apology mode. I start racing thinking of how to explain myself. I think denying that I am aroused is probably out of the question at this point. But maybe I can somehow spin it? Maybe it was a spontaneous thing, or...

But again, almost as if you can see into my nervous mind, you interrupt my thoughts before I have a chance to formulate an escape plan. "You know what I used to play in high school, Mark?" You carry the red heel with you, playing with it as you slink past me back into the bedroom. "Truth or dare. Did you ever play truth or dare, Mark? I thought it was a lot of fun."

I watch you slowly sway over to the bed, mercilessly toying with me. You turn and sit on the side of the mattress, your legs hanging over the side. One at a time you slowly extend your legs into the air, pointing your toes as if admiring them through your knitted socks. "Then again, I got into a lot of trouble playing truth or dare. But trouble, being naughty, that can be fun too, right?" You reach down and pull one of your socks off revealing, in my opinion, the most perfect and beautiful little foot I have ever seen. You look at it for a moment, or more likely, you let me look at it for a moment, before slipping on the red heel and extending your leg again. "Do you want to play truth or dare with me, Mark?"

I know the answer that I have to say. I have to say no. Unequivocally. This is absolutely unacceptable! How much trouble would we get into if we got caught? Right here in our boss's house while everyone else is just downstairs! The fucking door isn't even closed! Just do it, Mark. Just say no and get out of here...

Yet despite my internal pleading, I hear the words "Sure, I guess" slip out of my lips.

That now familiar smile spreads across your face again. "I thought you'd say that." You turn and throw your heeled foot on top of the pile of our coworkers' jackets, making sure I have a good view. "So? Truth or dare?"

Despite my current condition, my conscience is still trying to make itself heard. In between taking mental snapshots of the scene playing out in front of me, in between thinking about how naughty and seductive you are to tease me on top of everyone's coats as if you wouldn't care at all if we made love right on top of them, I contemplate which option will get me into the least amount of trouble. I think for a moment before stuttering out the word "tr-truth."

Your eyes light up as if I have just given you some gift. As if this is exactly what you wanted all along. Without skipping a beat and staring directly into my eyes you ask me, "What are you hiding beneath your hands right now?"

The directness of the question and the ease with which it came out of your mouth give me pause. For a second I just stand there with my mouth hanging half open. "It's uh...uh..."

Fuck! There's no way I can admit to this! What have I gotten myself into?!

"Steph, it's nothing. Look, maybe this game isn't such a great idea."

But you silence me again by extending your socked foot and placing it over my hands, right over my thick, throbbing member. Your toes wiggle against my wrists, almost as if trying to work their way through toward my jeans. "Mark! That is not how the game is played! What are the consequences going to be if you don't tell me the truth?" You stare at me for a moment, just letting me sweat as your toes tease my imagination before smiling and swinging your legs off the side of the bed again. You stand up next to it, one foot in Jenny's high heel and the other in a kind of invisible heel just to keep your balance. In any other situation it would look silly, but right now, in this situation, fuck if it isn't the hottest thing I have ever seen!

You slowly step toward me. "I'm afraid that if you don't tell me, right now, that you can't help staring at me any chance you get..." You take another step. "...that you pray for the days I wear high heels to work..." Another step. "...that you were staring at my sexy ass downstairs as I bent over in the fridge..." You lightly place a single finger on my heaving chest and slowly slide it down toward my belt buckle. "...that your massive, hard, raging cock is begging to be let out right now...If you can't tell me the truth...Then I'm afraid I win, Mark."

You look up at me with an almost pouting look. As if you're disappointed and just want to play. Like a little girl begging her daddy for permission. My hand tightens around my shaft, squeezing it tightly and constricting it against my stomach. I can feel the heat of it radiating through my pants. I can feel my balls tighten and ache, dying to release the load that has been building inside of them all night. I can feel a sort of animalistic passion and energy, almost rage, taking over, silencing any remainder of the little voice once telling me to stop.

"Ok," you say with a dissatisfied look while slipping off the heel and walking past me toward the closet to replace it. "Looks like I win then I guess."

I still can't bring myself to speak, but my desire to act is much stronger and much more primal. Just as you get to the closet door, I reach out and grab you firmly, my strong hand wrapping around your wrist, causing you to drop the heel. I pull you toward me so that you quickly turn around and we meet, face to face. We look into each other's eyes, each of us breathing heavily. The look on your face is one of shock, as if you never thought you'd actually be able to tease me enough that I would snap. But you can see in my eyes that that is exactly what has happened. The roles have reversed and now I am in control. The fear and nervousness that I once felt, the realization of how wrong this is, is now washing over you. And you're powerless to stop me...do you even want to stop me?...as I spin you around and press you against the wall. My fingers intertwine with yours and I place them against the wall in front of you, just over your head. I release my grip on them and slide my hands down your arms, but you know without me saying anything that yours cannot move. I slip my hands down your back and wrap around your hips, finding their way under your sweater as my heavy breath teases the back of your neck. Your eyes close and you let out an involuntary gasp as your back arches, pressing your teasing ass against the wanting bulge that you have created. One large hand slides over your smooth stomach and over your tight black pants, slowly finding its way between your legs.