The Seduction

I don't think I'd ever been so nervous about anything in my life. A date. Nothing big. But after two years of celibacy, it seems monumental. My hands shake a little as they fasten a fine gold chain around my neck. Breathe, I warn myself, just breathe.

The doorbell rings. Oh, this isn't going to help my pulse at all.

Your eyes warm appreciatively when I open the door. It makes me flush a little. Ridiculous, to still be able to blush at this age. I smile and duck my head slightly as I get my coat, hoping you won't notice. Your quiet chuckle behind me confirms you haven't missed a thing. I flush even more but force myself to look at you and smile. What a look. The heat in your eyes. I can feel my knees clenching.

"Ready to go." I murmur quietly, desperate to get out into public where it just has to be safer for my equilibrium. I see your eyes flash in recognition and amusement, and I have to laugh. Am I so transparent? Apparently so.

By the time we're seated at the restaurant, my nerves have calmed somewhat. Our lazy, friendly banter has done a lot to put me at ease. Still, the sensuality of those first few moments teased at the edges of my senses. It echoes through my mind as I watch your hand cup the wine glass to bring it to your lips. Such a hard, sensual mouth.

Would your kiss be hard, or soft, or deep, or all three? In my mind's eye, I see you pushing me up against a wall. You slide your hand over the hollow of my throat, under my chin, behind my ears, before burying it in my hair, cupping the back of my neck. Your body settles against mine, making my skin tingle with its heat. Your eyes keep contact with me the entire time as those hard lips come closer, my body softening in response, lips parting, and then you're kissing me, and it's soft but then it's hard and so very deep, sensual wet kisses that steal my breath from my body and make me want to wrap myself around you and pull you into me until we're both so deep in each other it wouldn't matter if the world exploded and...

"... wine?"

The waiter hovers expectantly over my glass. Cursing my hormones and my damned unruly body and my imagination in equal

parts, I nod with a faint smile and accept more wine.

I watch you covertly as we drive to the theatre. You're so sexy, it makes my heart pound a little harder just looking at you. One strong hand wrapped around the leather-wrapped steering wheel, the other resting casually on your leg. My eyes are transfixed by the hand on the wheel. Your thumb strokes back and forth over the leather, rubbing it as though enjoying the tactile difference between leather and seam. My always fertile imagination jumps from A to B to C immediately, imagining that thumb caressing my nipples, and other, lower places.

With a stifled groan I squirm in my seat as my nipples harden against the soft black lace of my bra. Small raspberries, begging for attention. This is what I get for two years of celibacy. Too soon, we pull up in front of the theatre. Too soon, because I haven't yet managed to water down the fires that burn, and I am afraid you will see.

You turn off the car, laughing at something I've said (how have I managed to keep up a conversation? I may never know) and turn to me. The laugh becomes a smile, which becomes more slight as you see me watching you, see my eyes and cheeks a little brighter than before. Your eyes travel south, resting for an aching moment, then two, on my breasts. Nipples still painfully hard. Pushing against the soft black knit top I'm wearing. No way to miss it.

Your smile has turned into something more like a smirk by the time your eyes met mine again. You lift a hand to my cheek, my ear, and whisper, "Come here".

I lean forward and watch your mouth. I part my lips and then we are kissing, and it's soft and light and teasing. You rub your lips over mine the way I'd pictured you rubbing them over my, well, other parts of the body, okay, nipples and neck and knees and clit and, oh my...

It's amazing and slightly wet and soft and it isn't enough, I need more, want more, more of you, you taste and smell so good. I whimper. No other way to describe it. Soft sounds issuing from my throat, urging you on. You chuckle and pull me a little closer, holding me still for a deeper seduction. Your tongue tangles lazily with mine. My thighs clench, squeezing my pussy. God, you taste good. I want more. I wonder what you will taste like on your neck. On your chest. Lower. Your fingers cup both of my shoulders, squeeze, slide down my arms until your thumbs are close.

Closer.

When they brush my nipples, it's like you've taken a live wire to them. I jerk, and the little sounds in my throat become bigger ones. A moan. Another moan. Your thumbs touch me so lightly, so softly, just flickering almost-not-there touches. I can feel them, though, as though my nipples are connected directly to my clit. Every time you touch me, I can feel my clit ache just a little more, my thighs clenching and releasing. I whisper into your mouth that you're driving me crazy.

"Good." you murmur against my lips. And that dark chuckle again.

When you release my mouth, it feels warm and swollen and vaguely empty. I look up at you, slightly dazed with arousal. You smile, touch my hair, and say, "Time to go."

We fight our way through the crush of people to find our seats. I'm slightly shocked when the usher directs us to a private box, and I look at you over my shoulder. "A box?"

You smile. "Hey, it's your first date in two years, it should be something special, right?"

I stop walking and touch your hand. "That's just about the sweetest thing I've ever heard. Thank you!"

You twine your fingers with mine, stretching and flexing against my hand. Your thumb sketches a naughty little circle in my palm, and you look in my eyes as my body begins to react. "You're very welcome."

Did I mention how crazy it is that I can still blush at this age? It turns out that the box is very private. Two elegant chairs face the balcony, turned slightly toward the stage. A silver ice bucket, an open bottle of wine and two fluted glasses sat to one side. I wonder if I looked as amazed as I feel.

Once we're seated, you reach over and pour a little wine into each glass and hand one to me. I take a brief sip, wetting my lips, before looking up at you and thanking you again.

"This is really beautiful." I added.

The house lights began to dim. You smile and brush your lips over mine again before settling back against the chair. I find myself finally beginning to relax. The actors are better than I'd imagined, and I'm starting to get into the story. You've settled your chair even closer to mine, our thighs resting against one another. The nearness and warmth of your body suddenly makes it very difficult for me to concentrate on the stage.

You murmur something about one of the actors into my ear, your lips brushing against me, your breath warm and seductive. I don't even register what you've said, simply nod and try to breathe. I can't hide the shiver.

I feel your fingers at my wrist, moving slowly and softly over the hand resting in my lap until our fingers are entwined again. My senses are screaming. Every move, every touch is heightened. I'm going crazy. We're just holding hands, for goodness sake.

I feel your breath against my neck. I close my eyes and pray for strength as I feel your lips rub against my neck, moving very slowly and very softly, making me ache in places you can't see. I want to grab you and take you away, anywhere, someplace where we can grind into one another, again and again, until our bodies are sated.

My nipples stiffen again, pushing against the soft fabric of my knit top. Your fingers lift from mine, the back of each finger a means to torment me as you rub each lightly over me, a berry begging again for your attention. My thighs clench. Places lower and darker and (by now) far wetter twitch in response. I watch helplessly in the dark, unable to make a sound, while your fingers move on my nipples, sending darts of pleasure and tension down my body, making my knees ache. You move your mouth up to my ear, a sweet and dark whisper.

"Be very quiet." you warn softly.

I turn my head slightly and whisper back, "What are you doing? You're driving me insane."

Your tongue moves over my ear, quickly, lightly. "Think of it as another way to make this a special night."

My heart, already racing, picks up its pace. Your fingers move lower, touching my hand again, moving it aside. I can feel your fingertips, just the very tips, moving down my skirt, down my thigh, inside the knee, cupping, urging me to move my legs apart, give you access. Is it possible to go up in flames? It's getting hard to breathe. I spread my legs for you. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears, between my thighs, centred in my clit, a small aching stem. My short, full skirt isn't much of a barrier to your roving fingers. They skim underneath the fabric, tracing little repetitive circular patterns on the soft skin of my inner thighs, higher each time. Silently asking me to spread even wider.

I move my legs apart even more, giving you full access, leaving my body open to whatever caress you want to give. Your fingers move higher. Every single nerve in my body is focused on following the path of those fingers. I feel your thigh move against mine, your body start a little in surprise, and I smile to myself. I rarely wear underwear, but this skirt has been more than full enough to hide that fact. I hadn't really planned on you finding out so soon. Now, however, I was beyond complaining or offering up any sane rationales. My body needs your touch so badly it is screaming for it.

"No panties?" you murmur against my ear. "Interesting."

I chuckle very quietly, the sound a little desperate. I feel you relax your hand, feel the very tips of your fingers rub softly up against the humid crease of my pussy. I am so wet. I can feel the heat coming off me in waves. At each soft touch, my body stiffens more. I'm afraid to move, afraid to breathe, wanting contact with my aching clit so badly I'm ready to cry or beg. You slide your middle finger between my puffy lips, getting it wet, sensitising my inner lips to your touch. A little lower. Lower still. My pussy is clenching, waiting for something, anything.

Inside me, an inch, then two. I want to groan. To cry out. To scream, the tension is so thick. And I can't do any of it. Have to stay quiet. No one can know. You rub softly against my inner walls. The ache grows worse. I can feel every single pulse of my clit. It needs your touch. Your finger draws slight circles around the entrance to my pussy. I want to buck against your hand. My hips rise a fraction of an inch, begging for more contact, something solid, anything.

Your dark chuckle sounds in my ear again. My pussy muscles grip, release, grip, trying to close on you and bring you inside. It feels like forever, waiting, as your fingers move higher, sliding easily in my wet valley, coming closer to my clit. Closer. When your fingers close lightly on me, like a little mouth sipping at my clit, I think I will scream. My breath sucks in, held fast in my lungs, every ounce of my body focuses on the pleasure/pain of arousal as your fingers pluck at me.

My hips raise another fraction of an inch. You whisper dark sexy things in my ear, how soft I was, how wet, how you can smell me, how badly you want to taste me. Your fingers sip, and sip, pulling on my clit with every stroke, so lightly I'm ready to tear at you, tear at the walls, wanting you to fuck me, rub me, ram your cock up inside me until we both scream. I don't know how long this goes on, it seems like hours. My hips get higher, and my clit gets harder, my pussy wetter, and all the time you barely touch me, fingers moving so softly on my clit they are nearly nonexistent. I'm getting close. I can feel everything gathering, centring, waiting for that sweet release.

I'm opening and closing my mouth, wanting everything. You stop.

Move your fingers lower, angle your hand away from my clit, slide a lone finger inside me. I clench around it frantically, trying to get enough friction to come. It isn't enough. I feel like crying. I turn to you and mouth, "Please. Please. Oh, god. please."

You smile, your eyes feverishly bright with arousal, and continue to slide that single finger inside me, rubbing against my inner walls, feeling me pulse and flutter against you. My stomach clenches. I need it. I need you.

It slides in, and out, a lone finger, for long minutes while my stomach clenches and clenches less and less still, coming back from the very edge of orgasm. You can tell. The flutters are lighter, the clenching less desperate. Your fingers move up again to find my clit, so hard, so very hard this time, and this time I can't help it. I moan very softly and turn my head to you, and offer my lips.

Tongue sliding in my mouth, you kiss me deep and wet and slow while your fingers begin to tap on my clit, small short bursts of veiled power, sliding up the stem and back down, my stomach clenching again against your arm muscles. I am nonsense. I am outside reality. The world has narrowed to a few precious inches, your lips ravaging mine, your fingers tapping on my clit, then sliding, then tapping again, there is no theatre, no audience, no actors, just you and me and rubbing and soft gasps against your mouth and the wetness like a secret between us and soft touches and softer touches still and my hips raising off the chair and moving toward your hand and I don't care if someone sees because oh my god the pulsing clit and your fingers and yes, oh yes there and please just a few more taps and everything clenching and everything bunching and wanting to scream at the incredible ohmygodyesness and my hand clenched on your arm as I feel the wave and here we go oh my god break, and I buck against your fingers, ohyesonce, ohyestwice, nothing in my life sweeter than the release I am breathing against your mouth, you can feel it all the short pulses and the receding flitters as you slide a single finger inside me to feel the rest of it ebb and flow away.

I end up somehow with my face buried in your neck, and I lift my head to look at you, feeling muzzy and exhilarated and more sated than I think I've ever felt in my life.

You kiss me sweetly on the nose, the lips, as your hand withdraws to cup me ever so gently. The odd shudder still moves through me, and I accept your kisses, acquiescent for the moment, knowing that once I get my breath back I would enjoy the next step of my seduction. And yours...