A/N: Please vote!
If I told you I was a liar would you believe me?
Is truth fiction?
Lisa
"Well then," sun was setting, "Follow the script exactly, from now on no talking." My new professional video camera has the shot lined up. Champagne bottle on the table, two place settings in the foreground. Joan and Ray at the balcony rail, standing as close as they can without touching, toasting with the flutes, sunsets orange globe shining through.
Unrecognizable with the backlighting, silhouettes slowly approaching the gourmet meal, lighting is perfect. So close they almost kiss, a boundary that cannot be crossed. Carefully pan down only her lips are framed coming into the light. Pink silk dress is beautiful, loose cowl neck, hints at the curves beneath. Move to the side so her profile shows, keep moving so I'm behind them.
Strong hands pull the chair so she can sit, spaghetti strap falls from her shoulder as she settles. Illicit touch as his fingertips draw it back to the rightful location, they both shiver at the forbidden contact. Candles on the table flicker, a disturbance in the universe. Pert nose and luscious lips at the top of the frame, trembling as his waist passes in the background. Close up as the glasses clink in a toast.
Pan down so the plates are in view, retreat so we can see both of them sitting at the table, viewfinder has no hint of their faces, nervous hands unfolding napkins. Ultimate seduction when a man takes so much care preparing dinner for a woman. Move around so they are in profile, the plates centered, champagne bottle and candles in the background.
Salmon with the perfect crosshatch grill marks, slices of eggplant matching. Two hearts overlapping on the side of the white plates, red sauce dribbled with such artfulness. Pesky strap has fallen again, delicate red nails trail from her side boob, slowly rising looping the thin material over her shoulder. Candles shimmer with his gasp.
Zoom in as his fork picks at a corner, tender morsels rising to her glossy lips, tongue reaching for delicacies he's feeding her. Perfectly executed feeding each other, his plate to hers, her plate to him. Zoom out so the frame captures her polished toenails stretch under the table, his fork clatters to the plate at the first touch. Erotic how their feet dance and massage.
Couldn't have planned better the strap falling again. Top slope of her breast flushing, cowl neck snagged in place with her protruding nipple. His hand reaching, she intercepts intwining his fingers, zoomed in for the smoldering passion. Remaining crumbs are irrelevant, her other hand protecting her modesty, dinner is over. Leading him away from the table, focus on their grasping hands.
Subtle how she commands him to stand in the middle of the room. Hugging the closest of the four poster uprights, shyly peeks one blue eye from behind, got the shot. Got the view over his shoulder as Joan strokes the post, a big penis. Slyly motions Ray closer, twists him so his butt rests against the bed slithering around the post to face him.
Wished the camera could see from her front when both spaghetti straps fell from her shoulders. Quickly she grasped his wrists to the edge of the mattress, step in so I can record the first kiss. Noses touch, close up is going to be fantastic, "No..not yet." She is not following the script. Microphone catches her words, lips leave a print on his cheek.
Kisses his jawline, lower, teeth latch on to his top button, supposed to be her hands. Adapt so I can get a good view of her head gnawing at the second button. Third button when she persuades him, keeping the grip on the side of the mattress, keeping his hands to himself. Pulls her dress up to his sighs of disappointment. Last button she spits across the room instead of dropping it to the floor.
Teething his shirt tails from his waist band, hands spreading the shirt, his physique on full display. Kisses one pectoral and the other, perfectly formed chest. Grips his elbows warning him to remain still as Joan swirls her tongue in his belly button. His shirt sleeves fall to his wrists, passive handcuffs.
Red fingernails glide over the profile in the not very loose jeans, right hand teasing the top button, can't seem to resit some scrubbing on his washboard. His huff's and puff's loud and clear. View over her bare shoulder is wonderful, second button undone when her digits journey to his nipple for a pinch. His body reacts to the dress slipping, exposing her breast.
Fingers reach for his pockets nudging his hips forward before applying downward pressure, tug of war with only three buttons released. Muscles between his hips flinch when the root appears, man flesh pointing down at an abnormal angle, Joan doesn't hurry.
