She heard his breathing become a little faster, and it excited her.
In the same voice she continued, “And then I let him pull down my panties.”
Just saying it made her more excited, especially when she saw him inadvertently look down at her waist. Knowing that he wanted to do it again, right now, but that he wouldn’t. Almost imperceptibly, she tilted her pelvis toward him, reveling in her control as she heard him make a faint groan.
She said, “I let him kiss and lick me, right here,” and reached down and touched herself lightly between her legs.
This time a groan for real. Oh god, she wanted to groan out loud herself.
She looked down. He was wearing bluejeans, and the bulge in front was huge, looking as if it wanted to burst free. And she had done that to him, just by talking! Well, that and taking her clothes off. It made her feel dizzy with excitement and power.
She wanted to do more, to drive him crazy the way he had driven her crazy yesterday. So she stepped slowly toward him, until her breasts were almost touching his chest. Then she tilted her face up to his, as close as she could get, and whispered, her eyes very bright and her voice unsteady with excitement, “And I really liked it. It made me want to…unzip his pants…and put his…cock…in my mouth.”
He let out a groan that was the big brother of the one before–“Uhhhhhh!”–and she suddenly knew what she wanted to do. Quickly, she dropped to her knees in front of him. He continued to moan as she unfastened and unzipped his jeans, and pulled them down around his ankles.
Then she scooped up her shorts and t-shirt and, before he could react, rose to her feet, turned, and ran back up the porch steps, snagging her glasses and magazine on the way. Then she darted inside the house, closing and locking the door behind her with a loud click.
Stunned silence. The kind of reverberant silence that exists after a thunderclap has completely faded away.
Then, the scream: “AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
It was so loud she thought the neighbors on the other side of the pond must have heard. Quickly, she dropped everything on the floor and ran to lock the back door and check the ground-floor windows.
The living room was at the back of the house and had a fine big picture-window that looked out over the pond behind the house on one side, and a bay window, with a cozy reading nook built into it, facing the woods to the north on another.
As she ran into the room she heard him outside.
He was laughing. Full, helpless, doubled-over laughter.
She quickly ran over to the bay window and knelt on the seat cushion, craning her neck for a glimpse of him. She saw him coming around the side of the house towards her, still laughing, though with less gusto. There was still more than enough light to see him, back-lit though he was. And for him to see her, apparently, because his laughter suddenly picked up strength as he continued toward her.
He had subsided somewhat by the time he had reached the window and stood in front of her, but not entirely. His shoulders continued to quiver, though, and now he smiled ruefully as he looked at her, shaking his head back and forth as if to say, ‘You got me that time’. Then, still smiling, and silhouetted by the fading light, he wagged his finger at her as if to say, ‘You’ll get yours’.
She crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him, enjoying her victory. She saw that although he’d pulled up his jeans, in his haste and distraction he had left them unfastened. Indeed, they had even fallen somewhat–she could see a triangular section of his underwear, white against the faded blue. She could even see that, although considerably reduced, there was still a good-sized bulge there. And this gave her another idea.
She was still in her bra and panties, having dropped all her other clothes by the front door. She rose from what was now a half-kneeling, half-sitting position in the window, and, knowing he was watching, slowly stood on the seat there, feet apart. Slowly raised her arms and clasped her hands behind her head.
Then she looked down at him–and smiled, sweetly.
His wagging finger had slowed to a complete stop as she’d stood up, and now hung there, forgotten, pointing at something nobody cared about. He looked spellbound.
She had never felt less like the Invisible Girl in her life–and she loved it. Loved being able to taunt him this way, doing what she wanted to do and having him helpless to do anything about it. The power of it made her tingle all over. She wanted more. She wanted to pay him back. She wanted to torture him.
So, still smiling down at him, she allowed her hands, with exaggerated slowness, to slide down the back of her neck, to separate there and drift down until they covered her breasts, cupping them, toying with them, slowly drawing her splayed fingers back and forth across them. Then, still in slow motion, her smile widening a little, she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, then reached up to pull down first one shoulder-strap, then the other. Then she lowered her arms to her sides. Her bra was now only covering her breasts by little more than force of habit.
Still looking straight into his eyes, she took a long, deep breath and let it out in a quick sigh.
The bra slipped down a fraction of an inch.
Another breath. Another sigh. Another fraction of an inch.
She reached up and with one finger began to trace a line across the top of her bra, with each pass nudging it a little further until it hung, barely covering her nipples…before finally slipping free. She lowered her arm and let it fall to her feet. Then she raised her hands to her now naked breasts and began to gently pull and pinch her nipples.
She watched his hand drop unnoticed to his side while this was going on. Saw his already sagging jeans, as if in chain reaction, begin to slither downward in sympathetic slow motion until, undiscovered by their hypnotized owner, they were half-way to his knees, leaving exposed what appeared to be a small white tent with a large slanted pole. As she continued to toy with her nipples she now saw his hand travel, as if by its own power–or perhaps by hers–and place itself, palm down, on the tent-pole, and begin slowly to rub there, up and down.
Oh god, she thought, I’m making him touch himself, just like he did to me! She was becoming delirious, power-drunk. She allowed her right hand to trail gracefully down, circling her navel and then continuing down onto her panties, massaging her abdomen for a moment before coming to rest, briefly, between her thighs. Then, still smiling but intent, watching him carefully, she began to imitate the motion of his hand on himself, synchronizing her movements to his.
For a few moments they continued together, a pantomime mirror act. Then she saw his eyes change and regain their focus, seeming somewhat puzzled. She saw him look down and discover what his hand had been doing without notifying him.
He quickly pulled it away and hitched his jeans up. When he looked up and she saw the still-startled expression on his face, she grinned at him–an ‘I got you again’ grin.