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The Rules |
by Samantha"These are the rules," I told you. "First, you must stay seated. You are not allowed to get out of the chair." When you nodded to show me you understood, I continued. "Second, you are not allowed to touch me. You can touch yourself," I rushed on, blushing, "but you can’t touch me." You nodded again. "Third, we can ask each other to do, uh, you know, stuff. To ourselves. But if one of us is uncomfortable we don’t have to do what the other is asking. Do you agree to all the rules?" For months after seeing it in a movie you had been trying to get me to dance for you, and I had finally agreed. So when I told you the ground rules you were only too quick to agree. Taking a deep, nervous breath, I mentally braced myself for what I expected to be a very embarrassing and uncomfortable situation. I never had expected to enjoy it as much as I did. Telling you that I would be ready in a few minutes, I asked you to set up a chair for yourself and to put the radio on to something soft and jazzy. I chose my clothes carefully, applied fresh makeup and perfume and combed my hair into a tangle of curls around my face. Out of reasons to stay in the bedroom, I joined you in the living room. You were sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, your eyes expectant and bright. I stood a few feet in front of you and closed my eyes, trying to feel the music. I began by moving my body slowly to the music, feeling stiff and silly. I knew you were watching me, and it made me feel all too aware of my body, my movements. "Calm down," you said softly, "relax and enjoy yourself." Your voice had already dropped to the sexy pitch you used in the bedroom. It caressed me and made me feel bolder. I lifted the hair off my neck, forgetting that the movement raised my breasts to stand out high and firm. I heard you suck in a quick breath, but forced myself to hold the position as I continued to sway my hips to the sensual music. "That’s nice," you told me, "very nice. Why don’t you take off your shirt?" Your voice sounded choked, and I opened my eyes to look at you, surprised. I felt heat rush through me when I saw that you were already hard and caressing yourself through the cloth of your jeans, cupping and squeezing your erection. With shaking hands, I grabbed the hem of the top I was wearing and slowly worked it up my body. I paused when I reached my breasts but you urged me on, "Keep going." I pulled the top the rest of the way off and you moaned when you saw what I had worn underneath. The bra I had chosen was peach, almost the color of my skin, and nearly translucent. It pushed my breasts together, deepening my cleavage. It opened in the front. Further aroused by your reaction, I slid my hands down over my breasts, under them, and around to the sides. I closed my fingers over them, squeezing slightly, causing them to swell above the top of the bra. You moaned again, and continued to rub yourself. "Touch your nipples," you told me, your breathing growing ragged. Keeping my hands open and using just the tips of my index fingers, I rubbed my nipples into tight, hard peaks. When I pinched them softly I heard you whisper, "Oh my god." Continuing to move to the music, I slid my hands down my body to the elastic top of the loose slacks I had worn. I rolled the top edge of the pants down, folding the material over itself until I had gotten partway down my hips. Twin edges of slim peach lace rode high my hips. I turned my back to you, and I heard you groan again when you realized that the back of the panties I was wearing was little more than a slim strip of peach lace. I looked back at you over my shoulder as I continued to roll the pants down, exposing the smooth skin of my ass to you. You quickly unbuttoned your jeans, and arched up in the chair and kicked out of them. You left your underwear on, your erection clearly outlined beneath the thin fabric. I turned back around to face you, letting the pants drop and stepping out of them. "Oh my god," you repeated, staring hard at the small triangle of peach lace barely covering me. I knew you were watching my hand as I moved it to cup myself, and I heard your moan turn to a whine. Even through the fabric of my panties I could feel how wet I was, how soft and swollen. I lightly squeezed myself and felt another surge of wetness when you drew your hard cock out of your underwear and began to slowly stroke it. I had never seen you do that and it excited me incredibly. All nervousness now forgotten, I continued my erotic dance for you. "Touch it," you groaned, "touch your wet cunt for me." At your words I felt a rush of tingles through me, and a deep throb echoed the sensation in my cunt a moment later. I slid my fingers inside the patch of lace, then between my slick lips. I couldn’t remember ever having been that wet, and my finger slid easily against my aroused flesh. "That’s it, oh god, that’s it," you moaned and began to stroke yourself faster. "Come closer so I can see it." you asked. I stood in front of you, and slowly placed one foot on your thigh. I could feel your hot breath fanning across my stomach as I again slid my fingers inside my panties. I began rubbing one finger against the aroused nub of my clit and I could feel your movements as you began to fuck your hand. "Oh, god, baby, I’m so hot. So hot for you," you groaned, "I’m going to come so soon." The idea of your hot come shooting all over your hand, all over yourself, made me wild and I began to tremble. My fingers moved faster and I was rocking my hips to meet the wet thrusts of my fingers. "That’s it, oh god, yes," you moaned. I was watching you now, watching your hand move up and down your hard cock, squeezing the head a bit at the top of each stroke. I wanted to watch you come so badly that I was suddenly shameless. "Come for me," I told you, "I want to watch you come." You groaned loudly and your movements became more jerky, your hand moving even faster. "Yeah, that’s it, I want to see you come," I whispered. I was so close to my own orgasm that I was barely touching myself now. It seemed as if a single touch of my fingers and I would come in an instant rush. You groaned again, then said, "Oh god, I’m coming . . . I’m coming," your words ended in a whine as the first white streak of your come shot out of you. I pressed my fingers hard against my clit and was overcome by my own orgasm as I watched pulse after pulse of your come land on your hand, your leg and my thigh. You continued to stroke yourself until the last bit of come had seeped from your cock.
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