The Dance

After a few months of dating, we settled into a routine. He knew he didn’t have to, but he still text me before he was on his way over. More often than not he’d even ask if it was okay. I always told him it was, even teased him about it more often than not, but it was endearing.

It reminded me he cared, and didn’t take me for granted.

Tonight, I have something special planned for him. Technically, it’s a remnant from a previous relationship, something I thought would be fun back then. But that had been such a tragedy by the time it ended, I actually never got to show off what I had learned. And, truth be told, the last guy didn’t deserve it.

He did, though. Even if I had no idea if he’d like it or not — he had told me once, what felt like a long time ago now, that he had actually never been to a strip club before, and that he didn’t really care to visit one. Even after I told him I’d go with him, it didn’t seem like something he was all that interested in.

I know I was playing with fire, but it’s not like I could ever miss the way he looked at me, even when I was in a hoodie and sweats. He made it obvious, just with his eyes, that he couldn’t get enough of me. And that meant I was usually always turned on to some degree.

Tonight is no exception.

It’s one of those times just thinking about his impending arrival has me touching myself, but not going far enough to finish before he walks through the door. I‘m always ready for him, something I’m positive he is absolutely aware of, but he is definitely going to get the message tonight.

I’m ready when I hear the front door open and close. I slip into the bathroom when I hear him at the bedroom door, which is closed. He knocks, because of course he does, and I tell him to come in.

The door’s hinges creak and then he’s here, in my room, the space we’ve shared so often over the last several months that I can’t put a number on it. Mornings, afternoons, evenings. As much time as we can get, we’ve spent it here, away from the rest of the world, enjoying one another’s company.

”Beautiful?” He says from the bedroom.

He‘s had to have seen the chair by now, which makes me smile because I know he has to be at least a little confused. Which will make the surprise all that much better.

”In the bathroom,” I tell him. “Go ahead and take a seat, handsome.”

I hear the bed shift and I laugh softly. “No, you goof. In the chair.” And another shift and then I hold my breath for a second as I take one last look in the mirror. I’m wearing the lingerie I picked out weeks ago, a bright red piece that hugs my legs, my hips, and cups my breasts to pronounce my cleavage in a way I know he’ll love.

He tells me his favorite color on me is red. I can’t fault him for that. I do look damn good.

“Everything okay?” he says from the chair.

To answer, I step out of the bathroom. And there it is: the look he’s given me a thousand times before, but his eyes are a bit wider now, his mouth hanging open a bit lower than usual. I smile as I look at him and he consumes me with his eyes. God, he makes me feel so sexy it makes me ache.

I pass the bed and touch the screen on my phone, starting up the music I had paused. As it starts, I make my way to the space in front of him as he sits in the chair, hands on his knees like a good boy.

I turn my back to him and, slowly, bend over, making sure that my ass, with the thin slice of my thong pronounced against my tanned skin, is only a few inches away from his face. My hands slide down my legs, then back up, and as I straighten my back I look at him over my shoulder, smiling still.

”Surprised?”

He stares at me for a moment longer, then looks up into my eyes and nods. “Very. Goddamn, babe, you are so beautiful.”

I turn around on the ball of my foot and step closer to him, spreading his legs. I rotate my hips and raise my arms, twist my torso, drag my hands down over my breasts, then between my legs. I’m so wet I know he can probably see it on my panties, and, sure enough, when I look at his crotch I can see he’s already hard for me.

He reaches out to me and I shake my head. “No touching. Yet.” And I smile wider.

He nods. “Right. No touching.”

And then I’m dancing for him again. My hand grazes his crotch, then up to his face, and I lick his lips. To his credit, his hardening cock is the only part of him that moves. He can follow instructions so well.

I follow the routine I had set up and the song winds down. And, just as I had planned, as it ends I’m bent over in front of him again, my ass presented only for him, my hands wrapped around my ankles.

”Now?” he asks, but I know he’s practically begging for it. For me.

“Now,” I tell him, unable to hold him off any longer even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. It’s been hard enough to keep my hands away from him, to stop myself from pulling his hard dick out of his pants and going to town on it. I need him, maybe even more than he needs me. It’s close, anyway.

He grabs my hips and pulls me back towards him. And then his tongue goes to work. I’m so accustomed to the way he moves, but every time he eats me out I’m taken by surprise all over again. He uses his fingers to pull my thong to the side and his other fingers to spread my lips open, and he pushes his tongue into my tight pussy, twisting his muscle as he runs it against my interior walls.

I fight to keep my balance as my knees wobble and I moan his name. As I do, he slips his tongue out of me, pushes it against my clit for a brief second, then pulls it back the way it came, and a little further, and then my ass is wet with his attention. He spreads me apart and I move my legs to help, and he ravages me in the way I love, the way I need sometimes: there’s no slowness to this; it’s only feral heat as he takes my spaces and makes them his.

I cum for him and then I’m facing him and I’m naked, the lingerie spread across the floor. I strip the shirt off him and pull his pants down before I straddle him. I don’t waste any time because I physically can’t. The foreplay is done — I need his cock in me right this second.

I spread my pussy open for him and use my other hand to squeeze his cock, which awards me with his guttural moan, guiding him into my depths. His hands are on my breasts, squeezing, massaging me, while his tongue dances across my nipples. I tilt my head back and moan for him as I start shifting my hips, moving up and down as my warmth takes all of him into me. I can feel my pussy lips against the base of his cock, which is blissfully hairless, and I can feel his balls pressed against my ass as I rock against him.

I move one hand behind me and take his balls into my hands, squeezing and massaging, as I continue to ride him. Eventually his hands find my ass and his finger massages my tight hole, pressing into me, and I moan for him again and again.

I ride faster and he rocks his hips with me. And then I cum without warning, my mind an explosion of fireworks as my body becomes a live wire. My back arches and his hands squeeze me, hold me, while I feel his hard, throbbing cock spasm multiple times deep within me.

I keep riding him even as he stops coming, and I grab his face with my hands, making him look into my eyes.

“Better than you imagined?” I say, smiling.

He kisses me, then says, “All because of you.”

All because of me. Music to my ears.