That’s my boy! I wanted to yell. You can do this, Mark. Angela moved her hand across the front of her dress.
“Why don’t you take your clothes off, Mark?”
“I can get into that.”
He stood, a full six inches shorter than her, to strip.
“You’re a goddess,” he said, kicking his shoes off, looking up into her face looming over him, her breasts level with his eyes. “I don’t care if I’m not supposed to say that. It’s what you are.”
She cupped his chin, but instead of kissing him, she let go and turned to make her way to an ornately carved writing desk. She opened a drawer and took out of it something that looked like a tangle of rope. The only way to describe how she moved was feline. She was a woman who loved being in her body and she was used to being watched. He couldn’t tear his eyes off her. Nor could I. She stood behind the desk now, watching as he ripped off his clothes, pants first.
“Mark, Mark, Mark. You’re stripping like a frat boy. Put your clothes back on and start again, honey.”
He did as he was told. Once dressed, he started again, this time removing his belt more slowly.
“Now you’re a Chippendales dancer? Not sexy.”
“Fuck,” Mark said, clearly pissed at himself.
“Start with your shirt. Just use one hand to undo the buttons. Try that. Look at me the whole time.”
He did, and it was much better. She held the rope in her hands.
“Now the cords,” she said, as he casually undid his belt, leaving it in the loops, and dropped his pants and boxers to the ground.
He lightly kicked them aside. He was clearly ready, but she didn’t draw attention to that fact. She pushed him back into the chair and dangledtwo ropes in front of his face.
“You should be naked too,” he said, nervous laughter escaping.
“I don’t like that word,” she said.
“Naked?”
“No. Should. It’s not popular around here.”
She moved behind him, firmly tying his wrists to the chair. Then she came around the front of him and nudged his thighs open. Keeping her eyes on him, she untied the side knot of her dress. She opened it up to him like an envelope. She had nothing on underneath.
“Let me put it another way,” he said, taking in the whole of her body. “It would be great if you were naked all the time. For the good of mankind.”
She flung her dress off her and stood in front of him, wearing nothing but her white pumps. I watched him taking her in. Then with one hand she squeezed a breast, while her other traveled all over her torso. I was spellbound, feeling her arousal as she gave herself a stir with her own middle finger.
“You’re hard, aren’t you? What are we going to do about that?”
“Holy shit!” he murmured, throwing his head back, his eyes riveted to her hands, her fingers. He wanted to touch her, to reach out to her, but he couldn’t. Even I felt his frustration, his arousal arousing me. I had never felt that before; I hadn’t seen much pornography and I was no voyeur. But this … this was intense. And hot. I sank a little lower in my club chair, slack with desire.
Both feet still in heels, she straddled his legs, leaned over and put her hands on his shoulders, her full breasts touching his chest as she bent to kiss him. She started slowly, languidly, arching her taut body, her ass high in the air. She moved her lips down his neck, stopping every once in a while to gaze into his eyes, to gauge his reaction. He was desperate.
“Do you think yo
u can untie me?” he asked. “Fuck, I’d really like to touch you.”
She thought about his words for a second. Then, kicking off her pumps, she lifted her leg and placed a bare foot carefully on his thigh. One leg propped up like that, she spread herself to him, keeping him an agonizing foot away from what he craved.
“You want to touch me?” she asked. He nodded, trying to keep his eyes on her eyes, but he couldn’t help himself. They traveled down the length of her perfect body to watch what she was doing to herself with her hand.
“I like when a man does this to me,” she said, the muscles in her arm flinching with every circle. “But I also like doing this for myself.”
He made a sound, something between a grunt and a moan.