Cat or Mouse?
When she saw that he was online, her heart jumped. She had been in the other room, preoccupied with another task. A smile grew across her face immediately. This was not a regular smile though. It was one encased with meaning. Desire, mischief, determination. It was paired with a raised eyebrow. She had been waiting to play her game of cat and mouse with him, and now the opportunity presented itself to her. She was genuinely pleased.
They had chatted for some time. She had even become game enough to ask him a personal question or two. Throughout the exchange, she couldn’t help but wonder. Who was this man that intrigued her so? She was curious about his face, yet not brave enough to ask for details. Did he have brown hair? Black? What color were his eyes? She was convinced that they smiled along with his mouth, when he was being wicked and flirtatious. So many questions were left hanging in her head. But she knew to tread lightly, to not push. He was like a puzzle unfolding before her, and within time, she’d be able to piece him together.
Again, she was tormented by the blanks, as they continued to play with one another, verbally jousting. What did he do for a living? What did he eat at night? Did he have a wife? Kids to put to bed and take to school? A mistress? Curiosity surged through every part of her. But she didn’t want the answers. Not yet, anyway. All she did know for certain was that she was very attracted to him, in a very primal way, and it wasn’t going away anytime soon.
After he had signed off and retired for the night, her questions turned inward. What part of her persona would present itself first? He already knew her to be sassy, fun, younger, and somewhat of a seductress. But then what? Would the dominatrix in her come out first? Or would she present herself as his fuck toy? She loves both equally, and she could see herself immersed fully in each of the roles. She decides to slide her hand to her pussy and feels the warm wetness he has created. He is such a deliciously bad man, and is slowly learning how to push her buttons. She leans back in the chair and closes her eyes, letting her fingers rub gently over her clit. With her free hand she unbuttons some of her blouse, her fingers slipping into her bra, finding her hard nipple. She squeezes it and moans, squeezes harder. She licks her fingers and returned to her nipple, applying more pressure. The sensation is delightful, a sinful mix of pleasure and pain. She stands and moves to the couch. Before sitting, she slips her hand under her skirt and slides her damp thong to the ground. Nestled into the softness behind her, she unbuttons her blouse fully, and spreads her legs further. She decides to keep her heels on and gathers her skirt above her knee. She looks at her smooth legs and acknowledges their beauty, rubbing her clit and nipple, her mind racing along with her breathe.
What would she do if he were here now? The dominant part of her would sit him down and unbuckle his pants, his hard cock coming to life with her directness. And she’d take it in her mouth. Not all at once though. She would gently, deliberately, lick all the way up his shaft. It was always a pleasure for her to see a cock throb, to pulse, with anticipation. She’d ever so lightly lick the head of his cock, tasting his pre-cum, savoring the saltiness with a flicker of her tongue. And then she’d take it with her warm soft mouth, her tongue flat on his shaft, feeling every movement, every twitch. She’d eventually inch her way down, her hand at the base of his manhood, holding him in place, until she could accommodate the whole of his length, to the back of her throat. Would he entwine his fingers in her soft red hair? Would he moan? Gasp perhaps, at her skill? Feeling him close to ejaculation, she would halt, hike up her skirt, and facing the same way, impale herself on his prick. She knew she had a tight pussy, many a man had told her so. Her cunt would hold him, stroke him, take the whole length. It would beckon him to come into her softness. She’d then reach down to her ankles, and start to fuck him. Raising her ass in the air, she’d move up and down his shaft, giving him a lovely view of her wet tight cunt enveloping him fully.
Her hands have picked up pace by now, and she is close to climaxing. She stops, to sit up a little. She doesn’t want to, not yet. She is enjoying her thoughts of him, swimming in them, she always does. This would not be the first time she had thought of him whilst touching herself, she was sure it certainly would not be the last. Her nipples beg to be sucked on, to be bitten lightly. She starts to pull on her own hair. Her pussy has become so wet, her juices have run down to her arse. She plunges her fingers into her softness and then puts them to her lips. So sweet on her tongue. Her own musk only arouses her further.
She entertains the idea of being his submissive. Her hands bound behind her back, he would position her on her front, ass high in the air, vulnerable and exposed. With a forceful slap, she imagines the sting of his large hand on her ass. She knows she’d moan in both pain and delight. He’d reprimand her, growling, and deliver a matching swat on the other cheek. She wants him to thrust his full length into her cunt from behind, his hand in her hair to hold her still, firmly at the base of her neck. And he’d pound her, telling her what a whore she was, his little whore, to fuck as he pleased. She hopes he’d reach around to her front, rubbing her clit, fucking her even deeper as he did so, taking all of her to his liking. Once he knew he was going to come, he would stop and flip her over. And with her ankles on his shoulders, he’d enter her once again, fucking her furiously until he could no longer hold out, his come spurting into her, melding with their moans of pleasure, eyes locked.
At this point, she’s lost in her thoughts of him, heady from her lust. His chest hair, his tight ass, his well manicured hands, his strong legs. She’s on the edge of orgasm, about to spill, when she randomly recalls something from their online encounter just a few hours earlier. He had told her he would be thinking of her later on in the evening. His confession made her feel like a schoolgirl. She wonders if he may be doing the same thing she’s doing right now. Touching himself, thinking of her, both of them separated by oceans, but filled with each other’s lust. At that very moment she surrenders, explodes, cries out. Waves of warmth and pleasure pulling her under, shaking her, pulsing through her. It takes her a good few minutes to recover, her beating heart to slow, her breathe to stabilize. “If he can have this effect on me from afar, how devastating would he be in the flesh?” she whispers to herself. She silently rolls the query around in her head, until she finally finds herself grinning that naughty grin, all over again.