The Wall

All night she has been teasing you.

It started when you arrived at the party and walked her through the front door, guiding her with your hand on the small of her back. You let it slide a little low, looking for that familiar catch with your thumb.

She stopped and leaned back into you, mouth dangerously close to your ear:

“I’m not wearing any…”


Once home, the car-ride flirtatious only gasoline on the fire, she skips upstairs before you can catch her.

The night is new and there is nothing tomorrow but a morning together under fresh sheets.

You know where she will be, so you take your time. The bottle of red is still where you left it on the kitchen island. Glasses still in their cupboard. You take two, and fill one halfway.

Standing in the evening glow of the kitchen lights, you look across the open downstairs out onto the patio, over the lawn into the woods. A deer, sensing something, looks up in the darkness and bounds deeper into the woods.

You take a sip of wine from your glass.

She has put some music on upstairs. Soft enough that you can’t quite make it out, but you know what it is. What she always puts when in this mood.

You take another sip.

You think back to this evening, the way she looked at you from across the room with that sly smile and glint in her eye. She was playing you the entire night, lightly brushing against you when she was near, playing with her hair, leaning over…

Surrounded by others, the room was her public stage. You, her audience of one.


You pick up the bottle and the spare glass and head upstairs.

She has her back to you when you enter the room, leaning over, messing with something on the bedside table. You quietly walk to the chair in the corner and sit, setting the bottle softly on the carpet besides you.

Her hair is still up, shoes off and tossed aside. Dress still on, but loosely, as if she were interrupted by a thought partway through. The small of her back is more exposed, the fabric of the dress held up only by her hips.

She stands and turns to the bathroom, loosening the straps on her shoulders and moving slowly as the dress drops to her feet before she steps on the tile floor.

Naked. Beautiful. Enticing.

“Stop,” you command.

She does, slightly startled, one hand goes to her chest, her legs cross, she starts to turn…

In a steady, measured voice, you catch her and set the tone: “Do. Not. Move.”

She freezes.

But more importantly, she obeys. She knows she had this coming.

“Hands to the side.”

Only a slight hesitation.

“Feet together.”

It is dark in the bedroom and the light from the bathroom has her silhouette tinged with a warm edge. You can see the perfect curve of her body. You know that body.

“Go to the wall.”

She walks, knowing you are watching ever move. Yes, she is following the rules of the game, but she can put her own spin on obeying. She makes you ache with ever step. She moves deliberately, gracefully, shifting her hips from side to side.

You have started to follow, unbeknownst to yourself, entranced by her wiles. As she reaches the wall, you find yourself at the door-frame.

You hold back.

“Hands a over you head.”

You swear you hear her murmur a “yes, sir…”

It takes every degree of control to not race up behind her. With on hand you reach above to pin hers, the other reaches around her front to slide between her legs.

She leans her ass back into you, awaiting the moment you release yourself.

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