the seduction


I don’t think I’d ever been so nervous about anything in my life. A date. Nothing big. But after two years of celibacy, it seemed monumental.

My hands shook a little as they fastened a fine gold chain around my neck. Breathe, I warned myself, just breathe.

The doorbell rang.

Oh, this wasn’t going to help my pulse at all.

Your eyes warmed appreciatively when I opened the door. It made me flush a little. Ridiculous, to still be able to blush at this age. I smiled and ducked my head slightly as I went to get my coat, hoping you wouldn’t notice.

Your quiet chuckle behind me confirmed you hadn’t missed a thing. I flushed even more but forced myself to look at you and smile.

What a look. The heat in your eyes. I could feel my knees clenching.

“Ready to go.” I murmured quietly, desperate to get out into public where it just had to be safer for my equilibrium. I saw your eyes flash in recognition and amusement, and I had to laugh. Was I so transparent? Apparently so.

By the time we were seated at the restaurant, my nerves had calmed somewhat. Our lazy, friendly banter had done a lot to put me at ease.

Still, the sensuality of those first few moments teased at the edges of my senses. It echoed through my mind as I watched your hand cup the wine glass to bring it to your lips. Such a hard, sensual mouth.

Would your kiss be hard, or soft, or deep, or all three?

In my mind’s eye, I saw you pushing me up against a wall. You slid your hand over the hollow of my throat, under my chin, behind my ears, before burying it in my hair, cupping the back of my neck.

Your body settled against mine, making my skin tingle with its heat. Your eyes kept contact with me the entire time as those hard lips came closer, my body softening in response, lips parting, and then you were kissing me, and it was soft but then it was hard and so very deep, sensual wet kisses that stole my breath from my body and made me want to wrap myself around you and pull you into me until we were both so deep in each other it wouldn’t matter if the world exploded and
“… wine?”

The waiter hovered expectantly over my glass.

Cursing my hormones and my damned unruly body and my imagination in equal parts, I nodded with a faint smile and accepted more wine.

I watched you covertly as we drove to the theatre. You were so sexy, it made my heart pound a little harder just looking at you. One strong hand wrapped around the leather-wrapped steering wheel, the other rested casually on your leg.

My eyes were transfixed by the hand on the wheel. Your thumb stroked back and forth over the leather, rubbing it as though enjoying the tactile difference between leather and seam. My always fertile imagination jumped from A to B to C immediately, imagining that thumb caressing my nipples, and other, lower places.

With a stifled groan I squirmed in my seat as my nipples hardened against the soft black lace of my bra. Small raspberries, begging for attention.

This was what I got for two years of celibacy.

Too soon, we pulled up in front of the theatre. Too soon, because I hadn’t yet managed to water down the fires that burned, and I was afraid you would see.

You turned off the car, laughing at something I’d said (how had I managed to keep up a conversation? I may never know) and turned to me.

The laugh became a smile, which became more slight as you saw me watching you, saw my eyes and cheeks a little brighter than before. Your eyes travelled south, resting for an aching moment, then two, on my breasts. Nipples still painfully hard. Pushing against the soft black knit top I wore. No way to miss it.

Your smile had turned into something more like a smirk by the time your eyes met mine again. You lifted a hand to my cheek, my ear, and whispered, “Come here”.

I leaned forward and watched your mouth. I parted my lips and then there was kissing, and it was soft and light and teasing. You rubbed your lips over mine the way I’d pictured you rubbing them over my, well, other parts of the body, okay, nipples and neck and knees and clit and oh, my.
It was amazing and slightly wet and soft and it wasn’t enough, I needed more, wanted more, more of you, you tasted and smelled so good.

I whimpered. No other way to describe it. Soft sounds issuing from my throat, urging you on. You chuckled and pulled me a little closer, holding me still for a deeper seduction.

Your tongue tangled lazily with mine. My thighs clenched, squeezing my pussy. God, you tasted good. I wanted more. I wondered what you would taste like on your neck. On your chest. Lower.
Your fingers cupped both of my shoulders, squeezed, slid down my arms until your thumbs were close.


When they brushed my nipples, it was like you’d taken a live wire to them. I jerked, and the little sounds in my throat became bigger ones. A moan. Another moan. Your thumbs touched me so lightly, so softly, just flickering almost-not-there touches. I could feel them, though, as though my nipples were connected directly to my clit. Every time you touched me, I could feel my clit ache just a little more, my thighs clenching and releasing. I whispered into your mouth that you were driving me crazy.

“Good.” you murmured against my lips. And that dark chuckle again.

When you released my mouth, it felt warm and swollen and vaguely empty. I looked up at you, slightly dazed with arousal.

You smiled, touched my hair, and said, “Time to go.”

We fought our way through the crush of people to find our seats. I was slightly shocked when the usher directed us to a private box, and I looked at you over my shoulder. “A box?”

You smiled. “Hey, it’s your first date in two years, it should be something special, right?”

I stopped walking and touched your hand. “That’s just about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. Thank you!”

You twined your fingers with mine, stretching and flexing against my hand. Your thumb sketched a naughty little circle in my palm, and you looked in my eyes as my body began to react. “You’re very welcome.”

Did I mention how crazy it is that I can still blush at this age?

It turned out that the box was very private. Two elegant chairs faced the balcony, turned slightly toward the stage. A silver ice bucket, an open bottle of wine and two fluted glasses sat to one side.
I wondered if I looked as amazed as I felt.

Once we were seated, you reached over and poured a little wine in each glass and handed one to me. I took a brief sip, wetting my lips, before looking up at you and thanking you again.

“This is really beautiful.” I added.

The house lights began to dim. You smiled and brushed your lips over mine again before settling back against the chair.

I found myself finally beginning to relax. The actors were better than I’d imagined, and I was starting to get into the story.

You settled your chair even closer to mine, our thighs resting against one another. The nearness and warmth of your body suddenly made it very difficult to concentrate on the stage.

You murmured something about one of the actors into my ear, your lips brushing against me, your breath warm and seductive. I didn’t even register what you’d said, simply nodded and tried to breathe. I couldn’t hide the shiver.

I felt your fingers at my wrist, moving slowly and softly over the hand resting in my lap until our fingers were entwined again. My senses were screaming. Every move, every touch was heightened. I was going crazy.

We were just holding hands, for goodness sake.

I felt your breath against my neck. I closed my eyes and prayed for strength as I felt your lips rub against my neck, moving very slowly and very softly, making me ache in places you couldn’t see. I wanted to grab you and take you away, anywhere, someplace where we could grind into one another, again and again, until our bodies were sated.

My nipples stiffened again, pushing against the soft fabric of my knit top.

Your fingers lifted from mine, the back of each finger a means to torment me as you rubbed each lightly over me, a berry begging again for your attention. My thighs clenched. Places lower and darker and (by now) far wetter twitched in response.

I watched helplessly in the dark, unable to make a sound, while your fingers moved on my nipples, sending darts of pleasure and tension down my body, making my knees ache.

You moved your mouth up to my ear, a sweet and dark whisper.

“Be very quiet.” you warned softly.

I turned my head slightly and whispered back, “What are you doing? You’re driving me insane.”

Your tongue moved over my ear, quickly, lightly. “Think of it as another way to make this a special night.”

My heart, already racing, picked up its pace.

Your fingers moved lower, touching my hand again, moving it aside. I could feel your fingertips, just the very tips, moving down my skirt, down my thigh, inside the knee, cupping, urging me to move my legs apart, give you access.

Is it possible to go up in flames?

It was getting hard to breathe.

I spread my legs for you. I could feel my heartbeat in my ears, between my thighs, centered in my clit, a small aching stem.

My short, full skirt wasn’t much of a barrier to your roving fingers. They skimmed underneath the fabric, tracing little repetitive circular patterns on the soft skin of my inner thighs, higher each time.

Silently asking me to spread even wider.

I moved my legs apart even more, giving you full access, leaving my body open to whatever caress you wanted to give.

Your fingers moved higher. Every single nerve in my body was focused on following the path of those fingers.

I felt your thigh move against mine, your body start a little in surprise, and I smiled to myself. I rarely wore underwear, but this skirt had been more than full enough to hide that fact. I hadn’t really planned on you finding out so soon. Now, however, I was beyond complaining or offering up any sane rationales. My body needed your touch so badly it was screaming for it.

“No panties?” you murmured against my ear. “Interesting.”

I chuckled very quietly, the sound a little desperate.

I felt you relax your hand, felt the very tips of your fingers rub softly up against the humid crease of my pussy. I was so wet. I could feel the heat coming off me in waves.

At each soft touch, my body stiffened more. I was afraid to move, afraid to breathe, wanting contact with my aching clit so badly I was ready to cry or beg.

You slid your middle finger between my puffy lips, getting it wet, sensitizing my inner lips to your touch. A little lower. Lower still. My pussy was clenching, waiting for something, anything.

Inside me, an inch, then two.

I wanted to groan. To cry out. To scream, the tension was so thick. And I couldn’t do any of it. Had to stay quiet. No one could know.

You rubbed softly against my inner walls. The ache grew worse. I could feel every single pulse of my clit. It needed your touch. Your finger drew slight circles around the entrance to my pussy. I wanted to buck against your hand. My hips rose a fraction of an inch, begging for more contact, something, solid, anything.

Your dark chuckle sounded in my ear again. My pussy muscles gripped, released, gripped, trying to close on you and bring you inside.

It felt like forever, waiting, as your fingers moved higher, sliding easily in my wet valley, coming closer to my clit. Closer.

When your fingers closed lightly on me, like a little mouth sipping at my clit, I thought I would scream. My breath sucked in, held fast in my lungs, every ounce of my body focused on the pleasure/pain of arousal as your fingers plucked at me.

My hips raised another fraction of an inch. You whispered dark sexy things in my ear, how soft I was, how wet, how you could smell me, how badly you wanted to taste me. Your fingers sipped, and sipped, pulling on my clit with every stroke, so lightly I was ready to tear at you, tear at the walls, wanting you to fuck me, rub me, ram your cock up inside me until we both screamed.

I don’t know how long it went on, seemed like hours. My hips got higher, and my clit got harder, my pussy wetter, and all the time you barely touched me, fingers moving so softly on my clit they were nearly nonexistent. I was getting close. I could feel everything gathering, centering, waiting for that sweet release.

I was opening and closing my mouth, wanting everything.

You stopped.

Moved your fingers lower, angled your hand away from my clit, slid a lone finger inside me. I clenched around it frantically, trying to get enough friction to come.

It wasn’t enough. I felt like crying. I turned to you and mouthed, “Please. Please. Oh, god. Please.”

You smiled, your eyes feverishly bright with arousal, and continued to slide that single finger inside me, rubbing against my inner walls, feeling me pulse and flutter against you.

My stomach clenched. I needed it. I needed you.

It slid in, and out, a lone finger, for long minutes while my stomach clenched and clenched less and less still, coming back from the very edge of orgasm.

You could tell. The flutters were lighter, the clenching less desperate.

Your fingers moved up again to find my clit, so hard, so very hard this time, and this time I couldn’t help it. I moaned very softly and turned my head to you, and offered my lips.

Tongue sliding in my mouth, you kissed me deep and wet and slow while your fingers began to tap on my clit, small short bursts of veiled power, sliding up the stem and back down, my stomach clenching again against your arm muscles.

I was nonsense. I was outside reality. The world had narrowed to a few precious inches, your lips ravaging mine, your fingers tapping on my clit, then sliding, then tapping again, there was no theatre, no audience, no actors, just you and me and rubbing and soft gasps against your mouth and the wetness like a secret between us and soft touches and softer touches still and my hips raising off the chair and moving toward your hand and I didn’t care if someone saw because oh my god the pulsing clit and your fingers and yes, oh yes there and please just a few more taps and everything clenching and everything bunching and wanting to scream at the incredbile ohmygodyesness and my hand clenched on your arm as I felt the wave and here we go oh my god break, and I bucked against your fingers, ohyesonce, ohyestwice, nothing in my life sweeter than the release I was breathing against your mouth, you could feel it all the short pulses and the receding flitters as you slid a single finger inside me to feel the rest of it ebb and flow away.

I ended up somehow with my face buried in your neck, and I lifted my head to look at you, feeling muzzy and exhilarated and more sated than I think I’d ever felt in my life.

You kissed me sweetly on the nose, the lips, as your hand withdrew to cup me ever so gently. The odd shudder still moved through me, and I accepted your kisses, acquiescent for the moment, knowing that once I got my breath back I would enjoy the next step of my seduction. And yours.

About the author

Vikki McKay
By Vikki McKay

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