Chapter 2: The Box is Coming, pt. 2

The Part 1 of Chapter 2 doesn’t actually contain anything that would be considered prurient. However, these next two definitely do. Rather than justify it, or explain it, I will simply offer it. The only thing I will say about it can best be told through the recount of a brief conversation I had with my best friend regarding the text. She asked me why I chose to make it so graphic. The only thing I could say was that it happened organically.

On a different subject, there is some text in French. It’s been a while since I’ve written in French, so if you happen to be able to read it, and notice any grammatical errors, please comment.

Thank you for your time

 

By this point, I was shamelessly gawking, or so it would’ve appeared. In my shoes though, it felt more like being in a trance.

The gust was long gone and replaced by quiet calm. We stood there in silence, motionless, while I lost myself to lustful fantasy. The silence was broken and I snapped out of my trance when she spoke.

“Mon chéri,” she said in that sexy French accent of hers. “I do not mind you giving me zat look.” She lifted one foot and then the next, each time, with gentle fingers and zero effort, undoing the little silver buckles, releasing the straps. “But if you do, I will expect you to follow srew wis zeet.”

She began to walk towards me slowly to build the anticipation. In each hand she pinched a modest amount of the skirt’s fabric, about hip level on each side and raised the hem just enough to slip her heels off without altering her stride.

Disappointment followed as I watched the heels being left behind. At that point, I still wasn’t positive about what was going to happen next, but whatever it was, her heels weren’t going to be on. The disappointment was manageable as her approach brought more powerful desires.

As she got closer, my perspective was forced up her body.

The red of her blouse flushed my field of vision. Each step forward made the plunging neck line seem lower and lower. Her cleavage was flawless and classically ideal. Her breasts appeared to be casted in the bra, like a malleable, flesh-colored metal.

In the truest of definitions, I appreciated Aimee’s body. She has been the bar to which I have measured all others. I must confess I revere all of her endowments with the deepest respect and ethical sincerity, but she also stirs emotions that are far more carnal.

Soon, she was close enough that from her bust up consumed the majority of my view. Aimee is only 4 inches shorter than me. When she’s that close, I hardly have to look down at all for our eyes the meet.

When she was within reaching distance, I put my hands on her hips, letting my thumbs rest on the top of the familiar panty line. I traced it back and around until I had a tight, firm, cheek in each hand and gave her a little squeeze.

It felt good and a slight smile came across my face. I’m not much of a smiler, so when I do, Aimee revels in it.

“That was not bad,” she said. “But I think can put a much, much bigger smile on your lips.”

She raised her arms and rested them on my shoulders. The fabric in the front of her blouse loosened and rose along with her arms. Still helpless to my instincts, I looked down the blouse at the space that formed. I absorbed the pleasure of staring at the one female chest I can stare at in that manner, and not get slapped.

There was a compulsion to indulge. I wanted to start at the top of neck, below her ear, and kiss the nape of her, slowly, over a life time, working my way down, perfectly time so when I make it to the spot between her breasts, I would die.

I could see that her bra, like her panties, was lace, and was not padded. In fact, it was see-through, allowing me to glimpse just the top of her areolas.

The only thing was, the bra was black, and black was rather disappointing after fantasizing about royal purple. Without any other colors than red, her ensemble was simply monochromatic. This disappointment combined with the earlier one, caused my desire to wane.

“Are you going to kiss me,” she said. “Or just stare?”

I pulled her in closer and leaned in. She met me half way and we kissed. The kiss was heavy and intense, the type of intensity that can only be felt by two people who love and trust each other, and at the same time want to fuck the unholy living hell out of each other. I felt the rhythm of her animalism, the rhythm of humankind’s oldest song. I know it well and iy made my impulses dance, and like a dance, I lead and she followed, but it was her rhythm that guided me.

Alas, all my intensions and desire were for not. The earlier disappointments had dampened my fire. I did my best not let on though. Instead, I listened more closely to her body, more intently to its rhythm. She deserved selflessness. She deserved to be cared for, and thats what I intended to do. Regardless of the varying of my libido, and despite it, I still wanted to make her feel like the sexiest woman on earth. That was my goal every time we were together. She deserved nothing less than complete fulfillment.

Best intentions aside, all my desires, wants, and wishes, were too idealized. In my fantasies, the legs straddling me had on open-toed heels and the woman was wearing matching royal purple bra and panties. The fantasies that were conjured distracted me from the real thing. I don’t know how she noticed, that is to say, I tried with all my soul to make sure she wouldn’t by remaining singularly focused on doing everything right to arouse her, but with a quick decline, I lost the rhythm. None of my actions from that point seemed to work. Our pace slowed to a crawl, and eventually stopped all together. We found ourselves staring into each other’s eyes again.

“C’est quoi le problem,” she asked.

“Honestly?”

“Always.”

“Aah, it’s nothing,” I said. “My mind’s wandering. I promise, it’s not you my love, my little cabbage.”

“Ma petite chou, eh? I think it loses something in translation, qui?”

“Yeah, I think so too. You are way sexier than any cabbage,” I said.

“I certainly hope so,” she said with feigned shock. “And I know not a single cabbage that can do for you what I can. Ma chéri, s’il tu plait. I want to make you feel as good as you have always made me.” She brushed my cheek with hers and put her lips next to my ear. In a sultry whisper she said, “Que veux-tu que je fasse?”

I felt the tip of her tongue touch my earlobe. She softly  bit right before she gave it the sweetest kiss and returned to lock eyes with me once again.

The delicate nature, with which she had touched me, tickled and sent goose bumps all over my body. The smile that at most been a crack, spread like an infection and I couldn’t help but smile as wide as my face allowed.

“I wanted you to leave the heels on,” I said.

Her smile grew too. “I took sem off be-…”

“You know what, babe,” I interrupted. “Don’t worry about it. You’re beautiful, and sexy, and my wildest dreams, and frankly, I shouldn’t be so demanding or picky. I should be happy just to have your attention.”

“Is zat so?”

She lowered her arms, turned around, and started to walk away. It was my guess that I had blown an opportunity, but when she made it to the heels, she stopped. In a slow and teasing manner, she bent at the waist to get the heels, the whole time keeping her legs perfectly straight. The fabric tightened around her back side and once again I could see the pattern of the lace. She lifted one foot, and in an exaggerated fashion, tilted her ass as she shifted her weight to the other leg. She put on the heel, fastened the little buckle, and then shifted her weight to the other leg and did the same exact thing for the other foot. With an arch in her back, she slowly stood up, shifting her weight a couple more times for added effect. She stopped half way up to fake a stretch before she finished.

She walked back to me and continued, “Well lover, that may be, but right now, I have no desire to make love to you.”

“Really,” I said. “so that little thing you just did over there, bending at the waist, arching your back, the little wiggle, that wasn’t for me?”

“Mon Chéri,” she said. “Zis is all for you.”

She put her arms back on my shoulders, and I returned my hands to their previous position. The rhythm of her body was no longer like a song and I was definitely not leading anymore. Now, it was more like a torrent whose intensity was quickly growing.

She felt me getting hard and lowered her arms to undo my belt, then the button, and then the zipper. She reached through the front and pulled out my cock. She lifted one leg up to wrap around mine and by flexing she drew us together closer but slightly off-center. The muscles in her leg stiffened as she met her crotch to my erection. Through the thin fabric of her skirt, the lace of the boy-cut panties and with slow and purposeful motions, she rubbed her clit up and down, building speed as her desire rose.

By now I was no longer leaning back on my desk, but had actually moved to a sitting position on it. She had stayed close and was on top of me, straddling and rubbing, with the heels still on.

I started pulling the thin fabric of the skirt up her legs. Once I had gathered all of it, I pulled it up from between us and over her ass. I reached down to her ankles and touched the top of the leather straps. I gently ran my fingers up the length of her legs until I had a cheek in each hand once more. I was planning on pulling her undies off, but something stopped me.

Aimee had stopped too. I was stopped by the realization that Aimee wasn’t wearing stocking but panty hose. So, if I wanted the undies off, I needed to get the pantyhose off, and if I wanted to take the panty hose off, the heels needed to come off. Aimee had stopped however, because she had realized that I had just realized the dilemma. I can only imagine the expression of puzzlement on my face as I attempted cope with the irony. Hers was an impish grin that erupted into laughter.