Little Dancer - Part 2

[AngelusInMotion]

Part 1 can be found here

---

I take your arm and guide you out. The bouncer glances over, eyes asking if you’re sure; you don’t answer him.

The night air hits like cold water, but I pull you closer, and it stops mattering.

The driver standing by the black Mercedes spots us and quickly opens the rear door. The car looks exactly like you imagined it would - long, wide, metallic black, the windows tinted dark.

I gesture with my hand, inviting you to enter first...

“Nothing happens tonight that you don’t want,” I murmur against your hair. “Every step is yours to take… or not.”

You’re hesitant again. You understand. Every step, every move, a series of little choices. And it starts with this - choosing to get into the car.

When I get in the car as well, the driver closes the door after me and walks to take his place up front.

"Sit back. Relax", I tell you, as I do the same, casually putting my hand on your leg.

"Where to, Sir?" the driver asks, and I answer: "Nowhere. Just drive”.

"Understood, Sir", and the driver turns on the ignition and starts driving, slowly making his way out of the driveway.

The car drives in silence for a couple of minutes, and you're visibly and equally both stressed and excited, having no real idea what you got yourself into. My hand is still on your leg, and you decide to make a bold move and put your hand on mine.

I look at your hand, then look at your face, and then smile. You think to yourself that this is the same smile as before, the one with the teeth. I'm the big bad wolf, and you are fully aware that you chose to be devoured.

The car quickly reaches the edge of the city, and the driver turns onto the highway and s***ds up. I take that as a sign.

“Come here”, I tell you, not raising my voice, not needing to.

You move without questioning it, without hesitation. Your body answers me before your mind can catch up.

“Take off your coat. I want to see you again."

You do.

You can see in my eyes that I see it all. I see you completely. The good and the bad. The curves and the dangling bits. The makeup and the wrinkles. The energy and the stress.

I lift your face in my hands, feeling the uncertainty in your breath, the pull you’re trying so hard not to show. Then I bring my mouth to yours, slowly, deliberately, claiming the moment just as much as your lips.

The kiss feels somehow so tender yet so demanding. My lips, my hungry tongue on yours, they call to you, and you respond. We kiss deeply, passionately. Your mind is split between the intoxicating sensation and the complete surprise from your own reactions. So free. So careless. So unlike yourself.

I bend down to kiss your neck.

You melt into the feeling, and everything blurs. My mouth and tongue are dancing up and down the crevice between your neck and your shoulder, and you lean your head on mine. You give yourself completely into the feeling, into the sensation of tongue on skin and all the little goosebumps it brings. You try to focus on it, on something, on anything, but it’s becoming very difficult, at least until you realize my hand is already behind your back, skillfully unfastening the clasp of your bra.

You jump into action, your hands instinctively catching your bra to keep it on, and you stare at me with disbelief. I stare back at you, trying to gauge your reaction. To tell the truth, you don’t fully understand it either. You were clearly enjoying the situation, so it takes a second for it to register why you reacted the way you did.

“What about… him?”, you ask, nodding with your head towards the driver.

I direct your chin and your gaze back to me.

“There’s no one here except me. He’s nothing more than a ghost. Very well trained. All the people in my service adhere to very strict protocols, and my standards are very high.”

The words I use are like direct lightning bolts to your brain. Trained. Service. Strict. Protocols. Your body reacts to them in ways you do not understand.

Once again, you find yourself not knowing what to do. Your eyes shift from me to the driver, to me again. The fact that you just cannot read me infuriates you, as you’re usually so good at it. I remain stoic as ever.

Seconds pass, and then, once again, you understand this is a moment of choice.

You raise your hands in the air.

This isn’t surrender. This is trust. Fragile, trembling, but real trust.

I reach again and take off your bra. This time, you don’t stop me.

--

Cool air kisses your bare skin, and your nipples tighten instantly, aching under the weight of my gaze. You feel exposed in a way the stage never did: raw, seen, no neon lights to hide behind.

You expect me to jump you like all the men that came before, but that has never been my style. My eyes travel over you, and when I finally move, it’s only to trace one fingertip down the center of your chest, between your breasts, stopping just above your navel. Your breath hitches, the car hums beneath us, and your heart is racing inside you.

My palm slides up to cup one breast, thumb brushing over the stiff peak of your nipple. The contact is light, almost lazy, but it shoots straight between your legs like a current. You arch into my hand without meaning to, chasing more. I give it to you, my grip now firmer, rolling the sensitive bud between my fingers until your head falls back against the seat and your thighs press together.

“Look at me.”

You *** your eyes open. My face is close, closer than before. The city lights are gone; only the faint glow from the dashboard touches the lines of my jaw, the glint in my eyes.

“Do you like this, little dancer?”

Your lips part. The alcohol is still fizzing in your ***, but that’s not what's making your voice shake.

“Yes…”, you say.

“Tell me you want this.”

You swallow.  

“I want this…”

“Properly”

“I want this, Sir”

“Take off your shoes.”

---

I slide my hands to your waist and lift you over me as if you weigh nothing. You settle across my lap so you’re straddling me, face to face, your knees sinking into the plush leather on either side of my hips. Your skirt rides up; the damp lace of your panties is the last useless barrier left between us. I can feel your heat through my trousers, and when you instinctively rock against me, I let you feel exactly how hard you’ve made me.

My hands settle on your hips, gripping the soft fabric belt still wrapped around your waist. I use it like a handle, guiding you in a slow grind that drags a broken moan from your throat.

“That’s it”, I breathe against your ear. “Move for me like you moved on that stage”.

You do.

You can’t help it. There’s no music, but your body remembers the rhythm, the roll of hips, the arch of spine - only now it’s filthy, intimate, every sway brushing your slick heat along the ridge of my cock.

I nip your earlobe, then the soft place just beneath it, then my mouth finds a nipple. I take my time with it, licking it, sucking it, and finally biting it just a little bit. Then I do the same with its twin.

My hands slide lower, under the waistband of your skirt, cupping your ass, spreading you open so the next roll presses you even closer.

 “I’m going to take these off now”, I warn, fingers already hooking into the sides of your panties. “Lift”.

You obey instantly, rising on shaking knees. The rest of your clothes are gone in one smooth motion, tossed somewhere into the shadows. Then my hand is between your legs; no teasing, no hesitation, two fingers sliding through your wetness and pushing inside.

You cry out, the sound sharp in the quiet car.

“Soaked”, I growl against your neck. “You’ve been like this since the bar, haven’t you? Dancing for me, dripping down your thighs while you pretended you weren’t sure”.

You don’t answer. You can’t. I curl my fingers, stroking that spot inside you that makes your vision spark white at the edges, and your hips jerk. My thumb finds your clit, circling slow, merciless.

“Please”, you gasp.

“Please, what?”

“Please, Sir… I need…”

I stop. Everything. Fingers still buried deep, thumb hovering just out of reach.

You sob in frustration.

“Need what?” I ask.

You drop your forehead to mine, trembling all over.

“I need you inside me. Please. Fuck me”

The words are barely out before I’m moving. One hand yanks my belt open; the other keeps you pinned so you don’t fall. You hear the zipper, feel the hot, hard length of me spring free against your thigh. Then I’m lifting you, positioning you.

Instinctively, you turn your head again to see if the driver is looking.

“Eyes on me!”

You sharply turn back to face me as I sink you onto me with a slow, relentless move, stretching you open inch by inch until you’re seated fully and your breath is nothing but a ragged whimper. My hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise.

“Move”, I tell you.

You do.

You ride me in a way that is almost opposite to the way you dance. Your dance is intentional, seductive, in control. You ride me like you’re desperate; like you’re starving; like you’re parched; every roll of your hips a plea for more. The car rocks gently beneath us, the driver oblivious or perfectly trained; it doesn’t matter. There is only the slick drag of my cock inside you, the slap of skin, the way your breasts bounce with every thrust.

I let you set the pace for a little while, let you chase it, but when your movements start to falter, I take over. My hands tighten, lifting and slamming you down harder, faster, until your cries fill the car and your nails dig into my shoulders through my shirt.

“Ok, little dancer. It’s time”, I growl in a low voice. “Right now. Let me feel it”.

You shatter.

The orgasm hits you like a wave, rolling through every limb, clenching around me so tight I have to grit my teeth to keep from following you. You collapse forward, burying your face in my neck. I keep you impaled through every aftershock, stroking your back, letting you fall to pieces exactly where I want you.

“Good girl”, I murmur into your hair.

 

[sl****]

I like it. My eyes kept searching for the dirty words in the early paragraphs kind of skipping along, but I realized if I did that I would miss the message You’re really trying to send as story. It’s good as something to inspire or uplift the physical act of love but I think it needs a few more dirty words/ actions to make mine stand at attention. You do a great job being creative explaining their actions in the moment.

The tough thing for me was mentally putting us in the back of a limo’s plush, black leather seats!
I owned at least one car that resembled your limo. I did alot of things in that car , but I never got lucky enough to use the sweet backseat while being transported . Usually a deserted , un patrolled parking lot at the beach. You’re on your way as a writer it seems. Times I’ve tried to write an autobiographical sex story, I’ve taken the lazy way out: clothes? Off. Position? yes dirty words? Tons of them . Action! Cigarettes!
Of course I’ll respect you in the morning!
Camera fades out. CUT! PRINT!

[AngelusInMotion]

1 hour ago, sluttbuckett said:

I like it. My eyes kept searching for the dirty words in the early paragraphs kind of skipping along, but I realized if I did that I would miss the message You’re really trying to send as story. It’s good as something to inspire or uplift the physical act of love but I think it needs a few more dirty words/ actions to make mine stand at attention. You do a great job being creative explaining their actions in the moment.

The tough thing for me was mentally putting us in the back of a limo’s plush, black leather seats!
I owned at least one car that resembled your limo. I did alot of things in that car , but I never got lucky enough to use the sweet backseat while being transported . Usually a deserted , un patrolled parking lot at the beach. You’re on your way as a writer it seems. Times I’ve tried to write an autobiographical sex story, I’ve taken the lazy way out: clothes? Off. Position? yes dirty words? Tons of them . Action! Cigarettes!
Of course I’ll respect you in the morning!
Camera fades out. CUT! PRINT!

I get what you're saying. I really do. A lot of my stories tend to get real smutty real fast.

But as the old saying goes, we don't write stories, they write themselves. And this one wanted to be a real slow-burn one... 🤷‍♂️

[Deleted Member]

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[Mr****]

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