Made For Sex. Joan Elizabeth Lloyd
that he was a sensational dancer, gliding effortlessly across the small space. Several other couples joined them and, as the floor became more crowded, Bryce held her closer, his mouth against her ear, his left arm pressing lightly against the side of her breast.
“You’re so graceful,” he said, rubbing his forearm against the side of her bra and the flesh underneath, “like an angel in my arms.”
Carla swallowed hard and remained silent. Although she knew that this was to be her initiation into the world of recreational sex, she felt like a woman on her first date with a dangerously attractive man.
“I love holding your body close,” Bryce whispered. “Your breasts are so full and your hips fit perfectly against mine.” His breath on her ear caused a tingling at the base of her spine. “You’re so responsive,” he continued, “that I’ll bet you’re getting hot already.”
For some reason, Carla needed to deny what he was saying. It was like a seduction, not an assignation, and somehow it was important not to be easy. When she took a breath to deny her feelings, Bryce interrupted, reading her thoughts. “You can deny it all you want but your body radiates sexual heat.” He flicked the tip of his tongue in her ear, then nipped at her earlobe.
She shuddered, telling him about herself as accurately as she could have with words.
“Yes. You want me,” he whispered. “But resist as well. It makes it all the sweeter to know that later I will hold you in my arms, naked and open. I’ll overcome all your resistance and control your body with your own hunger.”
He put his finger under her chin and lifted her face so she had to look into his eyes. “You’ll want me so much that you’ll beg for it.” He tucked her against him and continued dancing, holding her close. No one else on the floor could possibly know about Bryce’s erotic whisperings but Carla felt as if everyone was watching her.
They danced for a few more songs. Carla felt Bryce’s hand sliding over her silk blouse. “I want your body to know exactly what’s to come.” His hot breath tickled her ear. “We’re going to leave in about fifteen minutes. One or two more dances should be just right.”
Carla realized that Bryce’s planning and take-charge attitude would turn some women off, but the control that Bryce was exercising was driving her crazy. After the first few years of marriage, she had called most of the sexual shots. Bill would have been content with quickies, but Carla had wanted more. Frequently she would wear an alluring nightgown or a teddy and, when Bill responded, she would tell and show him what she wanted. She had enjoyed the sex, but would have preferred not to be in charge.
“I want you to do something for me,” Bryce said a few minutes later. “Go into the ladies’ room and take off your bra. I want to dance with you and feel your unrestrained breasts against my chest. I want to be able to look down the front of your blouse and see your nipples. Do it for me, Carla. Do it because I want you to and because it will make you a little less secure.”
They walked to their table and Bryce gave Carla a tiny push toward the ladies’ room. “Please,” he whispered. The wine and the Irish coffee made her brave and daring. Not giving herself time to think, Carla walked to the bathroom, closeted herself in a stall, and removed her bra. She put the bit of silk in her purse and rebuttoned her blouse. She looked down, then smiled and unbuttoned the blouse’s top two buttons.
She walked out of the stall and checked her appearance in the large mirror. Nothing showed from the front or side but, as she looked down she could see her full breasts and her hard, erect nipples. She smiled and walked back toward the table, enjoying the sway of her breasts and the brush of her nipples against the silk of her blouse.
“Nice,” Bryce said as he watched her approach. He met her on the dance floor and took her in his arms. As they danced, he looked down. “Your breasts are magnificent,” he whispered. “Your nipples are a dark, dusky pink. Are they so hard that they hurt?”
Carla had never been asked such sexual questions by a man before. She cleared her throat, unable to speak.
“Tell me. I insist.” When she remained silent, he repeated, “I insist. Say to me, ‘My nipples are so hard that they hurt.’” He slid his hand into her hair and turned her face up. “Say it, angel.”
Certain words were hard for her to say; they always had been, even with her husband. Talking directly about sex and the anatomical parts involved had always been difficult for her. “I do hurt for you,” she murmured.
“What hurts?” he said. She was silent. “The word ‘nipple’ is difficult for you to say, isn’t it? I can tell from your body’s reaction. Your palm is damp and your hand is shaking.” She tried to look down, but his hand remained tangled in her hair. “I don’t care whether you want to or not,” he said, his lips almost touching hers. “You will do as I say. Say ‘My nipples hurt for you.’”
“Oh God. My nipples hurt for you.” Carla could barely stand. The thrill and humiliation of saying that word made her knees weak. Fortunately Bryce held her tightly, supporting her.
“Oh yes. I like this. Let’s continue this discussion somewhere else.” Quickly he paid the check and guided her to the door. They walked a block in silence, the cool air clearing Carla’s head a bit. They climbed the stairs to the door of an undistinguished building and Bryce unlocked it. “A very private place,” he said as they went inside. “It’s owned by good friends of mine who let me use it when they’re away, which they are for the entire month of September.”
Carla was aware of little as Bryce put her jacket away and guided her to the stairs that led to what she assumed was the master bedroom. They stopped about three-quarters of the way up. “Take off your blouse,” Bryce said. “Right here.”
She looked at him. Shouldn’t he undress her? Removing her own clothes seemed so forward. Remembering why she was here, she realized her feelings were ludicrous, but they were her feelings nonetheless.
“Do it,” he said, softly. “Be what they used to call a brazen hussy for me because I tell you to.”
Slowly, Carla unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it off. “Yes,” he said. “Your tits are magnificent, so hungry for my touch.” He saw that the harsh language made Carla’s hands shake and he smiled. “Tits. Say that word. Say ‘My tits are so hard for you.’” He could see the muscles in her throat working as she swallowed. When she hesitated, he made it sound like an order. “Say it, Carla!”
“My…tits…. are hard for you.”
“That’s a good girl,” he whispered. He walked down a step so that his mouth was level with her chest. “Hold your beautiful tits so I can suck them. Hold them for me.”
It was both scary and liberating for Carla. Bryce was making her do things she wouldn’t do herself, and she felt both compelled and freed. She slid her hands beneath her heavy breasts and lifted them so that the swollen nipples were level with Bryce’s lips.
“Good girl,” he purred. He flicked the tip of his tongue up and down over Carla’s left nipple. Then he bit it, gently. “Is that good?”
“Mmmm, yes,” she murmured.
He moved from side to side, from nipple to nipple, licking and biting until both breasts were swollen and reaching for his mouth. He turned her, urged her up the stairs and into the large bedroom. He moved to the bedside and turned on a small lamp, bathing the bed with soft light. “Your skin glows,” he said.
Carla stood and dropped her blouse, watching Bryce watch her. Suddenly she realized how good it felt to have someone look at her naked body the way Bryce was looking at her. She was a sex object, and glad of it.
Bryce flipped the covers aside, sat on the edge of the bed, and leaned back on his elbows. “Strip for me, slowly.”
Carla smiled and slowly unzipped her skirt, a bit less embarrassed knowing how she was pleasing him. She stepped out of her shoes, pulled her skirt and slip down and let them fall around her feet. She stood,