I Have An Idea Ch. 01

They made out for awhile, before she pulled away. They strolled some more, sometimes talking, sometimes quiet, but together.

"So," she whispered, "what do you think?"

He sighed, brushing her hair from her face, lost in her eyes. "About what?"

She rolled her eyes and laughed which made him laugh. "About this, all of this, what we've been doing."

He thought about it. "Well . . . it's driving me crazy. I want you so bad I can't stand it."

She blushed and pressed her arms into his chest, letting him wrap his arms around her as she cuddled ever closer. Her hair was below his nose. He closed his eyes, the smell of her making him lightheaded. "You're so attentive, so into me. It's been so long since I felt you really, truly wanted me. I've never felt like you really needed me."

He murmured. "I need you now."

"So," she continued reluctantly, "should keep going?"

He moaned and tightened his grip on her. "Yes, please."

"No," she giggled, "I mean our little plan."

He pulled back enough to see her face. "There's more."

She grinned. "It never ends."

He thought about it. Really thought about it. "I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up. I can't believe I've managed to do it for a whole week."

She frowned. "Oh."

"But as desperate as I am to have you, I know what you mean. I haven't felt like this about you since when we were first dating. Back then, everything was new. I didn't know you and I wanted to, and I would've done just about anything to get you. It feels a lot like that."

She blushed and snuggled closer. She was intoxicating. He was hard and he was pressed up against her and he knew she could feel it. "So, do we continue with the next step of the plan?"

"What's the next step?" he asked, kissing the top of her forehead, down to her nose, and finally catching her lips warm, wet, open and waiting.

She grinned and whispered as she kissed him. "You'll find out."

* * *

They made it to her apartment. He was a bundle of nerves. He kissed her at every available opportunity. His erection stiffened just walking up the stairs behind her, watching her ass sway before him, her small hand gliding up the railing. One part of him expected her to stop at any moment, catch his lurid stare and scowl. The other part assumed this was why stairs were invented.

Inside, they'd made it to the couch, but not the bed. He kissed every bare inch of skin, her face, neck, shoulders . . He even kissed from the top of her arm down to her fingers, biting the insides of her wrists, licking her palms lightly. He couldn't help it. She was the entree; she was dessert; she was everything he wanted in the world at the moment, and he wanted all of her.

He tried several times to move to the bedroom, but she resisted.

After a short break, bathroom and more wine, she eyed him from across the couch. It was a strange look. He hadn't seen it before.

"What?"

She sighed. "This is harder than I thought."

He blinked and smiled. "What is?"

"Following the plan."

His eyes drifted from her tussled hair, so messy and beautiful, down to the shapes of her breasts, barely covered by her low cut dress. "Bedroom now?" He'd regressed to a mono-syllabic caveman. He wanted to drag her by her hair to the bed and take her in every way possible. He ached. His pants were filled to the point of discomfort.

"That's not the plan," she said, smiling, sipping her wine.

"Oh?" he wondered, his eyes rapt by the sight of her sleek, shiny legs crossed at the knee. The underside of her thigh slipping under her dress made him want to cry with ecstasy.

She nodded. "Do you remember when you told me about how strip clubs worked?"

That got his attention. He made eye contact again. "What?"

"You remember, when you got a lap dance, what you told me."

"Um. . . ." he wasn't sure if he'd been rendered speechless or if he was being speechless on purpose.

She drew a long sip of wine, stood and set the glass on the coffee table. Sauntering towards him, face cast in shadow, eclipsed by the dim lamp, she said quietly, "You have to put your arms behind you while she grinds in your lap, and you're not allowed to touch her."

He realized suddenly that he'd stopped breathing. He looked up at her. "Wh-what?"

She grinned down at him. "I was thinking of giving you a lap dance, but you have to be good, just like in a strip club."

He gulped. He was shocked, in total disbelief. "Uh . . . okay." If he'd been a mono-syllabic caveman before, she'd just sent him spiraling downwards into an atavistic stupor.

She sauntered closer, parting her knees to fit around his and pointing with one red nail at the back of the couch. "Put your arms up there." As he slid his arms up, she slid down into his lap, her dress rising, flowing around her thighs. She only had her panties on underneath; that knowledge made him whimper with desire.

She wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck and began to slowly grind herself against him. his dick began to twitch in his pants. He couldn't stand it. He had to have her. He still wasn't breathing. His eyes were hungry for every part of her; the movement of her breasts beneath the thin dress; the lithe way her belly stretched and swelled with each sway of her hips. He could smell her, her perfume, her hair, and for a moment, just a moment, he thought he caught a whiff of her arousal, her heat, her wet panties.

He groaned in miserable delight.

Her voice was low and soft, nearly toneless. "You know the rules. If you move your arms, the dance is over."

She leaned over and kissed his neck, rising to slip her breasts across his face. His hands balled into fists. They released, his fingernails digging into the couch. They balled into fists again. They gripped the couch. "In fact," she continued, "if you're a bad boy, then the evening is over."

He lifted his face, stretched for her, strained for her, hoping for her lips. She descended just long enough to let him taste her mouth. He could smell her makeup, could taste her lipstick and her breath, wine-flavored. "Over?" he asked.

She nodded, smiling. "Yes. Over. If you're bad, then it's time for you to leave."

"Jesus, Ella. Why are you doing this to me?"

Her eyes flashed with concern. "You don't like it?"

He blinked. "I–I'm in heaven . . . and in hell."

She sat heavily in his lap, her fingers winding around his neck, her nails softly scraping his skin. "Do you want to keep going?"

He nodded heavily.

Her eyelids lowered with her smile. "I meant with the plan."

"Wh-what plan?"

She giggled. "There's more. More rules for next week."

"Like what?"

She licked her lips, making him envious of her tongue. "Mostly it's the same. You can't touch yourself, but you get to see me on Wednesday this time. If you ask properly, I can come over and spend the night, but you still have to be a good boy. You still don't get to have any orgasms."

He whined like a needy child. "Please, Ella. I can't stand this."

"Will you be good?" she asked.

He nodded. "Anything."

She checked his eyes. "You say that now–"

He risked a long, deep kiss, aware suddenly of how the thrill of her lips rushed through him like an electric current. His dick was in pain, too hard, too constricted, too desperate for release, too desperate for her. "I promise. Just . . . please let me cum tonight."

She smiled.

* * *

'How's it going?'

Ella sipped her tea and typed back. 'So far, so good.'

'Has he figured it out yet?'

She smiled. 'No. I don't think so. I think he knows something is up.'

'But not what?'

'Yes.'

There was a moment or two where she thought Jim would certainly revolt, where he'd throw his hands in the air and give up in disgust, but he hadn't. "So far, so good" was right. She couldn't believe it, but he seemed to be following the program. If he'd lied or been deceitful, he was certainly a good actor. He was behaving in a way he hadn't since they'd first met.

'How about you?'

'I'm fine,' Ella typed.

'No. Hard part is coming up. Ready?'

She swallowed. That was a good question. The things she was supposed to do, the place where they were supposed to end up, she didn't know if she could really take things that far. It was a good plan, but she thought it would all come crashing down well before that. The only thing more frightening than that possibility was the possibility that somehow it all really would work exactly as they said.

She typed: 'Not sure I can do it.'

'I wasn't sure I could do it either.'

She tucked her legs under her, lifted up the laptop long enough to get a blanket over her legs and cuddled back into the couch. 'How did you get past it?'

'By watching him.'

'Watching him?'

'Yes. You'll see. :) '

She doubted, but she trusted.

* * *

'Day one, having fun?'

'Fine.' He'd had an amazing orgasm a day ago and that had helped considerably. He didn't need an orgasm today. He could do without. It wasn't just an amazing orgasm; it was an explosion, a release, a relief, a cascade of pleasure. They'd been one melted sexual beast, messy, wet and beautiful. It had been pure sex and he felt for a moment that he'd spurted everything that made him a man into her.

He'd never quite felt anything like it. All the teasing, holding back, leading up to the magic moment. If that's how it could feel, why wouldn't he sign up for more?

Day two. He thought about seeing her Wednesday. What did she have in mind. Jesus! He'd gotten a lap dance from her girlfriend! What had gotten into her?

Day three, how we be? We be antsy. It hadn't taken along. He was starting to feel that same sensation of being charged up, his balls a little heavier than normal, a little fuller, little moments where they burned or ached, reminding him of what she had him doing.

When she arrived at the front door on Wednesday, he was waiting with two glasses of wine. He had no idea what she had planned, but he was eager to find out. She was not dressed in her work clothes. He noticed right away. She could've worn it to the office, but he thought it was a little too tight, a little too sexy. She had her skirt and heels on, but it was the shortest skirt he'd ever seen her wear, and it rippled with tension when she moved. She wore a button down shirt with the top half of buttons undone. She made him think of a secretary in heat.

When she smiled, he smiled. He took her all in, and she was something. She'd obviously spent a lot of time on herself. He complimented her, tried not to gush, but he liked to see her blush, like to see her claim it was nothing when they both knew it was something.

She'd never really dressed for him in this way before. It was a change, a major one. It reassured him. He wasn't the only one struggling to make things better. She was really trying to turn him on.

That's when he got his first clue.

He hadn't touched himself in three days; no orgasms, no porn, no anything , and she knew it. She was purposefully trying to get him excited.

She kissed him long and deep and wiped the lipstick from his mouth, smiling. "You smell nice."

He felt his cheeks burn a little. "I went and got that cologne you said you liked."

She squirmed her body into his arms, nuzzling his neck with her lips, whispering, "Mmm, I like it."

He reached for another kiss, but she slipped away, her heels clicking on the tiles.

He had the event catered, sort of. He'd picked up dinner, since he couldn't cook very well. Her favorites, including dessert. She chattered away about her week, and he spent every moment noticing the way her collarbone caught the light of the candle. Her green eyes twinkled some times. Other times, they flashed with conspiracy. He hung on every word, surprised. He must be horny. He'd never spent so much time listening to her detailed descriptions.

She was surprised, too. After she'd spent twenty minutes describing her friend Eva's outfit, complete with oversized belt and flowing white blouse, her side-zipped pants and her gorgeous heels, she glanced over at him and realized his eyes were on hers. Then, when he spoke, he didn't change the topic. He asked her why she liked Eva's fashion sense over her own. She was halfway into explaining how bold and sexy Eva could be and how she never had the eye for such things when she realized what he'd asked.

They stared at each other for a moment, before he burst out laughing, his face red. "That was kind of a gay thing for me to say."

She giggled. "I never knew you were so fashionable."

He laughed. "I'm not. I swear. I don't know what got into me."

He blinked, flinched slightly, then moaned.

Somewhere during the conversation she'd pushed off her heels. Her toes were between his legs under the table, flexing, squirming in his lap.

He went from zero to sixty in two seconds. His erection grew so hard, so fast that he had to reach below the table and adjust himself. He grew flushed. He looked at her with glazed eyes. "What's gotten into you?"

She grinned, sipping her wine. "It's nice knowing you can't do anything about it."

His eyes turned wolfish. "I can't?"

She nodded. "If you do, then I leave. Remember?"

He flexed his jaw. She could see the restraint in his eyes. "Would you really leave? If I got you going, got you all turned on?"

She blushed, but fought it, leaning forward and whispering. "Not in the past, I wouldn't have. But ever since the DT website, I've been learning things."

He swallowed, resisting the urge to grind his crotch against her toes. "What things?"

She sipped her wine again and feigned a bored expression. "Like sometimes it's better to be wanted than to be had."

He was just about to collapse forward onto the table, when she removed her foot.

It was a full second before he realized she'd moved to the couch.

He followed her, almost running to sit next to her.

He sat close, turning her face for a kiss.

She gave him one, a good one, but only one, then put her hand on his chest, pushing him away.

He panted breathlessly. "Aw, c'mon."

She remembered her friend's advice, 'You have to be the strong one.'

She pursed her lips as if she were truly deep in thought. "Well," she grinned and swept her hair over her shoulder, "if you promise to be a good boy, there is something we can do."

He took a long, deep breath, his eyes fixed on her lips, watching them stretch and part and close. "What?"

"Assume the position," she giggled.

He laughed. "The strip club position?"

She nodded.

He was already shifting on the couch, taking the time to adjust his aching cock in his pants yet again. "Really?"

She continued to nod, but did not sit herself on top of him. Instead, parked herself beside him, leaning over him, enjoying his smell. She unbuttoned his pants, unzipped them, and stared deep into his eyes as she pulled his boxers down.

When her hand first wrapped around him, his eyelids fluttered, his head collapsed back on the couch and he groaned, both miserable and happy.

She remembered her instructions. 'Talk quietly the entire time. Keep your voice low and soft.'

She leaned close until she was eye to eye with him. His forehead furrowed. He looked like he was being tortured. He smiled pitifully and kissed her softly. She whispered, "Does that feel good?"

He nodded.

She felt his cock twitch in her hand. It was fascinating. It was as if she could see the electric current run right up his rib cage, the rippling tension, all the way up to his face. He groaned and let his head fall back onto the couch.

She released his cock, whispering, "You're not going to cum."

His head rolled back and forth.

She smile and kissed his shoulder, repeating. "You're not allowed to cum tonight."

He panted and balled his hands into fists.

She wrapped her hand around his cock again and felt it tense and expand beneath her hand. It was turning deep shades of red and purple. "You remember that, right?"

His hands left the back of the couch and cradled her face, drawing her in for a kiss. "Please can't we just forget the game tonight?"

She kissed him softly and began to stroke him slowly. "Is that what you want?"

He nodded and kept nodding, pleading quietly, whining.

"You can cum tonight," she whispered, "if you really want to."

He groaned and shifted toward her, trying to roll himself over her. She gently, insistently pushed him back down.

She let go of his cock. "Hands."

He blinked. "What?"

She pointed, pulled away from him, moving to the end of the couch where she was not so easy to reach. "Your hands aren't where they belong."

His face twisted with misery. He draped his hands back over the couch and waited, breathing heavily. "But you're going to let me cum tonight?"

She smiled and nodded. "Of course, but Saturday is off."

His eyes flashed with concern. "Why?"

She placed her hand his cock and lifted it until it lay perfectly in the center of her palm. "Because Saturday is the day we have sex, like last Saturday, but if you've already cum tonight, then you don't need to see me until next Wednesday."

"Why–why can't we do both?"

She sighed. "Do you want to end the game?"

His eyes shifted nervously. "I don't know."

She began to stroke him slowly again, watching his eyelids flutter, his eyes glaze over with pleasure. "It's up to you. You can cum tonight in my hand–"

He twitched again and she released him, listening to him groan miserably. After a moment, she began again, giving him long strokes.

"–or I can go down on you on Saturday."

His eyes widened. "Really?"

She nodded, smiling, and began to stroke him faster. "Yes," she whispered, "really, but you can't have both."

It wasn't that she never went down on him, she just didn't do it often, and frankly, she hadn't done it in a long time. This would be a treat.

She gave his shoulder a nibble and began to seriously pump her hand up and down.

He tensed, felt himself getting close, tightening his buttocks, lifting himself off the couch.

"It's your choice," she whispered, giggling, watching his body make the decision for him. "You can have my hand now or my mouth later."

His hands whipped off the couch. He pushed her away, rolled on top of her, forced himself on her, began to hungrily bite her neck, nibbling at her chin, forcing his lips on hers. She knew she'd lost it. Whatever strength she had, had fled. He wanted her so bad and she wanted him to have her. She was ready. Let him strip her, rape her right here on the couch. To hell with the game.

Then he sat back and caught his breath, his hands still firmly squeezing her breasts.

To her shock, he blinked with all the seriousness of a surgeon making a life and death decision. "I . . . I want your mouth."

She blinked. "Then . . . Saturday."

He swallowed, collapsed in on himself, nearly whimpering. "Jesus . . . okay."

He tore himself away from her. He settled on the couch and rubbed his face.

She cuddled next to him, smiling.

She hadn't expected that.

For the rest of the evening, they were perfect snugglers. While they ate popcorn and watched a movie, she let her hand rest on his cock. She didn't stroke it, but occasionally gave it a little petting. It stayed nearly rock hard the entire time, and when it didn't, she'd give it a little squeeze or turn her face up to his and say "kiss", and then it would be twitching back to life again.

She was beginning to be a little more than amazed at how much control she had over it. Her entire life, she'd never felt she had any control when it came to sex. She'd always been penetrated, and being penetrated meant she was the receiver, which meant, he or "it" got to make the decisions. Now, while she forbid it to do what it wanted to do the most, she not only controlled how hard it was, but she felt it was controlling him.