0 comments/ 20739 views/ 0 favorites Sweet Anticipation By: A_Muse_Kate He ran the last few blocks to the library, praying he would get there before the doors were locked. He knew he was cutting it close, but had to have that book to finish his research paper tonight. Rushing through the doors relieved to find them still open, he receives an immediate glare from the matronly woman behind the desk. Catching his breath and slowing down his step, he nods in apology and quickly heads back to lose himself in the rows of books. Rounding the corner of the last row, he is stopped short by a most intriguing sight; an exotic looking woman is standing halfway up the ladder, arm reaching high to put away a book on the top shelf. In doing so, her skirt is drawn up, exposing tantalizing thighs, adorned in silk stockings that are secured by a lacey garter. His sudden appearance startles her and she gasps, the book falling from her hand to the floor below. Rushing to assist her, he is rewarded with a dazzling smile, highlighted by the most beautiful eyes he has ever seen. He hands her the book, which she immediately reaches to place on the high shelf and as she turns back to thank him, she finds his eyes locked on her recently exposed thighs. Descending the ladder, her eyes eventually meet his as they travel up her body and he blushes, knowing that she has caught him staring. But rather than admonish him, she winks at him and asked if he liked the show. His blunt reply surprises them both as he tells her that it was over way too quick. Her seductive laugh makes his spine tingle as she reaches to pat his cheek. Then she is gone with a wink, an aromatic trail of a spicy exotic scent and an insinuation that perhaps tomorrow would offer new pleasures. The next 23 hours find him drifting back to thoughts of her; that smile, those eyes, that creamy thigh come back to him in taunting images; reeking havoc with his body. He hurries from his last class to get to the library earlier than the night before, anticipating spending more time with her. Entering the building casually, so as not to disturb the old matron, he begins his search for her, row by row, glancing up one and down the other. As he reaches the last row, exactly where he found her before, his sudden intake of air brings another seductive laugh from her. She is standing on the ladder again, but this time is facing completely forward, one foot on a higher rung than the other is, arms leaning on even higher rungs. Her skirt tonight is shorter, although the thighs exposed are just as creamy and this time she has added the tempting sight of cleavage from her open blouse. She watches him take in all of the sights she has displayed, before she lowers an arm, crooks her finger and uses it to beckon him closer. Standing before her, his face is even with those luscious thighs and he groans as she hikes up her skirt some more and turns a knee outward, revealing the inside of that silky flesh. He responds to his gut instinct and leans forward to slide his tongue across her skin, starting just above the stocking and slowly working upward. Her only reaction to this is a soft moan, which he takes as encouragement, his tongue continuing upward, finding her mound completely shaven and the skin surrounding her clit exposed and slightly open. His tongue quickly darts downward, grazing that tender spot and discovers that it is erect and throbbing. Her sudden gasp is all the encouragement he needs to begin making long strokes with his tongue and short flicks with just the tip. Soon she is moaning, her hips grinding against his tongue, her breath coming in gasps as her climax draws hear. Her hands reach down to entangle in his hair as the moment arrives and her body trembles as the spasms of pleasure overtake her, riding his tongue with her head thrown back. As she begins to relax, he begins placing soft kisses on her thighs, when suddenly she shifts to push him back, smoothes down the edges of her skirt, kisses him on the forehead and dashes off, commenting over her shoulder that she’ll see him tomorrow. Walking home with the taste of her still on his tongue, he wonders what sort of game she is playing. Will she be there tomorrow night? And if she is, what does she have in store for him next? Will this game be one-sided, with only her receiving the direct pleasure, leaving him with indirect taunting sensations of arousal with no fulfillment? These thoughts, as well as other less inquisitive ones, haunt him until the anticipated rendezvous time. His lack of focus is diminished, his appetite almost non-existent, his frustration level building. He slowly begins to realize that anticipation, albeit exciting, can also heighten ones level of stress. The next night, he approaches the last row of books, almost cautiously and slowly rounds the corner. She is there, innocently kneeling in front of the lower level of books, seemingly intent on organizing them. His steps towards her appear to go unnoticed and as he stops near her, she does not acknowledge him as she continues to place the books in their appointed positions within the row. Just as he is about to question her lack of attention, she pivots on one knee, reaches to unbuckle his belt, opens his button, pulls down the zipper with her teeth and reaches in to remove his quickly hardening cock from his pants. One hand reaches around to grab his ass, the other attaches firmly to the base of his organ and her mouth swallows him in one gulp. His hand reaches out for a bookshelf to steady him as her silky head bobs back and forth on his now turgid flesh. His arousal is immediate and fierce and he is shocked to discover himself so close to an orgasm. He wants this to last longer, to enjoy this more fully, yet he is cognizant of his surroundings and does not wish for this sweet interlude to be interrupted. He lets go of all his hesitancy as she continues sucking him with a greed and veracity that seems to be pleasuring him as much as it is she. The impact of his climax causes him to thrust forward as if on instinct, sliding his cock deeper into her throat. She swallows him completely and he feels his load shoot inside of her, his balls pressing against her chin. The build up was so quick but the release so incredible as it rolls over him, causing him to tremble and sway with the sensations. As the climax ebbs, he feels her sucking the last drops of cum off of his tender flesh, then watches as she neatly tucks it back in his pants, zips him up, then buttons and buckles before she rises to stand before him. Her kiss, soft and fleeting, leaves a sticky drop of cum, along with a sigh, on his smiling lips as she rushes of with the promise of tomorrow and the sweet anticipation of more pleasures to come. The hours crawl by as she consumes his thoughts. What is her name? Is she married? Why is she doing this? Why did she pick me? What will happen next? He begins to question the sanity of his lurid actions with her, when he his thoughts drift to creamy thighs, sparkling eyes, and all of those hidden places yet explored. Lust wins the battle over morality and he settles back to let the thrill of anticipation wash over him. The next evening his disappointment quickly turns to frustration as he continues searching the rows for her. She is no where to be found as he checks his watch yet again; it is the normal time; where could she be? There is a table in the back of the library, near that last row and he pulls out a chair and plops down angrily. He is not angry with her, but with himself, for getting so caught up in this seductive game as to actually anticipate and even depend on the next moment of shared lust. His normally sensible mind has greedily been taken over by his seduced libido and he admonishes himself for losing control and decides to get out of here and forget this ever happened. Suddenly from behind him, sexy hands reach around and glide down his chest and he feels her hot breath on his neck. Her lips are hot and seem to brand his flesh with each touch, fiery points of heat from her tongue along his neck and jaw. She whispers near his ear that he should free his cock; but still feeling frustrated, he questions her motives and does not comply. Her response is a quick nip to his ear lobe and a very intense request that she be allowed to fuck him right here and now. Not waiting for his response, she slides around and lifts her leg over to straddle him and the chair. She pulls up the edges of her skirt, reaches down to slide a finger into her wet sheath, then rubs it all over his lips, pointing out to him that she is very ready for his cock. Reason deserts him as his cock begins to swell, forcing him to reach down to free it, stroking it quickly, preparing himself to enter her. Reaching up with his other hand, he too slides a finger deeply inside of her, fucking her, feeling her muscles tighten around him, her body began to bounce upon him. Pulling his finger out, he barely has time to pull his hand from his cock before she impales herself upon him and slowly starts fucking him as she had so recently requested. Her head is thrown back, her firm breasts, unbound beneath her sweater thrust out near him and he does not resist the urge to fill his hands with them. Sliding up under her sweater, he squeezes the flesh, reaching fingers out to tease the taut nipples, brining a moan from her as she rides him. This new sensation seems to slow the intensity of her fucking, as her head comes forward, her eyes meeting his, her smile rewarding him more than the sensations of his flesh inside of her. His hands tease her nipples a little more, causing her eyes to darken her cheeks to flush and the muscles surrounding his cock to spasm. His only thought is to kiss her; to possess her with his lips; the one region yet to be explored. He reaches up to her face, gently pulling her down, her hands reaching to slide through his hairs as their lips meet. The kiss is sweet and tender at first, slow and searching, but gradually intensifies as lips part, tongues meet and new sensations are added to the lusty mix. The intoxicating kiss is spreading it’s fire throughout their bodies and soon instinct takes over and the rhythm of their fucking increases in tempo, his hands on her hips lifting her up and pulling her down hard onto his cock. The rocking motion tears apart their lips and she pushes back to lean against the table behind her, allowing them both to see the beauty of this union, the swollen flesh sliding together, the wetness enabling the stimulating friction. He feels the tightening of her muscles a split second before she reacts to it, throwing her self forward, pulling him close, fucking him hard as the muffled scream of her orgasm breathes hot against his ear. She continues to ride, continues to fuck, wave after wave of pleasure causing her body to shudder, her chest to heave, her head finally throwing back as the climax begins it descent. He, however, still seeks sweet release, and hopes for yet another from her, and continues to thrust up into her, heartened by that seductive laugh and those dazzling eyes urging him on. He pulls her up off him, pushes the chair back, turns her around, and urges her to bend over the table. She does so with delight, raising her round ass into the air, and he plunges deep inside her with no hesitation, filling her deep, penetrating her hard. Then begins to fuck her with slow deliberate strokes, seeking her spot of glory, needing her to climax again to pull the cum from his throbbing member. His strokes intensify as she begins to react, to moan and tremble beneath him, climbing to the pinnacle, thrusting back against him as her body bursts into satiated splendor. His cock is buried deep in the erupting volcano and is drawn into the vortex of contractions, swell after swell of fiery triumph exploding around him. The rush of sensations has numbed them; however, they are pulled from their trance by the noises of someone approaching. As quickly as she arrived, she is gone, disappearing with no goodbye, no promise of tomorrow. He pulls himself together and is sitting there smiling smugly when the matron rounds the corner and discovers him. Barking sharply, she tells him the library is closed and as he rises to leave, he asks her the name of the lovely assistant that has been so “helpful” to him. She stares back at him, as if to judge his sanity and replies that there is no one that assists her; she works alone. He stumbles home on trembling legs and a mind whirling in a million directions. There is no restful sleep for him that night, just tormented dreams of this exotic woman, fears and trepidation that we will never see her again, yet this undying anticipation that must be satiated. He gives up on sleep when dawn approaches and plods to the kitchen to start some tea. Waiting for it to brew, he heads for the door to retrieve the morning paper, praying that it has arrived to provide some distraction from these haunting thoughts. Bending down in relief to grab the paper, he hears the apartment door across from his open, and as he arises, is stunned to see the new neighbor he has yet to properly meet. That seductive sends tremors throughout his entire body and a new level of anticipation washes over him. Sweet Anticipation We have agreed on the scenario. You will come in, fresh from the outdoors, letting yourself in because I have left the front door on the latch. To hell with the neighbours – let them suppose what they want to suppose. And find me, naked, kneeling on the bed. Maybe this is more than you expect, maybe it's what you hope for, maybe its just the wanton part of me that wants you to be greeted that way. I cannot believe I am planning this. My heart flutters nervously as I lay in bed, next to the sleeping form of my husband. I can feel the cloth of the duvet rubbing lightly against my nipples, sensitive to even the shallow breaths I am taking. Somehow, I go back to sleep, still with the butterflies churning in my stomach. The alarm goes, hubby stretches, yawns, scratches himself nonchalantly and makes for the bathroom. I try to lie still, but worry if that is how I normally behave. I try to look relaxed, yet know you are on your way to me, so cannot help but feel excited. I resist the temptation to touch myself – it would be just my luck to get caught sticky fingered on this of all days. I acknowledge the daily ritual of tea brought to my bedside, trying to look my normal tousled, half-asleep self. Why does his morning routine take so long? I want to scream, the tension within me is almost at bursting point. At last, the front door slams closed behind him and I leap from under the covers, heading immediately to the shower. I stand briefly in front of the full-length mirror and appraise the view as the water heats up. Not bad. Certainly not bad for 43. Sure, my breasts aren't quite as pert as they were in my teens and my stomach isn't exactly washboard flat, but as I raise my arms, my boobs lift and my stomach flattens a little. Not bad at all. And anyway, you like what you see, or so you tell me. I step into the shower cubicle, feeling the skin on my exposed breasts tighten at the contact with the cold tiles. I glance down at my 36B's and see my nipples, erect and proud. The water runs down my body, and I resist the temptation to play with myself in the warm stream. I carefully wash, checking my armpits for any stray hairs. Armpits checked, I move lower down. I feel so wet, and not entirely from the shower. I carefully part the lips of my pussy and run the water over her. The temptation to carry on and have an early morning orgasm is strong but, somehow, I resist. Everything appears to be in order. My pussy and backside are clean and tidy. I step from the shower, wrap my towel around my waist and head back to the bedroom. Even with the heating on, my nipples are still hard as bullets. I cannot remember being so aroused in years. I carefully dry myself, paying particular attention to the places I know you love to kiss – my shoulders, the underside of my breasts and my aching pussy. There is little point in trying to dry there, as I can feel my juices welling up as fast as I can dry them, even if I should want to do so (which I don't) I slip a silky robe on over my naked body, glancing at my reflection and noticing my breasts jutting from beneath the sheer material. I can't help but also notice the sparkle in my eye as I head downstairs to get breakfast. My phone sits on the side of the kitchen worktop. The blue light on the side blinks insistently at me. I open my inbox – one message. You. You are about 30 minutes away. I start to prepare my breakfast, flapping around, flustered as though I'm in someone else's house. I spill the milk on the work surface and notice how my hands are trembling. I take a deep, shuddering breath and smooth the material of my robe over my stomach. I feel the soft spring of my pubes at the base of my belly and again resist the temptation to go further. I fill a bowl with cereal, pour the milk on, this time without hazard and sit down, tucking my legs under me on the sofa. I sit, never more conscious of the fact that I have a body as I try to eat. My mouth is dry and after a couple of mouthfuls I return to the kitchen, emptying the bowl and putting it in the dishwasher without even looking. I check the phone again – you must be only 20 minutes away. I step to the hallway and, nervously, reach for the door lock. The door handle feels cold, clinical under my fingers with their bright red nails. A silence surrounds me as I slide the latch down, delicately, locking the door open, yet I can hear my heart beat pounding in my ears; I am sure the whole street, if not the whole town, can hear my racing pulse. I pause for a moment, poised to flee, poised to re-lock the door. Do I go through with the plan we devised? I tighten my resolve with a shiver and turn to run upstairs. The material of my slip rustles slightly, a sibilant "Yesss" as it rubs on my slender legs, rising half-way up my thighs as I ascend to the bedroom. In my mind the die is cast. I look into my room, taking in the view of the bed from the doorway. It is in plain view, a scant six feet from the door. I step forward to smooth the rumpled covers, straightening pillows and duvet. I glance at the clock. You must be close now.I wriggle my shoulders and my slip drops to the floor, puddling round my ankles. I bend down and reach inside the bottom drawer of my chest of drawers, feeling the air caressing the cheeks of my behind as my slip rides up over the smooth skin of my thighs. There, in the back of the drawer, is a dark red silk scarf. I take it out, wrapping it sensuously around my wrists. I move to the bed, kneeling, my back to the door as I wrap the blood red material twice around my head, pulling it tight and tying it firmly over my eyes, effectively cutting me off from the room. I lean forward, lowering my face to the pillow and raising my bottom in the air, and begin to wait. After a few moments I make myself more comfortable. As I shift I can feel the lips of my pussy separate in readiness for the passion to come. All is quiet. I can hear the distant roar as the central heating boiler kicks in. Kids shout in the neighbour's house as they prepare for school. In the distance a jet growls, off to sunnier climes. The bed creaks slightly as I shift my body, partly in discomfort, partly in excitement. Maybe it's true – depriving me of one sense heightens the rest. I strain my ears for the sound of a car drawing up outside. Nothing. What is that – a car in the drive? I can't be sure, so I become even more still, straining my ears for any clue. Suddenly I can hear nothing. There is a slight draught, which I can feel teasing the hairs on my pussy with the most exquisitely delicate touch. Maybe you've come in the front door, maybe it's just the cat through the catflap. I can feel the anxious sweat on my thighs cooling in the moving air. God, I am so wet, I can feel my lips swelling with the anticipation, gaping open to receive you. I can feel myself starting to leak, moistening the soft skin of my inner thighs. How long have I been waiting? It feels like hours, but could be minutes. Hold it. Surely that was the front door? Have two people come into my home? I strain to hear. Still nothing to be sure of. I suddenly realise it could be anyone – the front door might have swung open. Is it windy outside? Is it this week that the window cleaner is due? Who has come in downstairs? What should I do? What if it is my husband, home sick from work? He has had a cold and is prone to taking a sickie. How would I explain this situation, my kneeling, naked and blindfold on our marital bed, my pussy and arse there for anyone to see, glistening with my juices? Just the thought adds to my state of arousal. I wriggle my hips in anticipation, desperate now for some physical stimulation. There – that is the creak of the third step on the stairs. I pause, every fibre of my being tensed and tuned to the subtle sounds of approach. Still I am not sure... Again I think I sense movement behind me. I so want to look, to see who is feasting their eyes on my nakedness, but resist the temptation. I hear the floorboards creak, and a sharp, suppressed intake of breath as the door opens and my naked, aroused body is exposed to my visitor's eyes for the first time. Then silence. Nothing. God, I feel so wanton, brazen. Kneeling before whoever has entered the room, my naked sex exposed to their hungry eyes. Touch me, please. Every nerve ending is screaming for me to turn and embrace the visitor in my room. I squash down the temptation, determined to stick to the original plan. Hold on, that's the crunch of tyres outside now. Who is that? Who is it in my room? Who is it that is, even now, examining my naked body? I feel my nipples tighten in response to the thought. After a few moments (seconds, minutes?) there is the rustle of clothing, and the distinct sound of a zip fly being undone, closely followed by the dull thud of a pair of jeans hitting the floor. I am now beside myself with lust. I don't care who it is behind me, I can feel their eyes roving over the most intimate parts of my body. I push my arse further into the air, spreading my thighs wider to expose every detail of my naked pussy and anus to my mystery visitor. There is a pause in the undressing – is that it completed? I can hear breathing. It gets closer, to the point where I can feel breath on the hairs surrounding my soaking wet pussy. I move slightly, my hanging breasts swinging against the duvet cover and causing me to moan as my nipples graze against the crisp material. The hot breath leaves my naked cunt, but I can feel the heat of a body close to mine. I freeze, poised for something, hoping, praying it's you, but desperate for someone, something, inside me. Then, at last I feel the hot, rubbery pressure of a hard penis rub against my lips. I moan, encouraging its owner to go further. He aligns his cock with my entrance and pushes, pushes hard and long. What a feeling – my body gives way, stretching to accommodate this penetration, which seems to go on and on. I feel the hairs on his balls against my lips and clit and know he is buried to the hilt in my willing body. He adjusts his position, leaning forward as he fills me and, at last, I hear the words I have craved "Hello, lover" and I know it's you, my lover, living out our latest fantasy. The breath on my cheek and the release of knowing it's you are enough to push me over the edge. A warm, sensuous wave starts in my toes, sweeping up my calves and thighs before crashing through my groin and onwards through my heaving chest and into my brain, where it bursts in a heart stopping crescendo. I slump onto the bed, exhausted, and close my eyes behind the silken blindfold. "Hello lover" I sigh in response as my body relaxes in your embrace.