Anticipation
by chocolateroark

The anticipation kills me. Makes my legs weak and my stomach quiver.

It's not like this is the first time it's happened either. We've been together for over a year so I should be used to it by now. Yet and still, every instance, be it at a formal dinner such as this; me in my favorite dress, low cut, slit up to my hip and hugging las curvas; or a casual party at a mutual friend's house, the same thing happens. My hands start to shake and my thighs begin to sweat.

Aye caramba!! I can just see the brown hair around my gatita getting darker and darker soaking up my sweat.

He says it's not intentional, that his lust for me runs deeper than the molten lava inside the earth, making him vulnerable to me. There's no physical connection to these other people, so he can smile, laugh and be free without fear of a judgment that matters.

"I want you to be free around me," I told him.

"If that was the case, you should've kept your clothes on. I can't compartmentalize my feelings like you do," he answers.

Our first night together was like a revelation. He asked if I could see it. His desire. It made him feel naked and ashamed before me. My cynicism where men are concerned automatically made a disbeliever of me. It was just another male ploy to get me out of my panties. As he became more and more submissive and solicitous, I began to believe him. And want him.

I decide to mix and mingle to take my mind off of things. There are a few people from the ad agency I work with here. I mingle with them for a while and notice a group of guys eyeing me. I saunter over and stand in their vicinity, waiting, until one of them directs a lame comment towards me. The attention is flattering in a lewd strip-club kind of way.

No one looks me directly in the eyes; they all stare at my breasts. I should've worn my "Don't talk to my breasts. They don't have ears" T-shirt. I feel like Marilyn Monroe walking around with that book all those years waiting for someone to ask her what she was reading.

A waiter passes me a key to Room 712. As I make my way through the lobby towards the elevator, I can feel my juices begin to run down the inside of my thighs. Just a few more minutes baby, I murmur. The elevator is full of a group of guys on their way to a bachelor party. One begins sniffing the air and whispering to the others. They eventually look at me. I smile and wave as I exit onto my floor. I preen in the giant hallway mirror.

Luckily, my mascara and eyeliner haven't run from the sweating I've been doing. I freshen up my lip liner, blood red; he loves that color on me. It contrasts well with my almond eyes, mestiza skin and the beauty mark right above my laugh line.

The pungent odor of incense fills my nostrils as I enter the starkly furnished room. Though I can't see him, I feel his presence. The light from the partially open bathroom illuminates the painter's tarp convering the mattress. A pair of fur-covered handcuffs and a fur-covered blindfold beckons me to don them. Residing next to the bed is a champagne bucket on a pedestal. The ice shifting inside the bucket is deafening in the silence.

As I peel off my dress, I catch a glimpse of him sitting on the balcony, watching me, my perverse partner in this escapade.

After putting on the blindfold and handcuffing myself to the bed, I lie in darkness for what seems like an eternity, tensing my muscles to scratch that itch I can't reach. The sweat trickling down my underarms dries before I notice the cool night air swirling all around me, tweaking my nipples and bringing a chill to my overheated body.

The mattress shifts as he joins me, reaching over to the champagne bucket. I hear a top being removed and a squeezing, sucking sound before a thick; ice-cold goo hits my skin; coating my tits and nipples like chocolate on a sundae and making lazy S's across my abdomen.

"Madre de Dios!" I cry out, his evil cackle bouncing around in my head. The bed frame groans as my back arches and hips rise off the mattress. Starting at my stomach, where my body heat has thinned it enough to make a pool in my belly button, he begins licking and sucking me clean. Every stroke of his tongue lapping up more of my syrupy sweat, until he reaches my breasts. They receive long licks that bring a tingle to my clit and make my hips squirm.

He begins pawing at me through my panties, while licking my super-sensitive aureole and nibbling on my mini-Hershey's Kiss nipples.

"Bastard," I growl through a smile.

"Do you want me to stop?"

I'm sure he's grinning that Cheshire cat smile of his. Before I can answer, he grabs the edges of my soaked panties with his teeth, inching them down one side at a time until he can run his nose along me, inhaling my scent. Hot breath and stubble making every nerve ending on my gatita tingle.

"Lick or fuck?"

I maneuvered him forward with my swimmers thighs, hoping he'd get the message. I felt him hover over me as he positioned himself between my legs, spreading my thighs even wider with the wiggle of his hips. So wet, his cock sank into my gatita morena like an anchor, disappearing into the depths.

His finger deftly probed the area around my clit as he licked my face and stroked me languidly, filling me to the hilt, and then withdrawing completely. Every penetration sending me over the edge, until I finally exploded. My orgasm spreading warmth all over me. A moment later I felt his hips slam into me for the last time and him grind into me as his cock sprayed its treasured contents inside. We drifted off, two sweaty bodies matted against one another, marred to sticky plastic.

I awoke later to find myself uncuffed and covered in - surprise! - maple syrup. I diddled myself, mixing the syrup with my own juices, wondering what twist he'll come up with next. The anticipation is killing me.