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Teeth and Hands


“Will you help me out of this dress?”, she asked, not quite needing help, though the dress was a bit difficult, but yet wanting to surrender it to him, to have her nakedness be the work of his hands.

His hands were nice, she thought. And she liked the way they felt.

He began to unfasten the rather complex closure of the dress, and her heart ran a bit faster. No one knew where this would go, but here her dress was coming off, the work of those hands.

She got a sense for a moment as he worked the clasps that he'd very much rather be tearing it off, making a rag of the dress she had spent so much time selecting for this night, but he patiently did as he'd been asked, and the dress fell, intact, to the cool stone under her feet.

A little gasp escaped him, and she realized that he liked what he saw.

His hands were resting on her shoulders, and they were silent, still for a moment. The next thing was obvious, but she suddenly felt shy about asking, so she did not speak. And then his hands moved, and she drew in a little breath as he unhooked her bra, undid the clasps. She could not see him, he stood behind her, but she felt his hands work, and the bra joined the dress.

His hands slid down to her hips, and again silence, stillness. She listened to his breathing and soon found herself hearing her own. No one spoke. Still. Then, the fingers slid into the waistband of her panties, and they also joined the pile of clothing formed at her feet.

She stepped out of the pile, and her shoes, and stood on the stones, feeling the coolness, and, at once, feeling rather warm.

He stepped forward also, and he was close, his hands on her again.

She felt them tense, and his thumbs dug into her shoulders. He kneaded and worked them, pressing hard into her muscles, and she relaxed into it, into the rhythm of his motions. His hands moved down her back, and he came closer.

And then she felt his teeth. He bit her gently at first, gnawing playfully at her softened shoulders, but each bite was firmer, more earnest, and it seemed to her that he was slipping out of his polite mask, and that, more like an animal, he was in danger of devouring her.

His teeth dug into her, and she heard moans and gasps, her own, encouraging him as his teeth worked over her body.

His hands held her and pulled her into the bites, and she pulled him, and all pretense was gone.

She was on her hands and knees, and he still biting her neck, her shoulders, but pressing himself into her. She cried out, finally, and he, so polite, so careful with his words, told her to be quiet. Be still.

And so it was quiet, as they lay on the cool stone, holding hands, feeling the stillness.

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When she came to his house for dinner, he had been oddly quiet. She had been dating him for a while, and found him to be fun, and pleasant, and gentlemanly. She had the most conflict with the gentlemanly part. She liked it, and she also was eager to see the ungentlemanly side of him, but it had not been forthcoming.

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