The Show (Part I)

You emerge into the hallway.

Your hips whisk to and fro in your black boyshorts,  knee-high socks stretching over smooth flesh. Thighs tease and flex. Your hair's down; you know how much I love it when your hair's down. The locks fall casually, almost innocently, over one bare breast, the other naked to my exploring gaze.

You raise your arms, spreading your hands over both sides of the hallway, silky hands running over the hard walls. Hips cocked sideways, legs shoulder length apart, like a crooked T, and your head tilts down and forward, eyes looking at me sitting in the chair.

A smile entices your audience.

Now, you're my show. My personal exhibition.

My member begins to perk up, an acknowledgement. "Begin."

With a small roll of bare shoulders, you do.

You stretch your body. Limbs flow to various, sinful positions as you warm up. Placing both hands upon a unyielding wall, a covered foot runs easily upward along the opposing, spreading legs and thighs as you push your body up and down.

You chance another look at your one-man audience, beholding a hungry, predator's gaze, and you smile and laugh lightly. You know I'm restraining myself; I could take you-- claim you-- in a heart beat.

But I don't. I restrain the beast.

And you curl that toe towards your beautiful head, and part your moist lips, and tempt.

Now, you begin to mimic me fucking you.

Arms pointed downward, a leg drawn in and bent towards the soft crease of your bellybutton, you rise and fall. Slowly. As if my cock was between your drenched lips, as if you were sliding along my shaft, you rise and fall. Eyes locked upon me, ass tightening and tensing under your underwear, you rise and fall.

As if oblivious to your audience, you continue to stretch. You warm up for your show. Turning, churning, bouncing, rolling, straightening and bending limbs move over the walls. Fingers trail over exposed flesh, hair falls over vulnerable shoulders.

Your movements milk my desire. 

It feeds you.

You glance back over your shoulder and give a devilish, laughing smirk when you see my hands gripping the arms of the chair, my cock engorged, veins throbbing, hard muscles clenching. So amused are you that the beast is being kept behind bars. 

Finally, placing your head against one wall and a foot upon the other, your hands run downwards, to your night-black boyshorts. Nimble fingers twist around the material, and gradually, excitedly, begin to tug...