She hides in the shadows of our room, the drapes half open, light clawing its way in. It casts shapes over her lithe body as she moves, graceful as a cat. My beautiful Spanish dancer, never happier than when she is lost in the music, dancing for me alone in the haze of an early morning.
I watch her for a while, my body and mind waking up to this extraordinary sight. Does she know I am watching her? It is too dark to see her eyes. I reach up and pull back the drapes and there she is, so sexy, half naked, a shawl wrapped around her waist, a tight black corset leaving her breasts and pussy bare.
She laughs, her smile so wide and pretty. The day begins well. She sits down opposite me on the arm of a chair and looks down at her beautiful body, her long dark hair hanging straight down, covering her breasts, reaching for her pussy like her hands.
I am in two minds. To get up, out of bed and go to her – she is so gorgeous that she is hard to resist – or to stay where I am and watch her. She loves it when I watch her dancing; maybe this is part of the dance.
I stay where I am and relax. I keep my hands from my own body. I will do nothing but lie here and watch her.
She licks a finger, looks up at me seductively as she strokes her pussy lips, wetting them, easing them apart. She runs the tip of her finger over her ridges and folds, tracing the outline of her clitoris. She tips her head back and her mouth gapes open, her fingers working by touch alone.
A second finger joins the first, rubbing her button. I watch as her pussy lips grow plump, reacting as she stimulates her clit. I feel myself growing hard under the sheets. But I do not move. Instead, I watch my lovely dancer explore her own body.
I hear her breathing. It grows louder and faster, and she gasps at her own deft touch. Her fingers work up and down her slit, her lips parting around them, her body undulating to the rhythm that her fingertips are tapping out.
I watch her as she sends the tip of one finger to her wet hole, excited by this, willing her to fuck herself. But she stops and stands, turning around, planting one foot on the couch, her shawl draped over her ass.
Her hand between her legs is lost in the shadow of her wrap, but her body’s movement and the gasps from her mouth tell the story…. I can picture the hot, wet tightness around her fingers…
Then she pulls her shawl up at last, exposing her fabulous ass. She stands with her feet together and watches me, half smiling, one finger testing her tight slit from behind.
The moment has come – I could climb from my bed right now, manhood pulsing between my legs, and take my place behind her. She would not complain. She would welcome me, welcome my erection, plant her feet apart and grab hold of the couch with both hands as I entered her.
But I do not move. I want to watch her. To see what she will do. How far will she go? She has never masturbated in front of me before. Not like this. Not without me beside her on the bed, touching her, teasing her.
She sits back on the couch again. Is she disappointed in me? Did she want me to come to her? She smiles at me, biting her lower lip, then she is lost in her own world once more.
She raises each foot up onto the couch beside her, legs open like only a dancer can, her pussy wet and flushed ruby red, her lips blossoming open like a flower. Now she takes two fingers and drives them inside herself and I hear her gasp so loud she almost squeals.
Does she remember I am here? She fucks herself, long finger strokes in and out, suddenly swirling them rapidly around her clitoris. Her body heaves and spasms, shaking and shuddering, her fingers plunged deep, her knees snapped together as she cums on her own hand, biting her lip, crying out.
Then she slumps down onto the floor and looks up at me, her smile widening as she sees me once again. And I wonder, will she come to me now and touch me, or will I be left to my own devices?
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