Stripping It Down

Whilst I love the relentless tempo of frenzied fucking - buttons popping, shirts ripping, underwear torn off with teeth - sometimes it's essential to slow things down a little (especially if I'm wearing my favourite bespoke outfit) and which guy doesn't like a good strip tease? Here's one that works for me - Japanese bondage ropes and ice-cubes optional:

I start by putting a good track on, something I'll enjoy dancing to. Pretty much anything goes but leave Black Sabbath, Teresa Teng and Frank Sinatra to the professionals. If I'm feeling plebian - or I'm at his house, wasting valuable time rummaging through his CDs instead of getting it on - something from the Black Eyed Peas will usually do the trick. If I'm well-prepared, then something Latin or Claude Challe's 'Je Nous Aime' are my preferred options. (If he only has chinese opera and classical music in his collection, then my advice is to leg it out of there. Fast.)

The trick to stripping is to put up a good show. It's all in the pent-up anticipation, the simmering tension and then the postponement of the climax (yours or his) for as long as humanly possible. Of course it's easy for his over-enthusastic member to overwhelm the situation at some point and plunge straight in, so to speak. It's up to you to decide at which point this is acceptable.

As much as I approve of audience participation, I never like him to spoil all the fun. So, in order to maintain the upper hand, I make up a few rules and talk him through them:

I can touch you, but you can't touch me.
Take your clothes off and I'll tie your hands behind your back.
Sit up and pay attention. I'm going to show you how I really like to be touched.
If you behave, I'll finish off by coming on your face.

I never give the game away and let him assume that we're going to end up fucking (I guess this works better with people you hardly know, as opposed to would-be Chinese boyfriends who take this as their God-given right), so all these rules are delivered in a reasonably firm but sexy manner. So far, there haven't been any complaints.

I start swaying my hips to the music. I use my hands to move up my thighs, to stroke the sides of my breasts and to caress the back of my neck. I lift a leg onto the bed, my skirt begins to ride up and I angle away from him, so he only sees me from behind. I put my fingers to my pussy, pushing aside my panties and start rubbing my clitoris. My eyes are half-closed, I put my head back and moan softly deep in my throat. Taunting him...

Are you enjoying this? You like watching me get off?

I turn to face him. I reach under to remove my bra, revealing nipples that are hard against my chiffon blouse. I cup my breasts and pinch my nipples, twisting them slightly through the fabric. I climb on top of him and dangle one breast dangerously close to his mouth. So close he can feel my hair on his face, my hot breath on his forehead and just when his mouth closes on the outline of my breast, I turn away.

I pull my top off and reach for a piece of ice from the champagne bucket. I rub the ice-cube slowly down my cleavage and then over each nipple, watching rivulets of cold, melted water run down my chest, soaked up by my skirt. I pop it into my mouth and lean in for a kiss, pushing the ice over his lips and through his teeth, forcing him to manipulate it with his tongue. My cold, wet nipples brush against his cheek suggestively.

Now show me what you can do.

When the ice has melted and he's done sucking on me, I reach under my skirt and step out of my underwear. He sits up and I straddle him with my back against his chest and my hands on his knees, my skirt around my hips, rubbing up and down against his erection. He leans over and watches over my shoulder as I start touching myself under my skirt. I draw out a finger from my pussy, glistening with juice and put it to his mouth. He licks it clean, his tongue dancing circles around my fingers.

Don't you wish it was your cock doing that? I do.

I reach down to pull my skirt off and reach down to untie his hands. By this time he's chafing at his bonds, about to explode. I wrap myself around him tightly, letting him feel the full heat between my legs. I start untying his knots with excruciating slowness. At this point, I judge the situation and make a decision about how much more I should torment him. The point is to stimulate and titillate - not generate hate - so if the excitement is making him froth at the mouth and show symptoms of cardiac arrhythmia, I generally take it as a signal to stop while I'm ahead. I hesitate...

I'm only going to let you go on one condition.

I name my price. I've earned it. I know if I think of something really good, the rest of the night will follow. And I'm the sort of gal who is never at a loss for ideas.

P.S. If I'm wearing bad-ass stilettos, it goes without saying that I'm keeping them on all night. It just completes the look, dahlin. The juxtaposition of nudity with luxurious, over-priced frippery. Why the concept is quite deliciously postmodern, if I say so myself. ;)