Thought walking might be a little tough for you. But if you'd rather...
[She keeps him curled in close, however, not waiting to hang around. Since she has been doing arm day, but should still be realistic. In the meantime they leaves the restaurant and seems to be heading for the bathrooms??]
[Also sorry-not sorry for having to walk around bareassed for a while,]
[She makes it through the hallways of the restaurant floor fairly easily, arms only beginning to shake as they run into what's labeled as the family rest room, the door tall and made of modern, grey-toned wood. She slides it open and enters.
Rather than just an accessible toilet or a tiny cell with a changing table, this is more a room for rest--a floor to ceiling plate glass window commands the far wall, club chairs and a generously sized leather couch positioned to take advantage of the view. It's here that she deposits him, looking hungrily down at the splay of his limbs]
[Eleven floors up, perhaps if someone can see up there they deserve the show. She goes where she's tugged, reaching to cup his face and sink in for a kiss]
[He makes a soft sound into the kiss, pressing up into it with a desperate sort of urgency - hooks his fingers closed on the front of her shirt and tries to pull her closer still]
[She's happy to deepen the kiss, licking into his mouth with relish. Her free hand goes to his side, running the outside of his leg from his knee to his waist]
[He tips his head up, to allow her better access - shudders, hard, at the path her hand takes. His own hands take the opportunity to explore, running up over her thighs and her hips and her waist, greedily tracing everything he can reach]
[She eagerly presses in, both kissing deep and allowing him to touch wherever he pleases. The path her own hands take is equally indulgent, squeezing high at his hip and digging deep into the meat of his ass--pushing up his skirts high up past his waist]
[He shudders again, harder this time, as her hands push up his skirts - at the squeeze, and the touch at his hip, and the heat of the kiss]
[And it is heated, almost pleadingly so; he kisses her like she's water in the desert, breaking only briefly for air before he presses back in for seconds. His hands continue to roam, over hips and back and up to her breasts, restlessly tracing the shape of her]
[She tugs him closer, fitting him up against her like a puzzle piece--holds tight at his hips to keep him in place as she grinds against him--sucks hard at his tongue as if just that could keep him in place]
[He makes a wavering, desperate sort of sound when she slots them together; his hips jackknife up off the couch, rocking restless against her]
[The kiss he returns is just as urgent, and certainly there doesn't seem to be much danger of him going anywhere. He hooks his foot around her leg, shaky, trying to draw her in closer against him
[There is most certainly a better way to do this--she knows this, and in theory had at least something in mind when she started all this. But there's not much related to "mind" at all at this point, not with the roaming of his hands and the desperation in his voice and the heat everywhere they touch--and the places they can't quite.
What she should do is lay him down and tease him further--slowly undress, massage him everywhere but where he really needs it, maybe make him get her off another few times before considering his release.
What she wants to do is match every snap of his hips with one of her own, or even ramp the pace further--press body to body to feel the shudder of his breathing and the twitch of his muscles and the clench of his limbs (and other things) around her, and the idea of pulling away even enough to partially undress is painful to consider.
She manages at least to shove the hem of the dress up around his chest on a fresh round of groping; eventually forces herself to risk breaking the kiss if only due to petticoats getting in the way. Hopefully a grunt and a tug at his sides is enough to get him to lift up so she can get it over his head, since words are a lot to ask at present]
[He whimpers, when she breaks the kiss - makes to reach out and pull her back in, before he feels the tug and realizes what it is she wants]
[He curses, breathless, and levers himself up so she can peel off the dress, uncharacteristically clumsy and decidedly shaky. He tries to help, but probably at this point is more of a hindrance, not least because he can't seen to stop squirming beneath her, still desperate for friction]
[She doesn't exactly stop that part either, easily carried away enough to blindly follow his lead, even though there are still just as many layers of fabric between them as before.
The dress, at least, is ripped away and discarded, and her expression is even more eager to see the flush over his pale skin and the expanse of freckles stretching from head to toe.
Just looking is only enough for a moment, and her hands reach out almost of their own accord, greedily pressing over his chest and flicking over his nipples and skimming down his belly, to the waistband of the incredibly poorly named chastity belt]
[Beneath the dress, he's all freckles and pale skin and a flush that has long since stretched to his chest. The lithe lines of him are in constant motion, from the heaving of his chest as he pants for breath to the way his hips shift and shimmy]
[The chastity belt seems to have done a decent job of keeping something in check, at least, though the leather is visibly damp, and the skin visible between the straps even more so]
[He hisses in a gasp at the touch to his nipples - rocks up helplessly when her hand reaches the waistband, as though the motion will somehow get her touch where he needs it]
[Already distracted, her fingers dip under his waistband, just barely brushing against the tip of his cock--gets further distracted attempting to wipe up the mess with her slacks as she leans in for another kiss.
Mismatched hands trace up his hipbones and squeeze at his glutes, as if the world will end if she stops mapping his skin for even another second. But she had been in the middle of something, and she breaks from his mouth to pick up the reply, more than a little breathless]
[He makes a strangled sort of sound, when her finger finds the tip of his cock - bucks up against her, entirely unable to keep himself from pressing in for more]
[He greets the kiss like he needs it to keep breathing - squirms obligingly under the path of her hands - closes his fingers around her shirt, as though to keep her from pulling away. When she does finally break the kiss, his pupils are completely blown; he licks at his lips, expression a little dazed]
Yeah. That's - yeah.
[He's reaching for her pockets with shaky hands - runs the pads of his thumbs over the curves of her hips, searching for the outline of the key]
[She wriggles into his touch, helpful; he'll find it in the front left pocket but is welcome to check them all.
In the meantime she dives back into the kiss for as long as her breath can hold, pulling back for the reward of his dazed expression before licking into him again.
Her hands run down his thighs to the seam, then scrape back up the backs with blunt nails--continue up to squeeze at his ass, fingertips dipping into the crevice between and running along the thin leather thong]
[He does check them all, hands roving greedily over the shape of her through the barrier of fabric - gets a little distracted, maybe, at the back pockets, squeezing at the curve of her ass before he carries on his way]
[The kiss is more distracting still, and the teasing path of her hands most of all; he's clumsy as he slips his fingers into her pocket to dig the key out, working by touch alone. The thought of breaking the kiss to see what he's doing seems like an atrocity when he could have her mouth instead, the heat and the wet of it, the enthusiasm of her clever tongue]
[He groans into her mouth, at the scrape of her nails - at the way her fingertips follow that strip of leather - and he rocks forward into nothing, all but desperate - back again, pressing into her touch]
[She feels like she'd said she wouldn't tease him anymore--probably--but it's hard not to when he's so reactive. Why wouldn't she want to feel him arch up into her, or the dig of his fingers into her flesh, or the pleasant, welcoming chill of his tongue against hers? How could she keep from wanting to draw out how he trembles beneath her, or hear more of the desperation in his voice, or find out how much more intense it could grow?
So her fingertips scrape unevenly over the flats of his thighs for endless greedy moments; they venture between his cheeks again, a little too eager for thorough exploration of what's above and below the leather thong, but attentive enough to work out the broad strokes of what's okay and what isn't. And of course if there's something else he wants--she figures--there's nothing stopping him from forcing the issue, even flat on his back on the sofa. She's pretty sure he's gotten the key by now, at least]
[It's all okay, judging by his reactions - better than okay, if the way he whimpers at the soft brush of her fingers is any indication]
[He can't seem to keep his hips still - they make needy, restless rocking motions - and he can't seem to stop kissing her, either, licking into her mouth like he needs it to live]
[He does in fact have the key now, even though his hands are decidedly unsteady as they make to slide it into the lock; there's the soft scrape of metal against metal, and for a long moment, he manages nothing more than to fumble it, too caught up with kissing her to try to do this by sight]
[It probably doesn't help that she does very little to get out of the way, though after a couple times of being poked in the belly she reluctantly leaves off from his behind to place her hands over his--drags off his lower lip to slowly rock back on her knees]
Guess you've done your time...
[Her voice is gravelly, face flushed and eager, glasses discarded somewhen along the way. She traces up the soaked leather cage from his perineum to the lock at his waist, none-too-gently cupping the base of the basket as she turns the key and unlatches the buckle. From there it's easy to work down the garment so he can spring free. She licks her lips, pupils dark]
So? How do you want it? You been so good, I'll let you choose, this time.
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[There's a muffled gasp, as she literally sweeps him off his feet, and he goes redder still when he realizes, burying his face against her neck]
[He shifts in her arms - squirms a little, unable not to notice that hand on his thigh]
G-guess you been doing arm day, huh?
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[She keeps him curled in close, however, not waiting to hang around. Since she has been doing arm day, but should still be realistic. In the meantime they leaves the restaurant and seems to be heading for the bathrooms??]
[Also sorry-not sorry for having to walk around bareassed for a while,]
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[He keeps curled in against her neck, holding tight; she can feel the warmth of the blush, when he realizes exactly how bare-assed he is]
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Rather than just an accessible toilet or a tiny cell with a changing table, this is more a room for rest--a floor to ceiling plate glass window commands the far wall, club chairs and a generously sized leather couch positioned to take advantage of the view. It's here that she deposits him, looking hungrily down at the splay of his limbs]
This better?
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[He flushes darker still at the sight of that window, though - how much of a view it offers, presumably both ways]
[Still, the embarrassment isn't enough to keep him from taking hold of her sleeve to try and tug her in closer,]
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[And it is heated, almost pleadingly so; he kisses her like she's water in the desert, breaking only briefly for air before he presses back in for seconds. His hands continue to roam, over hips and back and up to her breasts, restlessly tracing the shape of her]
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[She tugs him closer, fitting him up against her like a puzzle piece--holds tight at his hips to keep him in place as she grinds against him--sucks hard at his tongue as if just that could keep him in place]
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[The kiss he returns is just as urgent, and certainly there doesn't seem to be much danger of him going anywhere. He hooks his foot around her leg, shaky, trying to draw her in closer against him
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What she should do is lay him down and tease him further--slowly undress, massage him everywhere but where he really needs it, maybe make him get her off another few times before considering his release.
What she wants to do is match every snap of his hips with one of her own, or even ramp the pace further--press body to body to feel the shudder of his breathing and the twitch of his muscles and the clench of his limbs (and other things) around her, and the idea of pulling away even enough to partially undress is painful to consider.
She manages at least to shove the hem of the dress up around his chest on a fresh round of groping; eventually forces herself to risk breaking the kiss if only due to petticoats getting in the way. Hopefully a grunt and a tug at his sides is enough to get him to lift up so she can get it over his head, since words are a lot to ask at present]
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[He curses, breathless, and levers himself up so she can peel off the dress, uncharacteristically clumsy and decidedly shaky. He tries to help, but probably at this point is more of a hindrance, not least because he can't seen to stop squirming beneath her, still desperate for friction]
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The dress, at least, is ripped away and discarded, and her expression is even more eager to see the flush over his pale skin and the expanse of freckles stretching from head to toe.
Just looking is only enough for a moment, and her hands reach out almost of their own accord, greedily pressing over his chest and flicking over his nipples and skimming down his belly, to the waistband of the incredibly poorly named chastity belt]
You want...?
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[The chastity belt seems to have done a decent job of keeping something in check, at least, though the leather is visibly damp, and the skin visible between the straps even more so]
[He hisses in a gasp at the touch to his nipples - rocks up helplessly when her hand reaches the waistband, as though the motion will somehow get her touch where he needs it]
J-jesus, yeah, please - yeah.
You - you got the key, right?
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[Already distracted, her fingers dip under his waistband, just barely brushing against the tip of his cock--gets further distracted attempting to wipe up the mess with her slacks as she leans in for another kiss.
Mismatched hands trace up his hipbones and squeeze at his glutes, as if the world will end if she stops mapping his skin for even another second. But she had been in the middle of something, and she breaks from his mouth to pick up the reply, more than a little breathless]
...Pocket, I think.
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[He greets the kiss like he needs it to keep breathing - squirms obligingly under the path of her hands - closes his fingers around her shirt, as though to keep her from pulling away. When she does finally break the kiss, his pupils are completely blown; he licks at his lips, expression a little dazed]
Yeah. That's - yeah.
[He's reaching for her pockets with shaky hands - runs the pads of his thumbs over the curves of her hips, searching for the outline of the key]
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[She wriggles into his touch, helpful; he'll find it in the front left pocket but is welcome to check them all.
In the meantime she dives back into the kiss for as long as her breath can hold, pulling back for the reward of his dazed expression before licking into him again.
Her hands run down his thighs to the seam, then scrape back up the backs with blunt nails--continue up to squeeze at his ass, fingertips dipping into the crevice between and running along the thin leather thong]
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[The kiss is more distracting still, and the teasing path of her hands most of all; he's clumsy as he slips his fingers into her pocket to dig the key out, working by touch alone. The thought of breaking the kiss to see what he's doing seems like an atrocity when he could have her mouth instead, the heat and the wet of it, the enthusiasm of her clever tongue]
[He groans into her mouth, at the scrape of her nails - at the way her fingertips follow that strip of leather - and he rocks forward into nothing, all but desperate - back again, pressing into her touch]
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So her fingertips scrape unevenly over the flats of his thighs for endless greedy moments; they venture between his cheeks again, a little too eager for thorough exploration of what's above and below the leather thong, but attentive enough to work out the broad strokes of what's okay and what isn't. And of course if there's something else he wants--she figures--there's nothing stopping him from forcing the issue, even flat on his back on the sofa. She's pretty sure he's gotten the key by now, at least]
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[He can't seem to keep his hips still - they make needy, restless rocking motions - and he can't seem to stop kissing her, either, licking into her mouth like he needs it to live]
[He does in fact have the key now, even though his hands are decidedly unsteady as they make to slide it into the lock; there's the soft scrape of metal against metal, and for a long moment, he manages nothing more than to fumble it, too caught up with kissing her to try to do this by sight]
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Guess you've done your time...
[Her voice is gravelly, face flushed and eager, glasses discarded somewhen along the way. She traces up the soaked leather cage from his perineum to the lock at his waist, none-too-gently cupping the base of the basket as she turns the key and unlatches the buckle. From there it's easy to work down the garment so he can spring free. She licks her lips, pupils dark]
So? How do you want it? You been so good, I'll let you choose, this time.
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[He does spring free, as soon as she releases him; his cock is red and dripping, curved hard and ready up toward his stomach]
Just - jesus, just - anything, touch me, Xia -
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