Fiction: The Hunt - Part 2

If I recall correctly, some of you have been waiting for this.... It'll go at least another chapter, probably two.

(For the first part as a refresher, click here)

The Hunt
Part 2

This song ends, and I’m reluctant to pull away. “I’m Grace. Come to my table for a drink?”

The lovely woman swallows visibly. Perhaps it is because the music is no longer playing her body like I hope to be soon, but then she nods to me. I take her warm hand in mine and lead her to our table. As I help her down the steps I ask her for her name. She says in a breathless little whisper, “I’d like that. I’m Anna.”

Her voice is like warmed wine.

I smile at the tentative note in her voice. “That’s my middle name. I was named for two of my great-aunts.” The small talk seems to relax her as we come to the table.

To read the rest of this part of the story, click on Whole Post

You’re sitting there, with a slight smile on your face. Her steps falter for a moment and I reach out to steady her. I gesture to you and start the introductions. “Anna, this is my friend Steven. Steven, I just met Anna on the dance floor and figured she needed a break and a drink.”

You stand and offer a hand to Anna. “I noticed you on the dance floor, you move very well.”

Anna bends her head a little, in a gesture I know very well. If it wasn’t for the darkened area of the booth, we’d be able to see a slight flush. “Thank you.”

You offer her your spot on the bench that lines the walls and serves as the chair. I’m happy to see that there are a couple of bottles of water and glasses with ice waiting for us. Again, you’ve been preparing. One would almost think you’re a Boy Scout.

Then, thanking the darkness, I blush at the thought of your knot-tying skills.

Anna sits down and I sit down next to her. I pat the space on the other side of me for you to sit because I get the feeling that crowding her in would just scare her, and not in a good way. Not if we want to take her back to the room later.

The bottles of water are still sealed, and I open hers for her and pour her a drink. I then open my own bottle and pour my own drink.

Then starts the getting to know you dance of words and touches. She mentions that it’s her first time at this club too, that a friend had suggested it. The waitress comes by and Anna orders a Saint Mortiz (Chambord & cream). Inspired by this, I order a French Kiss (Chambord, vodka, white creme de caco, and cream) for myself. You chuckle and lean over to me and stage-whisper, “Is that a hint?” Then you wave off the waitress, still nursing your only scotch for the night.

Anna’s eyes widen for a moment at your comment, then she notices the fruit platter on the table and reaches for the strawberry I had my eye on earlier. She dips it in the whipped cream and then takes a bite out of it, closing her eyes for a moment. Now I have an idea of what I look like when I do something similar. I have a momentary flash of respect for you and my other lovers who don’t just fuck me right then and there when I have that look on my face.

I wish there was enough light so I could see her flush. Then again, with any skill on our part, I’ll get her into a place where I can see it.

Our drinks come and she picks up her drink and brings it to her lips.

I look at the fruit then at you for a moment. You barely nod, and I reach for a strawberry of my own and dip it in the chocolate sauce. Anna pauses with her glass raised and watches my face just as intently as I was watching hers.

I grin just a little bit as I bite into it.

As I chew the piece of fruit, a little bit of juice from the strawberry edges out the corner of my mouth. Instead of using the napkin, I wipe it up with my finger and then suck the juice off while looking into Anna’s eyes.

She raises her glass and steadily drinks her Saint Mortiz until there’s only a smear of pinkish cream left in the glass.

I reach for my water and take a long sip to clear my palate before going to my own drink.

We talk. She gets another Saint Mortiz. We exchange little shreds of information. She’s only been in the area for six months. You’ve been here for three years and I’m visiting from out of town. She’s an artist, a sculptor. I’m a programmer, and you’re an engineer.

Her friend had been here a few times and was going to meet her here tonight, but he called to cancel just before she saw me on the dance floor. She decided to stay and dance a little bit and then met me.

The music gets good again, and I excuse myself to dance. Anna stays behind.

This is the most interesting part of the hunt, and I’m never there for it. I want to know what it is that you say to our prey, how you coax her fantasies and tendencies from her like offering sugar to a skittish colt. I know what you do, but only in abstract. You make sure that either she would take us both, or not deny your presence. You explain how things work between the two of us, and how she would fit in our bed. In compliment to the words you weave so well, I dance and offer myself for the two of you from the dance floor.

It usually takes about four songs for you magic to work, or at least to find out that it won't work out at all for what we want tonight. I dance for all I’m worth, and thank the gods the music stays good. One of my favorite songs comes on as the fifth song. I cannot help but dance it. In the past we’ve joked that it’s the ultimate sub song, but tonight I’m not a sub. I still dance, turning it into pure sex and sensuality instead of servitude. The movements are still slow and controlled, a belly dance in slow motion. No shimmies, but a lot of isolations and flowing snake-like undulations.

The last time I danced to this song in front of you... I flush at the memory of the hotel room, the ben wa balls inside of me, and the chain from nipple clamps cold between my breasts.

Sweat gives my skin a bright sheen while I come back to the table. I notice a little “Do Not Disturb” card on the table as I get close to it. I smile to see that Anna’s leaning back against you, facing away just enough that I can see her easily. Her head is up and tilted back and you finish a deep kiss from her lips as I settle into the booth. You hand is on her belly, just like mine had been a little while ago.

She raises her head, a bit surprised I’m there, but the sexuality of the moment relaxes her to lean back and look at me.

“That was really hot, Grace. Don’t you think so, Anna?” Gods, you’ve turned on charm. Your voice has descended to molten honey and cinnamon and I’m sure it’s not possible for my pussy to get any wetter at the sound of it.

Anna sits up. The movement is languid, with that slightly smiling and sleepy glow that only happens when a woman has just had a fast and hard orgasm. You were a very busy man when I was on dance floor. It's too dark, but I bet your fingers on her belly are damp, and not from sweat.

I sit down on the other side of Anna and catch the scent of her perfume and arousal, sweet and spicy.

She reaches up to push the damp tendrils of hair away from my face. “Oh, yes,” she breathes lightly, the words almost lost in the dance beat outside the booth. “Very hot.”

She leans towards me, breath scented with raspberries and cream, and asks, “May I show you how hot it was to watch you?”

I nod, and she breathes, "Thank you," as she leans in to kiss me. Her lips were soft and I can taste a faint trace of scotch on her kiss, left over from you. I reach up and take her mouth carefully at first, getting the feel for her lips and tongue. She's eager, so I turn on my hunger, taking her mouth a bit more forcefully as she leans back into your warm body.

I hear your voice, low and soft, cutting across the throb of the music around us.

"That's it Grace, take her. You have to feel her give in, it's so delicious. She's so responsive and hungry, like you. That's it."

Gods, I love it when you talk like that.