He had her hypnotized her. But she silently complied. Going under at a countdown and then the instant orgasm produced at the snap of his fingers. A funny little game. “Oh“, she cooed, “Where are my clothes?“, as she rhythmically undulated her hips to and fro. The camera rolling its red light blinking. (Snap!) his fingers replied. Somewhere in the room a long deep moan easing out slowly like warm toothpaste from a newly flattened tube. She caught with her forefinger between her lips unconsciously tasting herself. “Where was that in my set of instructions?“, he quietly mused to himself? Her hips not skipping a cycle reciprocating constantly though more violently. The same eternal grin of that silly stupid smile breaking out on her features as it does with all women when they are doing something ‘naughty‘ and enjoying it to the max. (Snap!) once again. Her expression shagging. Transformed from the casement of pleasure into a fluttering sense of pleasurable distress. “You will keep dancing but when I snap my fingers again your orgasms will be one-hundred times stronger!“, he forcefully mumbled. An internal dialogue within before a bed sheet movie screen flickering forth a Keystone cop melodrama with him twirling his mustache in black cape and tall hat as the door is battered in and a row of nightstick wielding clowns tumble in after it. “I never touched her!“, being the initial defense disturbing the scene before him. (Snap!) (Snap!) That same low earthquake moan resounding once again as her two legs threatened to sink away towards the floor from their rhythm into an gratifying collapse. Somewhere from a distant past discarded thought reflecting an eddy of dissatisfaction in the possibility of by her own disclaimer her body being unworthy of desire. The apparition of those badly matched breasts dangling awkward before her narrowed eye’s interrogation fading away as quickly as it had been summoned up. “Tic Tock! Tick Tock, Tic Tock!” The Sine wave of her flanks resuming their constant wobbly pattern as before in time with the expectation of the resumption of that fluttering within. “Dirty louse!“, her mother’s voice suddenly echoed within her cranium from afar . “Getting his jolly’s is he!” Her eye catching his. The palpitations within suddenly ramping up at her own twinge of guilty shame. “Naked!” her brain declared from a distant window overhead. “I am finally naked to the world and I don’t care!” (Snap!), (Snap!), (Snap!) Pow! “Dirty louse!“, the little mouse-like voice ringing out softly again as it tumbled far away. The dance continuing forth throughout that coming night.
The Dirty Little Game