You already know I succeeded enough that we kissed in my office, and that Mira’s hand reached down to gather the impression of my cock straining for her. The game was in play, and it didn’t take long to start seeing results.

I went to the dance performance as promised with Grace, who elbowed me in the ribs when Mira appeared on stage sheathed in black leotards.

“Draw your tongue back into your mouth,” she said, a little too loud.

That first dance was just too much. It was essentially a duet about seduction, with Mira tempting a male dancer in countless ways, her sinuous body and Siren movements expressing the promises of sex. She beckoned and teased, drawing her partner close, only to slip away or push him from her again and again. In the end she wrapped her body around the “exhausted” male dancer in a way that might express the culmination of his hopes, but was also disturbingly reminiscent of a black widow spider beginning to devour her doomed suitor.

“Wow,” I said, during the applause.

“No wonder they started with that one,” Grace commented. “How many men could stand up right now? She just dry-humped the entire audience!”

We attended the after-performance party, held in the ballroom of a nearby hotel. Mira stood with the other dancers, accepting congratulations and looking like a million dollars, dressed in a clingy evening gown and pearls. I came up to her briefly and told her how much I enjoyed her performance, but then made a point of steering clear, instigating my first deliberate move of our silent game. Standing out on the balcony at one point, Grace came out, and leaned on the railing next to me, curiosity written all over her.

“I thought you’d be inside, finding ways to brush against Miss Torso.”

“Miss Torso?”

“It’s the nickname Jimmy Stewart gave to a dancer in Hitchcock’s ‘Rear Window’.”

“Ah.”

“She has really impressive tits for a dancer, doesn’t she?”

“Does she?”

“Why aren’t you in there salivating over them, Michael?”

“I needed some air.”

“Pfft! You’re up to something.”

“Where’s your redhead tonight? I was sure you’d hook up with her as the night wore on.”

“I’m imposing a bit of discipline.”

“On yourself?”

“Fuck no. I want to hear more than screaming from the lovely Tina. I want begging.”

“You’re a loose cannon, Grace.”

“Honey, you don’t know the half of it. In bed I’m the cannon and the cannonball, all rolled into one.”

“Leaving your conquests the right to be…”

“The poor things the cannonball tore a new hole into.”

“Woof.”

“Woof? Are you barking for your bitch in there?”

“She’s someone else’s bitch, as you might recall.”

“Bullshit. You’re out here for a reason, I know you are. Are you afraid of the husband, or afraid that Mira’s dance was prophetic? A woman like that could swallow a man whole. Just ask Taylor.”

“I have nothing to be afraid of.”

“You have plenty to be afraid of. You saw that dance. Take it as a warning, Michael. She could string you on if you allowed it, stealing all of your energy. You noticed what the name of her dance was, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“’Desire’s Tangled Web’. She wouldn’t even have to bite your head off to bite your head off. You need to be careful.”

“You speak as though I have no talents for web-spinning of my own.”

“You’re going to fuck her, aren’t you? You’re pulling her strings.”

“Grace! Just listen to yourself. I’m nowhere near Mira.”

“And I’m nowhere near Tina, because absence makes the slit grow wetter. You’re doing the same thing, aren’t you?”

“You should come back to therapy. You’re starting to imagine things.”

“Like hell I am. Make a film for me when you do it, okay? I’m not so interested in watching your thing in action, but I really want to see that woman’s pussy, and especially the way her face looks when she comes. Get a close-up of her thighs for me, all shiny with her muscles quivering. And if you get her to the point of begging for it… I’d really love to hear that. I’d even pay you for it.”

“Christ! Are you pure evil, Grace, or only evil?”

“Why do anything halfway?”

She was right, of course, about my ulterior motives, and my tactics. Before leaving that night, I went in and talked with Taylor, calm and friendly as could be, about my practice, about the historic hotel we were in, and other unimportant crap that I can’t even remember. I could feel Mira’s eyes on me the whole time, and she made a point of intercepting me as I was leaving. I gave her a polite peck on the hand and told her again how wonderfully she had danced, and left the party, feeling a little bit ashamed of the manipulation, but also confident in the chances for success.

I have caller I.D., and saw a familiar number appear when the phone rang at nearly one in the morning. I didn’t answer, and she didn’t leave a message.

The phone rang two more times that night, and it was hard keeping myself from picking it up, because I’d really developed a hunger for her, and wanted nothing more than to hear her voice. I knew what I was doing, though. I wanted her to stew, the friction between her parts building. Seducing Mira wasn’t just an idea any more, or a remote, faraway possibility. I was in the game, moving the pieces the best way I knew to move them, praying that my diagnosis of her troubled psyche was correct.

No phone calls from her on Sunday or Monday, and I began to wonder whether I’d backed off too quickly. But then my receptionist punched a call through from a Ms. Cassidy on Tuesday afternoon, and I couldn’t help breaking into a wide grin. Gotcha!

“You were so distant at the party,” Mira started, without even saying hello. “I missed you. What’s the matter?”

“Your having a husband is the matter. I thought it best to keep my distance.”

“You didn’t keep your distance from him.”

“That’s different. I don’t want to…” I didn’t finish the sentence. Part of her probably hoped I’d say “cause difficulties in your marriage”, while the other side of Mira might want me to finish with “fuck your husband.”

“Can we meet for coffee tomorrow?” she asked.

“We probably shouldn’t. I don’t want to ruin your marriage, Mira.”

“Ruin it? I hate it! But what are you talking about? It’s only coffee.”

“Maybe it is to you. For me… You said that you trusted me, but you shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.”

She went quiet, only her breathing on the line. “You’re developing feelings for me,” she finally whispered.

“Yes, I am.”

“Strong feelings?”

“Yes, very strong. I might even be falling in love with you.”

“Oh God, I’ve turned you into one of them!”

“One of whom?”

“One of the men I flirt with. I came on too strong and now you’re afraid of me.”

“It isn’t exactly like that. I’m more afraid of what I might be tempted to do.”

More breathing, heavier now. “What… would you do?”

I had the distinct feeling that Miss Torso, as Grace now called her, was beginning to touch herself. I could probably start talking dirty to her, but that wasn’t what I wanted. Yet.

“Probably anything you let me get away with,” I replied. “I’d never force anything… Unless you wanted that…”

It was faint, like she’d covered the phone with her hand, but I thought I heard a whimper.

“I’ve never let things go too far,” she said, her voice thin. “I tease… Sometimes I almost throw myself at men, but then I run away. It’s awful of me to do that, but sometimes… I can’t help myself.”

“So you’d feel safe with me, even knowing how I feel?”

“Y…yes,” her voice squirmed. “But what if I lost control? I’d need you to… take over.”

“I’m telling you right now, Mira. You could trust me implicitly, if that means never telling a soul. But if it means putting on the brakes… Listen, I’m sorry, but I have a client walking in right now. I really need to go.”

“But… Okay. Bye, then.”

“Bye, Mira.”

I did have a client due in five minutes, and it took every one of those minutes for my dick to recover from our conversation. It was happening, and it was going to happen, I knew it. The good Mira had barely been present at all, and it was going to happen.

And then, the very next day, the knock on my outer office door, and our first kiss, and her fingertips brushing the head of my cock through my pants. I’d never given Mira my work address, but I’d known that wouldn’t be a problem. She was resourceful, and very good at following breadcrumbs.

And out of control, which meant that I was pretty much in control, even though I couldn’t dictate her movements, or impose the timing. When she’d fled my office, the possibility existed that she would never return. I can’t say that I didn’t worry, just a little bit, but I was confident that I’d hear from her again, perhaps soon. If anything, the dance she’d performed the other night was turning out to be anti-prophetic. It might not look like it, but I was the devouring spider now, and Mira Cassidy, the beautiful Miss Torso herself, was caught in my tangled web.

“I can’t go to bed with you,” she whispered into my ear that night, through the phone. “What I did in your office today… I can’t ever do that again.”

Good Mira’s voice, only good Mira never would have called in the first place. And we were on different ground, now that her hand had rubbed against my cock. “Where is Taylor right now?” I asked.

“Downstairs, watching a ballgame.”

“And where are you?”

“Lying in bed.”

“And?”

“Talking to you.”

“And?”

“Ohhhh…” she moaned.

If she was doing it, why not me? I lowered my pants and reached for a bottle of lotion, and began to stroke, oh-so slowly. “You shouldn’t be calling me like this,” I said.

“No, I shouldn’t.”

“Tell me what you want, Mira.”

“I’m not a bad person,” she said, very low.

“No. You just have… unmet desires.”

“Yes.”

“And you feel like you’re going to burst from it all.”

“Oh God, yes!”

“What do you do when you feel like that?” I asked.

“Mmmmn, mmmmn, ohhhhmmmm…” I thought I could hear, just barely.

“Mira?” I intensified my stroking, and squeezed the head of my cock, imagining that it was her mouth tightening around me.

“Oh God, Oh God… I really need to see you.”

“We shouldn’t do that.”

“I can’t visit your office any day but Wednesday, can I?”

“Not without my receptionist being there, no. And Carlotta is sharp as a tack.”

“Will you be home this weekend?”

“That would be… very dangerous.”

“Do you have nosy neighbors?”

“It isn’t that. Logistically it would be perfectly safe. But…”

“What would happen?”

“I don’t know. I think it would be up to you.”

“I can’t do it!” she protested. “I’m not like that.”

“Then don’t come near my door.”

“Oh God, I feel like I’m going to explode!”

And I was just seconds away. “You’ll be okay,” I said.

“No I won’t! I need… Oh crap, he’s coming upstairs.”

The line went dead, and I stroked myself faster, picturing her standing at my front door in the dark, her hands already working at her wet pussy. I spurted high into the air, sweating, and wanting, and eventually laughing.

“I’m afraid,” she breathed, the following night on the phone.

“Tell me about your fears.”

“I’ve always been a little afraid of men’s… things. Not terribly afraid, just some.”

Reading into what she was saying, Taylor Cassidy had a miserable sex life. Either infrequent or non-existent blowjobs, I was sure of it.

“I’ve only done it with Taylor,” she continued. “I did… heavy petting, with other men before him, but never the whole thing. I’m completely confident about my body, but there’s so much I don’t know. I need… instruction.”

I pulled my cock out and started rubbing. Oh, this was good, this was really, really good. She wasn’t a virgin, of course, but what she was telling me was that her wicked sexual side was. It was truly untapped, a blank canvas just waiting for someone to dictate the colors to splash on.

“I have such exciting fantasies,” Mira whispered. “Where I do… exciting things. Where somebody makes me do things.”

“Is Taylor ever a part of these fantasies?” I asked.

“No. But you are.”

I stroked harder, but then eased off, anticipating the blowback from what she had just admitted.

“Oh my God!” she exploded, right on cue. “What am I saying? I’m… teasing you again! I can’t go to bed with you, Michael. I can’t ever let things get to that point!”

“Are you in bed right now?” I asked.

“Stop, please! It isn’t going to happen. It can’t happen. We… we have to talk about something else or I’ll…”

“What does it feel like to dance on stage like that?”

“I love it. It’s like I’m a living note of music that a brilliant composer wrote on paper. I take the instructions and my entire body comes alive.”

“Is it difficult getting the movements down?”

“Some of the physical demands are quite extreme, you saw that. But I’m supple, and I take instruction really well.”

“That was an incredibly sexy dance.”

“I know. It’s one of the dirty little secrets of modern dance. There’s so much outright sexuality in the movements, yet everyone pretends that it’s all about aesthetics. We say we want the audience to drive home commenting on our wonderful technique, but what really happens is that we turn them on, and they hurry home to fuck.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Incredibly sexy.”

“Are you lying in bed right now?”

”Yes.”

“And you feel…”

“Incredibly sexy.”

“And what else?”

“Pressure.”

“From me?”

“No, from… inside.”

“Tell me where you feel the pressure.”

“In my… In my… you know…”

“Say it.”

“In my… cunt.”

“Tell me what you want, Mira.”

“I want you to… help me.”

“Help you, or help you get off?”

“Get… Ohhhhh… Oh God! I can’t be doing this!”

“And yet you are.”

“It has to stop!”

“You can stop it with a word. You’re in complete control.”

“But I can’t… Oh God, I can’t stop!”

“Then let me help you.”

“No! You can’t… you can’t… Oh God, I’m… so close…”

“Tell me what you want, Mira. I’ll touch you right now, over the phone.”

“Oh! Ohhhh… I… I have to fuck you!”

“Do you mean that?”

“Yes! N…no! Oh God!”

And she hung up.

Grace wanted me to accompany her to the final dance workshop that weekend, a swing dance extravaganza. I agreed to meet her there, but when Saturday rolled around, I began to wonder. Mira hadn’t called since our second night of phone sex, and she didn’t show up at my office on Wednesday, either. I could have gone too fast with her too soon, but I didn’t think so. She was probably clamping down on her drives like crazy, trying to be good while the pressure steadily built underneath. Every day that went by without hearing from her was a cause for hope, rather than concern, because if there’s one reliable thing I’ve learned from my therapeutic practice, it’s that repression never works. It just feeds the problem and makes the inevitable explosion that much more dramatic.

I didn’t know whether Mira and Taylor would be at the dance or not, but my instincts told me not to go. It would not be a good thing for Mira to reach the breaking point with her husband right there, and I also didn’t want to provide something like a release valve for her, where she managed to vent some of the build-up of sexual tension by dancing with me.

I picked up groceries on Saturday morning, then mowed my lawn. After showering, I called Grace, to tell her that I wouldn’t be able to make it. She wasn’t home, though, and I set the phone down without leaving a message.

“Who were you calling?”

I must have jumped three feet in the air. When I landed, all my senses buzzing, I stared at Mira, standing a good six feet inside my living room, dressed in a short skirt and heels with a tight white tanktop that bared her abdomen and showcased her tits.

“Your door was unlocked,” she said, as if that explained everything. “Who were you calling?”

“Grace,” I answered. “I was going to tell her that I wouldn’t be at the dance tonight.”

“But I want you there,” she protested, sitting down in my rocking chair, her legs spread, her hands in her lap, flattening the skirt to prevent a view of her panties.

It was the perfect positioning of her body for the situation, at once wanton and demure, representing her warring sides. She didn’t meet my eyes, but seemed to be staring at the hands in her lap, or perhaps at the region between her legs, as though wondering what these parts of her body might do against her will. Her skin was flushed and her breathing looked ragged, just the kinds of signs I wanted to see.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she almost whimpered.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,” I assured her.

“I’m so… desperate,” she moaned.

I knew better than to say anything that might change that.

“When we talk on the phone, I play with myself… to your voice,” she admitted.

“I hoped you might,” I said, stepping closer. “I wanted you to.”

“I can’t fuck you, Michael.”

“Then tell me what you want.”

She looked like she was on the verge of tears, and somehow it was so damned sexy. “What I really want is… selfish.”

“You want me to touch you.”

“Yes! I’m… almost dying for it.”

“But you aren’t ready to touch me back.”

“I… can’t. It would be a… betrayal.”

As though having me run my hands or my tongue all over her body wouldn’t be. Delusional as it was, she had found a place of temporary equilibrium, with the sex meter tilted towards the naughty side, but not yet so far that it couldn’t be justified to the “good” Mira.

Moving forward here would not be wholly fulfilling in the usual sense, because I believed her when she said that she couldn’t fuck me, at least not yet. But then, how often is it that we swallow a delicious meal whole? We savor the dishes we want one bite at a time, enjoying every mouthful while anticipating the next, and this was no different. If I’d wanted a quick fuck, I would be elsewhere, doing entirely different things. Here, I wasn’t hopping in the sack with a cute chick. No, I was seducing a great beauty, laying traps in her mind and wrapping her in my tangled web one filament at a time.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world, I slowly knelt down between her feet, and removed her shoes. Her breathing quickened, and when the palms of my hands began to journey up the backs of her legs, taking in the smooth skin and the hard muscle of her calves, she sighed, and her eyes closed.

“You have… the most beautiful body,” I whispered, and it was so true.

“Yesss…” she replied.

I brought my hands up to her thighs, and kissed her knees. Her hands, which had been placed as though to protect the delta between her legs, lifted the hem of her skirt, and pressed into her panties, a nice girlish pink this time.

I didn’t push things. I didn’t rush. As though it might be the only time that I ever got the chance, I absorbed every detail of the woman’s shapely legs, gliding my hands on them, lightly squeezing them, and watching as she pointed her toes like a good dancer, flexing the muscles from her cunt to her soles, all while her own hands began to rub at her sex through the cotton of her panties, her head tilting to the side, mouth open.

“Oh God, oh God,” she whispered, and when I could see that she was getting fairly close, I placed my hands on hers, and drew them away, a wave of her scent entering my nostrils. Slowly, without forcing anything, I took hold of her panties, and she lifted her rear. I guided the fragrant pink garment down the length of her legs, slipping them over her arched feet, and there, wet and so obviously needy, lay the most beautiful pussy I had ever seen, a swollen slit wearing a trim chestnut-colored crown, just waiting for my touch.

My hands glided up and she responded, sliding forward, allowing her thighs to spread wide. “Be… gentle with me,” she softly pleaded, and I knew that I needed to trust the request. This time.

I licked my thumb and used that first, just the faintest touching, gathering her lubricating liquid while grazing every sensitive zone. Up above, her breathing was labored, the muscles of her bare belly taut, her covered breasts creating a V-shaped valley through which I could see her mouth all wet and open, her eyelids fluttering. Mira’s beauty in this state was almost heart-stopping, and I found myself viewing her as I might through a lens, Grace’s request for filmed documentation strangely there behind my eyes.

Yes, I really wanted to study the multiplicity of the expressions possible on that face when she came. And I wanted to know every inch of this body, its hidden or unlikely erogenous zones, its subterranean life and secrets, and especially its connections to the wonderful fractures in her troubled mind. Every bit of knowledge was another strand for my web, another place to catch her, and hold her.

She was quiet as I warmed up her pussy, but not quiet in a disinterested way. She looked dreamy, the reality of my touch perhaps colliding with inner fantasies where we had already gone this far and even farther.

I applied more pressure, bringing other fingers into play, and her heavy breathing turned into a series of soft cries. When I leaned in, my tongue extended, I gave her just the faintest warning with the brush of my cheek against the inside of her left thigh.

“Yes! Oh my God, yes!” she cried, before I even took my first taste.

She was sweet, and so hot. I flicked the length of her so very lightly, a wet feather teasing rather than pressing. I gave every fold and wet slice of terrain its own ghostly bath, hearing her little cries turn into something more like astonished gasps.

I could feel the woman’s pussy speaking to me, I swear I could. Her strong thighs vibrated, and then began to press in, only to release, the clamping/unclamping movement feeling involuntary. I kept feathering, flicking, going faster but keeping the contact as light as possible. Her gasps and cries sounded childlike, but then something shifted, and her pussy grew wetter, her juices hotter, and her hands reached through my hair, grasping at my head.

“Oh God, eat me!” she screamed, pressing my mouth in hard. My tongue stiffened to drive inside of her and she came as a flood comes, with hot waves suddenly lapping at my mouth and all of her fears swept aside in an instant. Her thighs clenched tight around my head, and it was only with great effort that I was able to look up, and see the waves’ effect as they appeared on her face, her mouth so beautifully twisted, her cheeks nearly as red as her hot sweet cunt.

I made no move to change a single thing, studying the way her head rocked deliriously from side to side, feeling the way her thighs vibrated against my skull. Eventually the tides receded and her thighs lost their vice-like grip, becoming soft again, her entire body suffused with a relaxation that I had never seen in her, even once. She didn’t move for the longest time, and uttered no sounds, other than her quick breaths gradually becoming slower, and deeper.

I traced the terrain of her legs with my hands again, planting little kisses here and there, parting gifts for her drive back home, back to her husband.

After several minutes she opened her eyes, and raised her head to locate me. I’d never touched her hair, but it looked wild, and the light in her eyes was wild, too, and filled with wonder.

“I can’t believe that happened,” she breathed.

I made no reply, just squeezed her calves with my hands.

“I can’t believe… what you made me feel.”

I’ve barely gotten started, I thought to myself.

“I’m not really sure… that I can stand up,” she said next.

I stood, and helped to pull her to her feet. Strong as she was, she really did look like she might collapse at any second. She leaned forward, and I took her in my arms, holding tight. Without really trying to make it happen, my cock ground into her, and she felt it.

“Ohhh!” she cried, reaching down and squeezing hard. “Michael, I can’t… I can’t…”

As though belonging to a different woman, her hands disagreed with her words, and they slipped past the waistband of my trousers and underwear, and found me, and grasped.

“Oh God, I want it!” she cried out, suddenly rubbing me vigorously with both hands.

“Mira,” I whispered, working to unbutton and unzip myself.

“No!” she suddenly exclaimed. “It’s too much, I can’t!”

I felt her go limp in my arms and I thought for a moment that she was ready to pass out. Instead she sank to her knees and her hands tore at my pants, freeing my cock, which leaped right out at her.

Almost as one extended motion, she quickly slipped the head of my cock in her mouth, and then suddenly disengaged, turning and whisking her heels from the floor and running to the front door.

“I can’t do this, I can’t!” she said, her eyes flashing. She drew on her heels and turned to leave, but then stopped, turning again, and stared at my hard cock, pointing right at her from across the room.

She groaned, and looked into my eyes, which I made certain showed reassurance, rather than frustration from her leaving while my dick was turned to stone.

“Make me a spare key to your house,” she said, before disappearing into the bright sunlight outside.

She had left without her pink panties, I noticed, and I held them as I beat myself off in the bathroom, releasing the terrible pressure left in Mira’s wake. I pictured her face as she had gone over the edge, and didn’t even need to sniff the panties, because her scent was all over my mouth and cheeks, the taste of her nectar still on my tongue. She was all over me, and in me, and in very deep.

And the taste of me was all over her, too, and inside of her. Not in this physical way, not yet. I was inside of her mind, right where I wanted to be, helping to stir bad Mira’s boiling cauldron, desires wafting up like hot steam.

It was funny, how I hadn't even seen her breasts yet, and had only kissed her lips that one time. Who cared what order the seduction came in, though? My every move was paying dividends, and I had every reason to believe that I could dig even deeper into the split within her personality, finding new tensions to unlock and exploit.

Yes, I would give her a key to my house, all too willingly. It was a fitting exchange — she could unlock my literal door, but once inside, I would unlock the inner doors of her repressed side, and see just how naughty a naughty Mira could be.