She strips in her sleep...
My entry for cuddy_fest. Prompt was "Cuddy dreams of doing a stripper dance for House."
It had been a hopelessly long day. Lisa Cuddy’s feet ached from four consecutive days in her four-inch stiletto heels; she could feel stockings gripping the tops of her thighs; her head was heavy and her whole body was drained. Her bed-a double bed, even if it was for one person, even if she did cling to the left side like a woman with someone on the other side, was so inviting that she absolutely collapsed.
A slight fantasy, beautiful daydream of intense blue eyes, and she was out.
Only then she was dancing. Dancing, in a college cheerleader’s uniform, blue and harvest gold with a pleated skirt and an “M” splashed across her chest…perky, firm breasts that bounced nicely as she danced. It wasn’t a cheerleader’s routine, though, and instead of standing on the sideline of a football game, she was in a bedroom…a man’s bedroom…and instead of a full set of bleachers’ worth of fans, there was only one person watching her, a man with his intense blue eyes fixed unfalteringly on her bouncing breasts. House.
She gave him a seductive smile as first one pom-pom, then the other fell to the floor. Her hands caught at the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head, revealing a pink bra. Nicer breasts than she had in real life, she somehow managed to note as they nearly bounced out of the cups while she did a backwards handspring, letting her skirt, under which she was decidedly not wearing spankies, reveal a matching pink thong and a perfectly toned ass. She stood back up and gave him another smile as she slowly unzipped the skirt and let it fall to the ground, bending over as she did so to pick up the pom-poms she’d dropped.
She righted herself, launching into a cheer she’d seen the cheerleaders do countless times while she was a student. Only she was leaving a lot less to the imagination. The bra was useless at keeping her in place, so she opened the clasp and let it drop to the ground. Miracle of miracles: they were even better than they’d been when she was sixteen, full and smooth and pointing up without a single faded stretch mark.
“Wolverine?” she crooned with a suggestive pout before she climbed into his lap, feeling his arms come around her as she rolled her hips in what was known as a “lap dance” but was really little more than simulated sex. His head lolled back; his eyes closed. And just as it was about to get interesting-
She woke up, her face slightly damp and her body twisted into an uncomfortable position that was making her shoulders ache. And-oh. What? She was absolutely positive she’d worn a shirt to bed…There it was, strewn on the floor. Absolutely lovely. She was stripping in her sleep.
Oh, but…
…but it was kind of a nice fantasy, now that she thought about it. Driving him crazy for her…herself, as a woman, finally living out the life of the girl she’d never been. She hadn’t been terribly popular in high school or college; she’d been slightly pudgy with uncontrollable hair and a little too much nose and far too much make-up. Yeah, okay, so she’d known him then and even had a bit of a rendez-vous the memory of which still made her blush like the teenager she wasn’t anymore. But she hadn't been one of those girls: Those pretty, popular girls with their perfect breasts and their slender waists, long, thick hair that somehow managed never to fall out of place…those were the women that Greg House had dated, that was the kind of girl he’d come closer than any other to marrying.
But her thirties and her forties had been kinder than her teens and her twenties, and today, Lisa Cuddy was absolutely hot, if not perfectly, classically beautiful, and she knew it. And the guys who had looked past her to girls like Stacy Warner with their curvy figures and their beautiful hair, jumping up and down and yelling and somehow looking like the All-American bombshell even as they did so-those guys now stopped and stared at Lisa Cuddy, whose exotic features and low-cut tops were suddenly so much more intriguing than the wholesome sexpots who’d gotten all the attention back when they all were young. Now, she could drive Greg House crazy with her mind and her body.
And so she let herself slip into a dream again, only she controlled this dream as she danced for him in her mind, watching him swallow as he gazed at her, her hips swiveling and her hair tumbling over her shoulders as she revealed more and more of her slender but shapely body. She’d be in charge and drive him crazy, and he wouldn’t be able to stop staring, and he might manage a slight joke because that was the way he was, but he wouldn’t be able to summon the energy to mean it. And then she’d get into his lap and feel his desire for her, the mounting pressure in his pants as he became consumed with lust for her.
And then she’d drop to her knees and pull his pants down and blow him as if her life depended on it, and somehow getting him off would be even better than getting off herself, because now she’s in control and making him groan for her, and she’s winning, and she has the power, and his body is hers to do what she likes with, and he’s coming for her because he wants her and she’s just that good.
Mmm. Definitely a nice fantasy, even if it was about House.
Really, a stripper fantasy would have to be about House. The only other man with whom she spent significant time was Wilson, and she’d have to tie him down to get him to permit a lap dance, and even then he wouldn’t be watching her strip, which was the whole point.
All the other men at the hospital were afraid of her, cowed by her position as their boss. Having them in her power was her job, not a decadent pleasure.
But House…
Time to go back to sleep. Really, she didn’t want to miss this.
It had been a hopelessly long day. Lisa Cuddy’s feet ached from four consecutive days in her four-inch stiletto heels; she could feel stockings gripping the tops of her thighs; her head was heavy and her whole body was drained. Her bed-a double bed, even if it was for one person, even if she did cling to the left side like a woman with someone on the other side, was so inviting that she absolutely collapsed.
A slight fantasy, beautiful daydream of intense blue eyes, and she was out.
Only then she was dancing. Dancing, in a college cheerleader’s uniform, blue and harvest gold with a pleated skirt and an “M” splashed across her chest…perky, firm breasts that bounced nicely as she danced. It wasn’t a cheerleader’s routine, though, and instead of standing on the sideline of a football game, she was in a bedroom…a man’s bedroom…and instead of a full set of bleachers’ worth of fans, there was only one person watching her, a man with his intense blue eyes fixed unfalteringly on her bouncing breasts. House.
She gave him a seductive smile as first one pom-pom, then the other fell to the floor. Her hands caught at the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head, revealing a pink bra. Nicer breasts than she had in real life, she somehow managed to note as they nearly bounced out of the cups while she did a backwards handspring, letting her skirt, under which she was decidedly not wearing spankies, reveal a matching pink thong and a perfectly toned ass. She stood back up and gave him another smile as she slowly unzipped the skirt and let it fall to the ground, bending over as she did so to pick up the pom-poms she’d dropped.
She righted herself, launching into a cheer she’d seen the cheerleaders do countless times while she was a student. Only she was leaving a lot less to the imagination. The bra was useless at keeping her in place, so she opened the clasp and let it drop to the ground. Miracle of miracles: they were even better than they’d been when she was sixteen, full and smooth and pointing up without a single faded stretch mark.
“Wolverine?” she crooned with a suggestive pout before she climbed into his lap, feeling his arms come around her as she rolled her hips in what was known as a “lap dance” but was really little more than simulated sex. His head lolled back; his eyes closed. And just as it was about to get interesting-
She woke up, her face slightly damp and her body twisted into an uncomfortable position that was making her shoulders ache. And-oh. What? She was absolutely positive she’d worn a shirt to bed…There it was, strewn on the floor. Absolutely lovely. She was stripping in her sleep.
Oh, but…
…but it was kind of a nice fantasy, now that she thought about it. Driving him crazy for her…herself, as a woman, finally living out the life of the girl she’d never been. She hadn’t been terribly popular in high school or college; she’d been slightly pudgy with uncontrollable hair and a little too much nose and far too much make-up. Yeah, okay, so she’d known him then and even had a bit of a rendez-vous the memory of which still made her blush like the teenager she wasn’t anymore. But she hadn't been one of those girls: Those pretty, popular girls with their perfect breasts and their slender waists, long, thick hair that somehow managed never to fall out of place…those were the women that Greg House had dated, that was the kind of girl he’d come closer than any other to marrying.
But her thirties and her forties had been kinder than her teens and her twenties, and today, Lisa Cuddy was absolutely hot, if not perfectly, classically beautiful, and she knew it. And the guys who had looked past her to girls like Stacy Warner with their curvy figures and their beautiful hair, jumping up and down and yelling and somehow looking like the All-American bombshell even as they did so-those guys now stopped and stared at Lisa Cuddy, whose exotic features and low-cut tops were suddenly so much more intriguing than the wholesome sexpots who’d gotten all the attention back when they all were young. Now, she could drive Greg House crazy with her mind and her body.
And so she let herself slip into a dream again, only she controlled this dream as she danced for him in her mind, watching him swallow as he gazed at her, her hips swiveling and her hair tumbling over her shoulders as she revealed more and more of her slender but shapely body. She’d be in charge and drive him crazy, and he wouldn’t be able to stop staring, and he might manage a slight joke because that was the way he was, but he wouldn’t be able to summon the energy to mean it. And then she’d get into his lap and feel his desire for her, the mounting pressure in his pants as he became consumed with lust for her.
And then she’d drop to her knees and pull his pants down and blow him as if her life depended on it, and somehow getting him off would be even better than getting off herself, because now she’s in control and making him groan for her, and she’s winning, and she has the power, and his body is hers to do what she likes with, and he’s coming for her because he wants her and she’s just that good.
Mmm. Definitely a nice fantasy, even if it was about House.
Really, a stripper fantasy would have to be about House. The only other man with whom she spent significant time was Wilson, and she’d have to tie him down to get him to permit a lap dance, and even then he wouldn’t be watching her strip, which was the whole point.
All the other men at the hospital were afraid of her, cowed by her position as their boss. Having them in her power was her job, not a decadent pleasure.
But House…
Time to go back to sleep. Really, she didn’t want to miss this.