Black and thong

Black and thong

We found ourselves in the bathtub again, dry. Are you drunk? She smiled but didn't answer.

So we lay there squashed in the empty bathtub. My member was stiff and her foot was almost touching it. As if casually, the back of her hand brushed up against it, lost in thought, as if she were caressing a flower still attached to its stem, a blossom or bud, gently without wanting to hurt it. Take it in your hand, please.

She did not.

She held her hand still.

I moved my pelvis up and down a little, back and forth to wank it in her hand.

Please jerk him off a little.

She began to move her hand up and down very slowly and with infinite ease. The fingers barely touched the skin, but when they did, it flashed through me like a fire.

I became impatient, she watched the scene as if unconcerned, her gaze blank. She lay there like a statue, sculpted by Michelangelo. Relaxed pose as if placed on a couch, but we were lying in the bathtub as if by chance, I was reading and she climbed in, I hadn't expected it. I had porn laid out and a towel and a dildo and a masturbator and just wanted to wash the dirt down in one afterwards. Not like last time when I had to buy a new mattress because I hadn't put a protector on yet. 90cm bed. It wouldn't have been that expensive.

The scene was unreal and I hadn't touched much more of her than her hand, maybe her cheeks when we hugged again, I stroked her back a little higher than necessary, feeling her wonderful body, her back muscles, her slim body and imagining how it would melt in my hands when I made love to her but it never came to that. Year after year passed. I often tried to make allusions, I had all kinds of fantasies of walking with her in the meadows, pulling her into the grass and doing it in the deep reeds on her dress. All dreams. At this point I had already given up and we had actually developed something of a small dislike for each other. Neutral flatmates. A partnership of convenience. Until that evening. I thought I'd locked up and was startled when she suddenly stood in the doorway. She saw me, and my horror made her hesitate for a moment, then came further into the bathroom and quietly leaned the door behind her. Then she took off her evening dress, an elegant little black one, it fell almost silently onto the carpet, she opened her bra and her breasts fell down a few centimeters in a relaxed manner. They hung there beautifully and I trembled slightly, wanting to touch them, imagining how I would knead them. Her nipples cast a shadow on her breasts.

Hey, I whispered.

She leaned down towards me. shhht, she made a gesture with her hand and put her finger on my lips. The finger wavered a little and the alcohol rose into my nose with her breath, mixed with her wonderful scent, a mixture of perfume, her hair oil, which made the smell full and round. And smoke, she didn't smoke, maybe from the pub or her friends? Sometimes she took a drag on a joint, but I'd never seen her like this before. She was obviously just exhilarated.

She got into the bathtub as if she wanted to take a bath, the walls squeaked and we arranged our legs between each other, taking turns to find our position. She relaxed, let her head fall back and her hand came to rest next to my bag. She breathed quietly but audibly and the echo in the bathroom was the only sound apart from my heartbeat pounding between my temples.

Should I do something?

I was frozen and it was like a wild animal that had strayed into the high stall while the hunter was lying in it and was going for it. I was too perplexed and didn't want to make a wrong move or say anything to disturb this wonderful scene. Slowly the tension eased, the initial shock and I enjoyed it. The warmth of her calves against my thighs, the foot that smelled of fresh leather and nestled between the tub and my ass cheek. It was as if the tub was filling with warm air and her scent.

Then her finger played lightly on my sack, she didn't look and then, as I said, stroked it as gently as casually and looked at the penis in the candlelight. The bathroom was only dimly lit but there was also the light from the street lamp. Silence.

Someone was washing up on the floor above and the water ran down the drain in the wall and trickled down like a little rainmaker, then it was quiet again. It was maybe three or four o'clock in the middle of the night. She wanted to go out for dinner with friends and when she didn't come back later I assumed she was going to spend the night on the couch or go to her boyfriend's place.

She kept her panties on. A thong, which meant she had something on anyway. Otherwise she was wearing normal panties, like the ones I always saw on the laundry rack. Nothing exciting, no lace, simple briefs from Sloggi or with a Victoria's Secret print or something.

What had happened?

Did he break up with her? Why didn't she stay with her friends?

At that point, there was nothing to suggest that we would ever have anything together.

My fantasies were limited to her letting her bear fuck her, but from what she said, there wasn't much going on after she officially broke up with him and then only saw him two or three times a week or sometimes not for a week or so with longer interruptions. She didn't like a lot of things about him, but his penis wasn't one of them. She once said that it just fit and I imagined that it was bigger than mine. I imagined how he would penetrate her with his hundred kilos and his belly and with his herniated disc a little awkwardly he would lean up but sink his thick penis into her crack and she would enjoy how he would flatten her and he would let himself sink onto her after he had come and she would hardly get any air and then she would roll out from under him or push him off her and he would snore, which she criticized. Then she would make off to the first floor to sleep on the couch away from the sawmill.

My imagination had gone that far, but I hadn't imagined myself anymore. That was a long time ago. The scene in the hallway or hanging yoga with the cloth from the ceiling and me taking her in the vertical splits or in the warrior position or against the wall. That was a long time ago and I often imagined how I wrote and we acted out imaginative scenes that I slipped her on pieces of paper during the lunch break or sent her a link to my blog.

And then we found ourselves back in the empty bathtub. It was full of us by now. There wouldn't have been much water left in it and the dildo was there on the edge of the bath and the masturbator and the lube she didn't seem to notice.

I soon forgot about it because she was now quietly stroking my penis up and down, playing with the glans with her fingertips, as gently as with a soft-boiled egg that she didn't want to deform.

I moaned and I saw a smile twitch in the candlelight, her eyes closed.

She slid her fingers deeper and deeper over the glans. Then she added her second hand and enveloped the penis with a warm grip.

I could hardly hold it in any longer and I got up, the bathtub squeaked and she looked at me in a daze

Give me your mouth and she opened it and I came inside her and I had to control myself not to thrust. Ahhhhaaahahh. She swallowed and I kept coming. How long had that been building up? I pushed my penis forward to pour every last drop onto her tongue. Aaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

That's how it all started.

What did you read?

I had a book by Georges Bataille in my hand that captivated me so much that I forgot what I was doing. "The Obscene Work". It was written pornographically, but it was too tragic to be used as a wank template. I was immersed in the book and the dramatic story and woke up dazed from a deep sleep, but what I woke up to was no less bizarre.