Just a Soft Touch

It had been far too long since we had seen each other, since I had smelled the minty musk of his shampoo or the aroma of leather that clung to his skin. I tucked an errant strand of his long dark hair behind his ear, clearing the view to his handsome face, but it just fell again. I didn’t mind; his hair was so soft that pushing it back became as sensual as anything else I could imagine in this moment.

I let my eyes linger on his full, pink lips, tracing the cupid’s bow beneath his crooked nose. He left them parted, delicately, naturally, and I licked my own, imagining how his would taste.

The last time we had been together we had gotten tattoos. I traced a finger over the intricate drawing that crept into the curve of his pelvis. I had been shocked, in the moment, at his choice but it looked perfect on his strong body. The vines of wild ivy had reminded him of a place he had visited often with his family as a child. They began halfway between his knee and hip and snaked up the side of his body, dipping into those crevices lauded in story and song.

Or firemen calendars.

The V. Every person with even the slightest sexual attraction to the male form knew about the V. What is not talked about with as much candor is what lies below the V. Another carved crevice made from the upper edge of the quads, a crevice that said this man could push a car with his legs.

Though I wasn’t looking for such a display of brute strength, I knew it was there. He was strong, surprisingly so, given his size. Some women creamed their panties over the broad, muscular types with bulging veins who could toss them around like dolls. I preferred someone a little closer to my own size.

Not the really little guys; they were too often prone to the Napoleon complex, making up for their size in machismo. No, he was perfect. Average height, wiry frame, but strong as a horse.

I let my fingers dance softly over the ivy as it dipped into that space at the top of his thigh, over the smooth flesh of his pelvis, into the V above his hips. It continued climbing his body, wild, feral, over his ribs and around the back of his shoulder to his chiseled bicep. But I didn’t follow the vines that far. I traced them back over his thigh, running off course to rest my hand between his legs. I squeezed firmly at his groin and he shifted, spreading his thighs further apart to let me between them.

I resumed drawing with my fingertips over his warm flesh, tracing invisible patterns everywhere I could see. He shuddered, and leaned back against the back of the couch, his dark eyes turned to the ceiling. I let my drawings inch closer to the center of his body, passing with less than a breath between my fingertips and the base of his cock. I traced over his scrotum, barely touching the flesh there, then behind, tickling softly, offering but not delivering a detour to his asshole.

I gripped his hand in my own and brought it to rest on my thigh, close but not touching my cunt. I spread my own legs to let him do what he wished to me and he took my lead. He caressed rough fingers softly over delicate skin and I could feel my temperature rising, fever building in the space between my legs. He touched the folds of my cunt and I shivered at the sensation. I felt the all-too-familiar tickle of my pussy opening to welcome him in but he did not accept the invitation.

I looked at the place where I had touched him last. His cock was soft, not yet ready for me, and I resumed caressing him. I wanted so much from him in this moment that I chose to take it all a little at a time. I had wanted, more than anything, to unfasten his trousers beneath the table in the restaurant. To have him tell the waiter that I had gone to the restroom while I hid beneath the table, his hard, throbbing cock in my throat. But I had restrained myself, as I restrain myself now. He is not ready for me and I watch his cock closely as I touch him.

The muscle gave me a gentle twitch of appreciation; I was getting somewhere, at least. I savor the caress of his fingertips over my breast, stomach, pelvis, cunt, the heat in my pussy nearly unbearable. I have longed for his cock, to suck it, to fuck it, since the last time we were together, the sting of fresh wounds not hindering our pleasure in the slightest.

I rose onto all fours, my palms and knees on the rough upholstery of the couch, guiding him to continue touching me, and lowered my head to his pelvis. I did not put his soft erection between my lips but instead pressed firm kisses into each of the ivy leaves that decorated the flesh around it. I kissed up and over his hips, back down to his quad, in to his groin, and I kissed his balls, continuing to trace my fingers over his body.

The kisses were lucrative. His cock jerked, stretching as I watched closely, savoring the scene. Soon he was solid, twice what he had been minutes before. I wanted to suck his cock but I only looked at it instead. I hadn’t yet set priorities. I wasn’t sure which was more important – drinking his cum or coming myself.

I returned to sitting on the couch, my legs open wide for him, exposing my cunt and all it had to offer. He spread the folds of dark pink flesh open and pressed his fingers deep into my body, around but never touching my clit, teasing me.

I came.

I had not expected it until my back arched, seemingly of its own volition, and the fever that had been growing inside me poured out. He turned to face me straight on and lifted me by the hips, moving me back away from him, following me as he did. When he seemed to be satisfied with his placement of my body, he resumed caressing me, his fingers wet in my juices, spreading them over my naked flesh. I shuddered, convulsed, as his fingers passed with a breath over my clit, gasped when he pressed them into the edge of my pussy, never penetrating.

I was now at a disadvantage. I had so many things I wanted to do to his body but he had manipulated the situation so that I could no longer reach to touch him. I lay back against the couch, the rough, embroidered upholstery scratching at my flesh, and acquiesced to whatever he had planned for me.

His fingers traced over my body, drawing pictures similar to the ones I had drawn on him. In places his fingers barely touched me, I felt only the air move. Other places, I thought the fingerprints he left behind may never go away. He touched my whole body, every inch, slowly, gently, deliberately. I moaned, softly, urging him to put something inside me. I was not picky, now, whether he chose a finger, his tongue, or his cock. I simply wanted him to enter me. I was hot, wet, and open, ready to take him.

“I want you inside me,” I moaned, quietly, without the strength to give the request much volume.

“No,” he refused, gently. He wet his fingers once again in the juices that had spilled from my fevered pussy, pressing them around my clit. He had made me come once, already, without even trying, and I could feel it building again. The muscles deep inside clenched and released, clenched and released, a sensation he loved feeling against his cock.

“I want you inside me, please,” I begged, my voice strained against the building orgasm.

“No.”

“I want to squeeze my pussy tight over your throbbing cock. I want to bring you in deep and hold you there, fucking you with nothing more than the muscles of my cunt.”

“No.” His fingers danced like the feet of a ballerina, around the edge of my pussy, massaging, rubbing, urging.

“Let me suck your cock,” I offered instead.

He shook his head. “Maybe later.”

He continued touching, teasing, and I took a deep breath into my lungs. He wanted me to come, again, and I knew there was not going to be anything inside me until I did. I focused all of my thoughts on his dancing fingers, on his soft caresses, on his firm massage.

He watched with an intense fascination as my pussy opened wide, the muscles inside pushing my orgasm out, soaking my body. He trailed his fingers through my cum, even as my hips were still elevated above the sofa, and touched them to my lips. He did it again, this time letting me lick my cum from his fingers.

The third time he touched cum-sticky fingers to my lips, he pressed them into my mouth, and with a kiss, thrust his thick cock deep into my pussy.