Genel

Watching You, Watching Me

Brunette

It had been a long time in coming. We had talked about it, dreamed, wondered and imagined how it would be.

There is always that initial excitement, knowing the possibility of passion, coming together for the first time. The frenzied furious groping, explorations and caresses.

That would come, later perhaps, but not now.

Now, as we knew it would be, had to be, was even more intimate. Many might not see it as such, but we did. This dance, our first dance together would be far more sensual, far more erotic than anything we could have ever imagined.

And like a dance, it is interesting that when people dance apart, they watch one another, observing the movements of their partners, enjoying the flow, the curve and lines that move sensually to the music. That intimacy can sometimes be lost when partners touch, the thoughts turning to doing things by the numbers. Stepping here, leading there, guiding our partner through a series of specific movements. The beauty and grace perhaps appreciated by others who may be watching, like actors upon the stage, but that’s all it becomes, acting.

This dance now with you was how we imagined it. Intimate, sensual far more provocative and alluring than coming together for that first time.

There are smiles of course, a nervousness for both that adds to, rather than detracts from the heightened sensuality that pervades the very air we breathe. The very bed that monopolizes the room is more hindrance than help for what is now needed, desired. Though no doubt, the bed will itself come into play later, but again, much, much later.

“Dance for me,” I say simply. “Dance for me.”

That alluring smile says it all. The merest nod of your head as I take one of two comfortable, over-sized looking chairs sitting beside a small table decorated only with a lamp across from the bed which has suddenly become invisible to my minds eye. You are center stage, and you are all I can now see.

As you turn, like a magic act the first bare shoulder emerges from the simple flimsy sun-dress you are wearing. Already I find myself wanting to plant kisses upon that shoulder, and now like a mind-reader you touch it, caressing the smooth flesh with the touch of two fingers, torturously drawing them across yourself to your neck, now lifting the back of your hair where they again linger like a lovers lips gently kissing, exploring the explosion of goose-bumps that suddenly appear.

Somehow I have removed my shoes, socks without taking my eyes away from you. You again turn, but your eyes only fleetingly recognize my presence before again turning, your back now towards me as I languish in the curves of your body, sleek, taut and refined. A second shoulder appears, both shoulders bare now, hands once again embracing yourself, wrapping yourself in an imagined lovers embrace. Though I cannot as yet see, I know that your breasts are now bare. The image of twin capped peaks so tantalizingly close, yet hidden as desire mounts, needs increase. Yet I sit, mesmerized by the dance. You have turned, and for a moment I am unaware, so lost in the visuals of seeing you, without having done so. It is only when I feel your hands tugging on the belt of my pants, loosening them that I realize, and see the visual now made real as the loveliness of those twin fawns of pleasure dance dangerously close.

Automatically, hands reach as though having a mind of their own, but you dance Bayan Escort away, your own hands now covering as though a suit of armor had been suddenly fashioned in protection of your treasures.

“Damn!” I sigh with a contented frustration that merely elicits another smile, a simple giggle of delight as like the dancer you truly are, you pirouette away from me, the gown falling easily to your ankles, your back once again facing me now bare.

And again, your hands caressing the smooth soft skin, though they have become my hands, somehow detached from my body as I run them up and down your silky form from armpit to hips, languishing in the curvature of your body, memorizing each square inch of sensitized flesh.

For the first time I sense the hardness of my desire just as your own eyes burn through the confines of material still covering my lust. A warning look as you approach, though the faintest of smile remains. Hands gripping the arm-chair as though fastened, awaiting execution, but it isn’t the pain of death that I await, but the pain of pleasured torture as so easily your hands grasp, then pull as my slacks slide as easily as though torn away.

The fullness of me now stands, appreciatively at your beauty, looking once again towards your eyes, but they have again turned, admiring that which draws my look downwards. The tips of your fingers already encircling each of your hard erect nipples, a tender loving caress with the tip of fingers like a lover’s tongue gliding across the surface of each simultaneously.

Again I do not see the knowing smile, only the suddenness of movement as you reach, surprising me momentarily, the barest, briefest of touches as finger tip quickly steals the first pearly drop of desire that has bubbled to the surface of my hardened prick. I now watch as you place it tenderly upon your breast, the sheen of its glistening coat now decorating the tiny tower which has risen even more delicately upon the perfectly sculptured breast you now hold within your hand, feeding it as you do the essence of my soul.

For the first time since this dance began, I hear your softly spoke words. Like a whisper on the wind, I hear them, yet not quite understanding, still lost in the fugue of desire until like the breeze they’ve become, I hear them again.

“Give me more,” you say simply, waiting, though your hands now trace imaginary lines downwards, the black thong you are wearing revealingly concealing the wantonness of your sex.

I feel the surge of additional lubrications suddenly flowing, the tips of your fingers once again dashing in to capture the pleasured dew drops, then stepping back. And even though your tiny dark thong remains, I watch in abject fascination as the pearly fluid from my leaking prick is so lovingly placed upon that thin material, darkening it even further, fingers pressing inwards as though in attempt to break through the barrier that refrains them, fingers pressing seeking entry like the first tentative embrace of a lovers cock into the virginal passage of first rites.

I am again tempted to reach out, tearing away the thin material with my own hands, but you simply move it to the side, a slim finger tentatively probing, your head now tilted back with the suddenness of contact. I hear the softness of a low moan escape your lips as ecstasy finds you, delights you and begins the tantalizing tease of your still secreted clitoris. Your own juices now merging through the barrier to mingle with those of my own.

“Touch yourself.”

I do so, hypnotized by your words.

“Now show me, show me how you touch, how you feel, what you desire when you’re alone. When all you have is time to make love to your own body, to your hard throbbing prick.”

There is no embarrassment, no shyness as I begin. And I have heard by your words want you want, what you need, what you seek. This is not the rushed hungry need of a morning’s adventure when the furious fast pumping of hand to prick produces the quick immediate jettison of spunk that discharges fruitlessly into the bowl of a toilet, or beneath the streams of a hot cascading shower. Where release is all too quick, all too temporary, all too over with in the blink of an eye.

What you seek, what you desire is far more than that to be wasted. You ask for the intimacy of my pleasures, the secret, sometimes childish memory of explorations and self pleasuring that comes for each of us in a moment of time when we can safely, trustfully love ourselves in ways we might not fully share with anyone else.

As I now share with you. As you now begin sharing with me.

Your fingers are now mine as they continue to caress, probing, touching, tickling and playfully tease the maddened flesh that awaits them. I do not know how, yet I feel rather than see those fingerlings. I can even smell the aroma of your sweetness that so easily coats the tips and length of each finger as it reemerges to be licked, suckled and cleansed by your waiting mouth, my mouth as the taste of you assaults my senses, heightening my pleasure even more.

The hardness of my prick as I now share with you my secret strokings, touches and fondlings. With the tips of fingers, they encircle the head of my arousal, pulling upwards as though your lips have encompassed my manhood. Pinching ever so lightly, yet firmly before clasping and grasping again to renew the whole process. Your eyes again follow my own movements, as mine follow yours. The urgency of need finally giving way, the thin material of your thong suddenly torn away in desperate need revealing the pink puffy swollen lips of your femininity.

Two fingers now slide downwards on either side of those exquisitely petaled lips, like a searching mouth kissing its way along rapturous flesh, I watch your hand as it glides along the slick slippery surface. There is a tremble in your stance, barely noticeable, but non-the-less observed. An audible sigh matches one of my own as yet another release of pearly lubricant wraps itself around and long side the head of my now straining prick.

“More,” you say softly, pleadingly. “Show me more.”

As though your own lips have found me, I glide two fingers from the tip of my shaft to the bottom and back again. Smearing the traces of my seepage along the way. I watch as you now settle comfortably upon the bed which has magically reemerged into being, though more like a convenient prop for our purposes. Here you lay, the tantalizingly long display of legs so obscenely wicked, yet so shyly demure, still closed together though hands once again slither downwards, first cupping, pressing, then rotating against the mound that is concealed beneath them.

“Show me what you like, how it feels best, what you do,” you now say so wickedly, so lustfully.

There is no hiding from you, no secrets to remain unshared as one hand gently pats, slaps, and runs itself in a twisting up and down motion so slowly, so very, very slowly.

“Yes, yes!” you moan watchfully as your fingers finally pry open the neither lips of your sex, displaying in all their wondrous glory the full reddened desire that now consumes you.

I don’t remember walking, let alone standing. Nor do I recall having removed my shirt which now lays crumpled within the cushion of the chair. All I do know is that I now stand above you where you lay on the bed. I watch as with one hand, you scissor the nubbin of sweetness with your fingers on either side, even more fully exposing the sensitive shiny little surface as your fingers press against it on either side. With your free hand, you now glide the tip of your index finger across the tiny hard little surface, flicking it as though it were my tongue doing so instead.

“Watch me!”

Like I wasn’t or hadn’t been. But just hearing you say the words was erotic, the way you spoke them looking at me with eyes that were vulnerable, open, penetrating.

“Watch me as I touch myself for you, see how hard my little clit is for you?”

I watch you as you skin the tender skin surrounding it even more than you had been, in awe, pleasure sensitive in my senses, even more so than the touch of my own hand still slickly stroking my prick in a teased up and down motion that was more automatic than awares.

You begin tapping your clit with a finger, then two. Likewise I am doing the same, now following your lead as passion takes us on this crazy erotic adventure.

“Suck it!” You tell me. “As you know I would, as you know that I will!”

Somehow I know what you mean, what you would have me do. Placing just the finger tips of one hand about the head of my hard swollen cock, I grasp the sensitive head pulling upwards bringing pleasure to that purple headed crown, releasing, grasping it again, pulling, releasing over and over.

“Hmmm,” you murmur pleasurably watching me, watching you.

Faster now, a combination of finger probing, clit flicking, rubbing, a frenzy decadent desire now assails your obscenely displayed cunt, a cunt so luscious, creamy and beautiful in its wanton display.

Without words, we are aware of one another’s pleasures, already hovering on the edge of insanity, oblivion, into whose depths we will tumble in glorious release.

“Now!” you urge me, a single solitary word of desire, needful desire that triggers at once the volcanic explosion that has so dangerously hovered on the brink for so long.

I feel the first glorious jettison of my cream spurting freely, forcefully against the velvety lips of your pussy as fingers meet and greet the rich milky essence that falls in geyser like spurtings over and over and over again.

Lost in the throes of your own climatic release, the cry of pleasure that escapes your lips is ear-piercing, wanton and magical all at once. Your head tosses side to side, fingers continuing to pummel the now almost too sensitive nubbin of pleasure between your legs, though you continue to fondle, coating it with the protective lubrication of my spendings.

Once again, rather than walking or moving, I merely float even closer towards you, and though I have just climaxed with a force that has exceeded most I have felt, my prick glides effortlessly inside you, slipping upwards, meeting the warmth and sticky moisture of your own sweet creamy juices.

And there we lay, now joined and await the next dance.

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