He undid the buttons starting at the top of my dress and stopping at my waist, and then he slipped his hand hastily past the open fabric, pushing my bra up above my breasts and not bothering to remove it. He stared at me for a moment, focusing on my chest, and when he ran his palm slowly over the mound of one breast and then the other, his fingers trembled. His touch was light—not pressing against my skin but skimming it. The teasing, toying contact caused my nipples to harden even more than they already were, and goosebumps prickled my skin.
I didn’t have large breasts. I’d also never really cared. But I oddly did right now. I had no idea what his preferences were. I simply had no idea what anything he saw actually meant to him. But after watching his hands glide and taunt my skin, he ran his palm up my neck to my cheek, cupping it gently as he leaned to my mouth. He stopped short of kissing me, though, studying my eyes instead.
“You are so beautiful.” His voice caught in his throat, and I watched his subtly protruding Adam’s apple bob as he fought his own tension. “I want something I haven’t had before.”
“What?”
“Something he couldn’t force out of you. Something he never got to touch. Something that can be just for me.” His voice was whisper quiet.
I bit my lip, waiting for him to explain.
“I want to watch you come. I want to make you come.”
My breath left in a rush, but I nodded. “Okay.”
He leaned to my mouth, and he whispered, “Okay,” against my lips.
He kissed down the side of my neck and then over to my nipple. He sucked hard as I arched my back, pressing my breast to his mouth. He moaned, and he licked around the peak of my tit as I breathed out one quiet moan after another. I was writhing, my hips wriggling against his chest that weighed me down to the chair.
I’d never wanted to move so much in my life, and a certain freeness came over me as he pulled, tugged, licked and sucked at me. My body wanted, regardless of any fears or worries or embarrassments, and the movement coming from deep within me was driven by a place inside I so rarely felt.
He moaned against my skin, and I clutched at his hair, running my fingers down the back of his head and holding his mouth tight to me. I listened with my eyes closed to the wet sound his lips made against my skin, and then with a final frustrated grunt, he pulled back and started tugging desperately at the belt tied around my waist.
His eyes focused on his fingers. He undid the knot, yanking at the belt, and then he hastily fumbled with the buttons of my dress. His movements were erratic and quick, and his expression was needy as his fingers worked. He leaned to my stomach, kissing and breathing against my skin as he continued to work on the buttons, and he didn’t pull back until he had my dress completely open.
He breathed heavily as he stared at me, and he reached for my waist, gripping it for a moment before he gently ran his hands over my belly just as he had my breasts. He watched everything he did, focusing so closely on where and how he touched. My stomach muscles clenched tight when he grazed over my lower belly, and he glanced to my eyes.
He leaned down and kissed my stomach, and then his fingers slipped under the top of my underwear, and he tugged them down as I lifted my bottom from the chair. He sat back, letting me close my legs so he could strip the skimpy satiny fabric past my feet.
When he pushed my knees apart again, I let him without hesitation. He studied that place between my thighs, and he struggled to swallow for a moment. He seemed to be lost as he stared at me, and I reached for his face, cupping his cheek gently. He leaned into it, letting his eyes close, and when he opened them again, he looked at my face. He nodded subtly, and I had this strange idea he was reassuring himself that it was okay to see me and touch me. Actually, it wasn’t so much an idea as an intrinsic understanding. He was absolutely reassuring himself.
When he finally did touch me, it was to use his index finger and middle finger to part my lips, and his fingers were trembling again. The air was cool against that wet warm skin, and he hummed as he focused on the sight.
“I love how wet you are,” he whispered. “You can be nervous, fragile, tense, unsure, confused, frigid. But you can’t hide this.”
I shuddered, and when he reached his other hand out to me, I held my breath. He ran the pad of his thumb over my clit, and my thighs tried to close—not because I wanted them to but because of the intensity of that touch. And moments after the shockwave of pleasure passed, he pressed his middle finger into me, slowly sliding in deep. His knuckles grinded against the inside of my lips as he twisted his finger back and forth, and my head dropped back.
He pulled out slowly, and then he sank two fingers in just as deep. He twisted again, wiggling his fingers as he did, and I looked down to see his knuckles glistening with my wetness. When he pulled out again, it was brief, and he started thrusting in and out, the sound sloppy, wet, and lewd as he fucked me with his fingers.