I sat down in a high-backed chair and shifted, trying to ignore the warm stickiness between my thighs. Tormenting him was oddly… hot.
Biting my lip, I slowly drew my legs up so that my skirt slid up around my hips. “You could walk me through it?” I pleaded. “You wouldn’t even have to touch me…” From this vantage point, I knew he could see my panties and I stared at him evenly, wondering if my arousal had seeped through the thin material. I half-expected him to walk out on me, but I was just so curious…
He froze, his jaw dropping open ever so slightly. The room suddenly felt very warm. Flustered, he shuffled around and headed toward the kitchen. “I need a drink,” he muttered, his face tinging pink around his ears.
“No, no, wait!” I cried, cursing how strained my voice sounded. With trembling hands, I guiltily slid my skirt back down. “I didn’t mean…I-I just wanted…” Trailing off, I watched him duck into the kitchen and start opening cabinets. He was probably searching for his liquor.
Ashamed, I hesitantly rose from the chair and hugged myself around the middle. I should’ve known better than to ask such a thing – I wasn’t desirable or some curvy, buxom goddess most men dreamed of. “I’m sorry,” I feebly called. “Really, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just…I guess I got carried away. At my age, I feel like I should know how…h-how to touch myself… I was just curious.” Moving over to the doorway, I lowered my eyes and whispered, “Nothing ever feels good in my life, so I guess I was hoping that…that maybe if you could teach me, I…I finally *you* feel good. At least for a little while.” I looked up at him and blushed. “I’m sorry,” I said again.
He pressed his forehead against the cabinet. “Наташа, you don’t need to apologize,” he reassured me with a sigh. “As tempting as your request is – and believe me, it is – you’re very young. I can’t allow you to do something you’re going to regret later on.” He moved his head from the cabinet and looked at me.
I blushed and skimmed my foot across the tile. He’d actually been…*tempted?* Biting my lip, I leaned against the doorframe and kept my gaze on the floor. “You’ve already seen me at my most vulnerable,” I countered. “If that’s what you’re worried about, you don’t have to be…nothing will ever be worse than what’s already happened.” Lifting my eyes to his, my breath hitched and I swallowed. “I’m not asking you to touch me,” I softly reminded him. “You don’t even have to look at me if you don’t want to…I just want to be instructed. I…I just need some guidance.”
Uncrossing my arms, I suddenly felt hopelessly exposed and I trembled, tensing and un-tensing my fists at my sides.
There came a pause, then he swallowed as he rasped, “Okay, just…just sit down.” He turned away from me again and pressed his forehead to the cabinet.
I was relatively surprised. I stared at him – at his taut, rigid posture as he continued to lean against the cabinet. The fact he couldn’t (wouldn’t?) look at me was confusing, but I wouldn’t question him.
“Thank you,” I mumbled, suddenly shy. Feeling the heat rush to my cheeks, I moved back over to the chair and had a seat with uneven, wobbly legs, my breath growing shallow as I once more rolled my skirt up around my hips. “Ok,” I softly told him. “I…I pulled up my skirt…what do I do now?” Shifting against the pillows, I whimpered from the slight friction against my clit. The room seemed to spin and I closed my eyes, now lifting my legs so that my heels were perched on the end of the cushion.
“There’s a spot…” He huffed, both embarrassed and bewildered as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It, uh…you’ll be able to find it at the top of…your *you.* It’s going to be sensitive, so you should start by massaging it.”
I heard the nervous twitch to his voice and looked up, glancing in his direction. Curious about this “spot,” I returned my attention back to myself and slowly, hesitantly slid my hand beneath the waistband of my panties. Almost instantly, I was greeted by a wetness that coated my fingers in a thick, sticky flow. Biting my lip, I searched for this “special spot” and jerked when I finally found it, my lower back tensing as I circled my clit with several quick, even strokes.
“Oh…” Breath catching in my throat, I reclined deeper into the cushions and sighed. My voice was soft and strained as I asked, “What do I do next?”
Perhaps this was ridiculous – I had a general idea of what to do, or rather, what my body *you* me to do – but thanks to growing up in such a strict household, I had always been too ashamed to truly explore myself.
He cleared his throat. “Now with your other hand, I want you to finger yourself,” he instructed.
His voice reached me and a shudder racked through me, my lashes bowing as he told me what I needed to do. Using my index finger to rub my clit, I cautiously tested my entrance with my free hand, gliding my fingers up and down my slit as I watched him from the corner of my eye. As naive as I was, I knew he had to still be hard…I hadn’t exactly given him time to “finish.”
With shallow breath, I arched my hips and penetrated myself, now using two fingers to pump in and out of my warm, tight space. My chest heaving and my hips writhing as my hand worked tirelessly between my legs.
“Дима…” My head tossed and I allowed your name to hang breathily in the air, almost as if I were picturing him during this wrong, sordid act. Digging my nails into the arm of the chair, I continued to rock my hips into my hand, my voice a soft rasp as I choked, “Дим, you…you can finish if…if you want to. I won’t say anything…” A stifled moan caught in my throat and I shifted, looking to him with my bright, hooded eyes. I wanted him to look at me…I didn’t know why, but I *you* it.
“N-no, I’m not going to do that,” he said. “Just…just finish up.”
Sliding down further in my seat, I felt my calf muscles cramp up every time I flicked my clit with my thumb. A sharp cry lodged in my throat and I shifted, working my fingers strongly into my heat as I heard his declination. I frowned and decided to try a new tactic.
“When I walked in on you…who were you thinking about?” A long, drawn-out sigh passed my lips and I whimpered. “I know who I’m thinking of right now…”
With sweat faintly beading my brow, I gave several rough, spirited pumps and trembled, closing my eyes as I pictured him riding me into the cold tile floor, my nails digging into his shoulders as I frantically rolled my hips into his.
Well, *you.* I had never considered myself attracted to *you*, but the warm, throbbing arousal between my legs certainly said otherwise.
“Who are *you* thinking about?”
My eyes snapped open and I looked up at him, driving my hand more strongly between my thighs. “I…” I choked, feeling a delicious pressure thrumming through my core. Eyes fluttering, I slowed the pace of my hips so I could give myself deeper, more forceful thrusts.
“Look at me,” I purred, curling my toes as a pleased hum caught in my throat. “If you want me to tell you…*look* at me…”
I beckoned to him with my eyes, my face flushing as I reached up and cupped a breast in my hand, searching and kneading as I rolled my thumb over my nipple in a slow, teasing arc.
He stood frozen for a moment. Desperate to know what I was thinking about, he turned, his cheeks flushing a healthy pink. The sight that awaited him was all too satisfying. His hard-on throbbed beneath his jeans and he slid his tongue across his lower lip. “Who are you thinking about?” he inquired once more.
With the sudden eye contact, an unexpected jolt of pleasure spasmed straight to my cunt. I throbbed around my fingers, my mouth opening in a soft, silent ‘o’ as I arched into my touch. With my skirt well above my hips I knew he could see my hand working between my thighs – I *knew* he could see everything. The thought pleased me.
His question reached me then and I whimpered, ensuring eye contact as his gaze electrified me. “Isn’t it obvious?” I asked, my voice strained and breathless. “I…I’m thinking about…” *your cock inside me* “…I want you to touch yourself. You…” I swallowed. “You deserve to finish…” Read more »