May 15, 2012

JON PRESSICK

Just in case you missed the first part of this story, you’d better go back and read the first part of Intrigued before you read on…

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I pounce on him as soon as the door closes. Telling him my fantasy has gotten me so excited I just can’t wait to get my hands on…anyone. Showing uncharacteristic aggression, I guide him firmly to the wall and cover his lips with mine.

Can’t even begin to describe how I surprised I am when he pulls away. He puts his hand in the middle of my chest. At first I see this as a rude stop sign, but then I realize the intimate implications.

“Tell me more.”

His eyes are warm and considerate. When I was pressed up against him I could feel his hard cock, so I know he’s still hot. But he’s also actually interested in my thoughts and feelings of being with another woman. I may be driven by lust at this moment, but I do appreciate that he’s both turned on and tuned in.

“Come with me.”

He’s taken my hand and we’re heading to my bedroom. Stepping over my little tiny messes (oops) he directs me to the full-length mirror. The light coming in from the hallway illuminates us from behind, giving us form but not identity. He stands behind me, close, his cock pressing against my ass, his lips near my ear. His hands find mine and he hold them, palms on top.

“If you were with a woman right now, where would you touch first? Show me.”

I blush and giggle again. I may be hot and bothered right now, but this feels kind of embarrassing. He squeezes me reassuringly, but I’m frozen to the spot. Sensing my hesitation, he takes the lead. David moves my right hand to my face and traces my fingertips along my jaw. My lips part, but no giggle this time. He moves my hand to the other side of my face and does the same thing. Electricity bounces between the two points of contact. My first impulse is to close my eyes, but I can’t. I want to see my fingers caress my own face.

Despite him speaking in just a whisper, I start when David speaks again.

“Or would it be like this?”

He guides my other hand, much more forcefully than the first, to my hip. His fingers fold over mine and causing me to grip my flesh roughly. We release and move a little further down and repeat the same passionate grasp. Over and over, each time nudging closer and closer to my cunt. The first touches made me sigh in pleasure. These are making me growl with desire.

Slowly, David eases his hands away from mine. His withdrawal is so gradual, and I am so lost in the dual sensation of watching and touching that I don’t notice that he is no longer guiding me. It isn’t until I simultaneously slip two fingers into my wanting mouth and my other hand slides into my jeans that I realize he is just behind me, smiling. I giggle again, but don’t stop.

The image I see in the mirror is hot, my hands on a woman. But something is wrong. While still licking and sucking the fingers in my mouth, I pop the button on my jeans and slide the zipper down. David’s smile widens.

“If I ever get to be with another woman,” I whisper, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist going right for her pussy.” I shimmy my hips and let my pants fall below my panties. I trace my fingertips along the edge of my underwear. “I’ve wanted to touch for so long.”

To my complete surprise, once again David reaches around and stops me. With a sly look in his eyes he moves my hand back toward my belly.

“Babe, in my experience,” he laughs lightly, “ladies like more touching before you move right to that.” He uses both hands to pull my shirt over my head.

He doesn’t need to guide me now. My first had stays on my belly but the other goes directly for my small, firm breasts. While I was lost in my fantasy I could think of nothing more than sliding my fingers into ‘her’ cunt. But I do know that in any reality I would want my hard little nipples touched, licked, sucked, pulled and generally adored before anything else.

David gives me one more helping hand by removing my bra before backing away again. I take a long look at my delicious little nipples. I’ve always liked them and I always wished I could suck them myself. If I find a woman with tits like mine I am going to spend a long, hot time squeezing her nubs between my fingers. The thought, and my own actions, send delightful shivers up my spine.

My hand moves back and forth between my tits, while I let the other linger on my belly. Continuing the simultaneous gentle/rough play of earlier, my breast hand tweaks and tugs harder and harder on my nipples while the other gently glides over my soft stomach. All the while, I stare at myself in the mirror.

But I’m not looking at the whole of me. I’m looking at the parts of me—the parts of me doing things I want to do to another woman. I see my hands all the time; I recognize those as mine in this scenario. But I don’t spend anywhere near enough time looking at the parts they are touching, so I can distance myself from that reality and consider these sexy breasts and fleshy belly as someone else’s.

And I want to see more of her.

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