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Having the Waiter with a Glass of Wine | JungleCatGigi | 4

 

The intensity of this situation is sinking in. Your face feels hot from the sudden shyness you feel as he looks at you. Most of the time you feel seen through - not real, just part of the background, a piece of wallpaper - but even as his question is a simple one, those eyes tell you all about desire. Those eyes tell you that you are desired. All you can think of is how nice that sounds, being wanted, and yet how this was not the way you wanted to get there.

"I'll take that as a stay in?" he murmurs, leaning in close by your ear, warm breath on your cheek. He nuzzles your temple, kisses your cheek, resting his face against your neck.

You've always been disconnected from the world, but somehow he makes you realize you'd been disconnected from your own body. Your skin tingles with sensation and you look over at him, not sure exactly what to say, but knowing that it means more than breakfast and sex and need.

�Yes, stay in,� you say rolling to lean against him, a little chilled from the brief shower you had with him, wet hair sticking to your back and leaving a wet spot on the sheets. You lay there for a few moments, skin to skin, warm together, and just rest your face against his shoulder, both taking a few moments to rest after what was a tremendous night and is shaping up to be a tremendous day. It feels good to have his body near yours, warm, rough in all the right spots, and you find yourself loving the way his muscles ripple a little wherever your fingernails skim across as if it�s an exciting little shock anytime you touch.

You run your fingers through his hair as he drifts to sleep for a few minutes, all tuckered out from the workout you put him through last night, but you�re not ready to give him much rest. As you lay there, your hand drifts over your breasts and down between your legs. You feel a little worn, but not nearly ready to rest. Your other hand joins the first as you begin to stroke yourself, two fingers slipping into your wetness, spreading the mixed cum from before onto your thighs and then up onto your breasts with your fingertips.

As you minister to your body�s desires, you feel his eyes on you. He�s watching all of this happen and despite your tendency toward shyness, even without being full of luscious red wine, even having never shown this part of you to anyone you�ve ever been intimate with, you don�t stop. It�s just like all that feminist theory in college warned against -- you want to be his object right now -- and while it means everything that he�s there, enjoying the show, at the same time it doesn�t matter.

The feel of your own skin in this big beautiful bed in the bright morning sun is intoxicating. The way your breasts fill your own hands, the way you know just how to tweak your own nipples into tight little tips, and the way that he looks at you, gathering it all in, learning all of your tricks as you go.

�Mmm,� you feel yourself moan, arching up, hips lifting in a liquid motion as your fingers are absorbed by your wet pussy, thumb turning little circles against your sensitive little clit. His eyes are devouring you, but its there in his gaze that he knows this is something you want to do. He can�t help but reach for you, but instead of taking over, instead of rushing you to what you know would be a quick and glorious end, his hands move to lift you supporting your back. His warm, rough hands lift you again and again toward your heavenly fingers, toward the precipice.

You feel yourself getting close, fingers dipping in, over and over, while the other hand continues to rub your breasts, tease your nipples. You can feel that thread of pleasure spreading from your breasts downward and radiating out from your center in ripples. �Oh, please,� you hear yourself say aloud, eyes tightly shut as it starts to shake through your body. Everything is more desperate, your hand playing on your delicious pussy, your fingers squeezing your tight nipples, massaging the flesh of your breasts, and him -- still lifting you up into your own hand, into the hands of pleasure at it all comes pouring down on you.

�Please,� you groan again, desperately, body shaking with nearness. So ready to come. So ready to give into all that inviting pleasure, but it�s not enough. �Please, Rob, help me!�

He moves then, at your pleading, but not to enter you, not even to take over the task of your hands, instead his hands help yours. Instead of finger fucking you himself, he uses your own hands, slipping his into your wet, wet pussy only in addition to yours -- not to replace, just to enhance. His other hand doesn�t push yours aside, only cupping over yours, molding your body with his hands, making you feel your body the way he feels your body. �God, you�re beautiful,� he growls, low and thick in your ear. �Come for me, baby. Show me.�

His mere touch makes your body ache and here, helping you to take yourself to a delicious orgasm, it only heightens your delight in him. Everywhere his skin is touching yours is on fire. The way his eyes take you in, the way he devours you without even moving, the sound of his voice urging you on -- your body responds in instinct.

You arch, harder now, his hand pressing your fingers deeper in, his fingers squeezing yours harder on your breasts. His breath feels hot as it falls across your exposed flesh. Deep inside, rubbing your clit in circles, you swallow hard and it hits you. Waves crash over you, body quakes from your pussy out, breasts, body, belly, thighs, calves, arms, feet, neck, face radiating with the power of it. Your face is flush and a cry spills from your lips as it comes again and again, filling you up.

Finally you find yourself laying there, breathing heavily, and his lovely visage is above you. He kisses you deeply, squeezing you in his arms, and you can feel how tense he is with wanting. You smile and stretch your arms above your head.

�So, are you hungry yet?� he asks, smiling broadly.

 

What are you hungry for?

 
 
 

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