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You sat in one end of the hotel bathtub, knees drawn to your chest, jacket held discreetly in your lap. It was a jaunty pose, especially as you wore only a loose tank top and boxer shorts, but one which you could pretend was innocent of any desire. We finished smoking and I helped you out of the tub.
"Thanks for coming over," I said, and you replied "Thanks for the bath," then you laughed a silver ringing laugh, and your eyes danced, putting mine at ease while simultaneously making me uncomfortably distracted trying to discern your intentions.
My head swam, and before I had time to think or stop myself I heard my own voice saying to you "Would you like a bath?" You flashed me a grin, leaned back against me. I drew my hands around you, and leaned in to lose myself in the scent of your hair. My hands traced lazy circles around your belly, finally arching upward to cup the underside of your breasts. You drew a sharp breath and leaned your head back against my neck. My fingertips found out your nipples and gently inspired them to stand out against your diaphanous white top. You turned to face me, and you hugged me and mewed softly.
We had hugged many times before, sometimes for a long time, but always you had kept--we both had kept--a respectful separation below the waist. And so this hug began: we sighed into each other and I held you tightly, feeling your breasts press themselves against my ribcage. Then I felt something else. I felt your pelvis seeking mine out, and I involuntarily ground my rapidly hardening self against you. Soon we were moving together in an achingly slow circular dance.
We filled the tub with water and I undressed you. Slowly I slipped my hands under your tank top and cradled your breasts. You lifted your arms over your head and arched your back while I slipped your top up and off you. I gazed at you: your golden brown hair falling gently around your perfect breasts, your pale pink nipples erect in the air and light, and I bent to kiss them, one after the other, adoring your supple flesh. Now I hooked two fingers under the waistband of your boxer shorts and slid them gradually over the curves of your hips. They fell to the floor and you stepped out of the puddle of them and stood before me wearing only your panties. I marvelled at your pierced navel and the gentle line of fuzz that descended therefrom and dipped out of sight beneath the tight sheer material of your underwear.
I knelt before you, turned my head to the side and buried myself in your soft belly. I could smell you, an intoxicating and dangerous smell. I could smell your excitement, your pheromones, and I knew that we were at a point of no return. I could have, at that moment, stood, wrapped you in towel and discreetly left the bathroom. And in my absence you could have dressed again and splashed cold water on your face and rejoined me in the other room and we could have chalked it up to the weed. But I didn't stand.
As my finger explored you--ever so gently, almost without any pressure whatsoever--wetness appeared, soaking through your panties and greeting my hand on the other side. Kneeling behind you now, I slipped my finger inside your underwear and felt soft curls gradually giving way to wet curls. My finger traced your lips now--ever so slowly--maybe it took me five minutes, and you opened gradually to me. I slid your panties down and you stepped out of them and turned to face me, now totally nude and flushed with the urgency of our dalliance.
I replaced my finger with my tongue, and as your liquid slowly flowed into my mouth I was struck with a lightning bolt of arousal. I made the tip of my tongue rigid and circled around and around you; I felt each of your lips and I felt them become engorged. My tongue traced the apex where your lips met and found there the center of your arousal.
I inhaled sharply as I encountered your clitoris, and you did too, letting your fingers play in my hair and describe to me some of what you were feeling. You tilted your pelvis towards me and I sat back on my haunches, tonguing you with rhythmic strokes while my fingers continued to draw your liquid essence from you. I don't know how long we remained joined in this fashion.
The water flowed into the bathtub and your juices flowed onto my tongue I played regular music on your most essential, private, erotic and awesome place, and you rocked gently against my mouth, swaying in ever widening circles, succombing to an increasing avalanche of sensation and emotion.
"Ungh!" you exclaimed, and again, and again, until a large rhythm made itself known, and your moans crescendoed over and over. With each exclamation your body became a bit tighter, first your belly, then your thighs, then your shoulders, then your arms and hands, and finally your toes. You were poised on the edge of a great ocean and you said to me in a ragged breathless voice, filled with your joy of being, "Put your fingers inside me. Please put your fingers inside me; I'm going to come when you do it. " "I will, Beautiful, I will. Are you ready?" "Yessss!", you cried, and arched against my mouth. I stood up and kissed your neck, your chin, your eyelids and your mouth. "Then come, my love, come!", I said, and I slipped two fingers inside you, and moved them rhythmically.
"Oh. . . Oh. .
And then we noticed that the bathtub had been overflowing for several minutes, and we stood together in the warm soapy puddle and laughed. Your eyes twinkled at mine as they have so often before, as you have so often before shared with me all the other great joys of this life. And now we felt a sense of completion in one another. I withdrew my fingers from you, and licked them, tasting once again your precious intoxicant and you licked my fingers too, and you dipped your own fingers into yourself and gave me a taste, and I held you close to me and sighed.
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