I arched an eyebrow at him. He knew how I did it. He'd done it to me himself many times. But at his own arch, I said, "I start by lightly stroking my fingers over my pussy. Then I press harder. Push between my lips. Start rubbing my clit back and forth with one finger. Then in circles. Dip my finger into my wetness and use it on my clit. Then I just alternate between rubbing and lightly stroking. My other hand plays with my breasts."
"Mmmmm. You like them played with."
It was a statement of fact he only knew too well. The object of his comment grew firmer...heavier as I remembered him fondling them just last night.
I licked my lips, my voice raspier when I answered, "Yes, I do."
"They are yummy."
Heat filled my cheeks this time at the memory of his mouth kissing and sucking on them...his tongue licking.
"Just keep playing and rubbing until you orgasm and say my name. I love it when you say it."
I hesitated again, aching to feel his fingers on me. In me. At the corner of his mouth turning down though, I said, "Yes, Sir."
With his eyes on mine, I stretched my right leg out on the chaise and propped my left foot between my cushion and the rest of the couch. Then his gaze dropped when I slid my right hand over my pussy and my left hand under my shirt.
I watched him watching me while I teased myself on the surface. But my eyes drifted shut when I pressed my fingertips against the soft, warm flesh, parting my lips. I touched the dampness of my arousal and moaned.
His heavy breathing was like a soundtrack softly playing in my head. My fingers took on a life of their own. Knowing where to rub, to circle, to flick to get the right sensation and reaction. All while my left hand cupped and caressed my breasts, thumb and fingertips grazing over my nipples as they pebbled.
My fingers between my legs teased my clit. Dipping down for more silkiness. Rubbing it into my swollen flesh with light, circular strokes. Taking me deeper under until the only breath I heard was my own.
