Droplets

The doctor said get fit. I chose swimming. After a few months it was thirty lengths three times a week, and I was feeling the benefit. People said it showed too. Swimming is exercise and spectator sport all rolled into one. Humanity in all its forms comes to the pool, and some of it is worth a second glance. In fact some of it is worth studying. I'd become adept at the subtle check out above and below the water.

I'd seen her before. Black swimsuit cut for sport rather than show, and goggles. She meant business, and seemed to be part dolphin. That was the part I liked. Firm, lithe and with bumps in places they should be. Some of the young girls wore swimwear that would make a pole dancer blush, but she was there for the sport not the show.

I looked forward to seeing her cut through the water. She was fast and had great technique. Yes, that word made me wonder too. She was my treat after thirty lengths. I'd rest on the edge of the pool and watch her a little, enjoying the curves and muscles as they changed and merged with the water. A poet would have made something of it. I simply took it in, and tried to control the tickle of desire.

Then one day she came with a guy. He was all muscles and concern for his hair. She swam a little and splashed about with him. I disliked him instantly. He'd spoiled the show, and was probably getting what I wanted. After that they came as couple. He never swam seriously and she gave up the torpedo impressions. I wished multiple drownings on him.

I needn't have done. He screwed things up himself. She got cramp and hobbled out of the pool. He stayed behind and after ten minutes was chatting to a blond with breasts that could have kept me and him afloat in a rough sea. I guess he thought she was gone. His face when she made a reappearance wore an expression I'd wished on him more times than I should. There was a not very whispered argument, and he was given his marching orders. She was the only one of the three who stayed in the water, and my hopes were fulfilled. She went back to doing what she did best and making me wish I was every molecule of H2O that brushed her skin.

I didn't usually take a sauna after swimming, but that night I did. It was mixed, and modest - swimsuits all round. She was already there, head down and dripping. Her skin was slick with sweat and her eyes were closed. Her head back and he hair sticking to her shoulders. I watched beads of perspiration appear on her skin and trickle into places I longed to see. My imagination decided it liked this game and offered me the feel of her hot salty skin on my tongue. I felt a stirring and decided to keep those thoughts in case my blood pressure gave me away.

I chose a cubicle in the shower room. Usually I just stood there buck naked with the other guys and tried not to compare who had the best assets. Tonight I wanted privacy. The hot water hit me and my hand found my cock. I teased it a little with a finger tip and it began to bob upwards with a feeling like all the nerves were on acid. I imagined me and her in the sauna, her peeling down the top of her swimsuit and me licking the drops of sweat from her as they formed on her breasts. I got very hard very fast and stroked long slow strokes, I tried make it last but she was messing with my self control. I came hard and squirted a line of hot wet liquid on the shower door. My knees trembled and I emptied. I gasped too, and tried to hide it, just in case. I needn't have worried. I was alone.

If she didn't read minds, then she did a good job of making it look like she did. Next time, she abandoned the black sporty number for a bikini that would have felt right in Rio. It was small and tight and barely covered the places I'd thought about. The top showed a hint of nipple and the bottom showed much more than hint of cheek. It was all I could do to stop myself masturbating there and then. As it was I was showing more of my admiration than the pool attendants would have liked.

I'd never seen her do backstroke before, and it was a sight to behold. Still lithe, still firm, still full of grace, but now with the beauty of her breasts cutting the water in a way sharks dorsal fins do. I had trouble remembering to breathe. Her hair streamed back and rippled in the water and her firm thighs barely broke the surface. This was what water was made for, and I'd let the world turn to desert to keep her in it. She moved up and down, and also a little sideways with each length, drifting off course. If I stayed put she'd eventually bump into me.

The first contact was a wack as her hand slipped over her head and hit my abdomen. She stopped and stood up, turned around and brushed the water from her face with her hands.

"Sorry"

That was it. She turned around and decided to go back to breast stroke (Yeah, that one had me thinking too). She did a little dive and gave me a perfect view of her perfect arse. It occurred to me then that I was being flirted with, but it also occurred to me that she had very nearly stroked my cock with her finger tip, and I was drenched in testosterone and thinking as straight as a horny bull.

It took a month before I managed to engineer a meeting. She finally left as I left, and I chanced what I hoped was an understated and casual looking smile. There was a little flicker of something back. I think. I followed her out and no guy was there to meet her. Seems like the muscles with the hair had truly blown it. Well, well. She headed for the bus stop, and so did I. I didn't need the bus.

Three weeks later she was tied to my bed. Her arms were raised over her head and secured to my solid wooden bed frame with thick, soft red rope. Her breasts were stretched tight across her chest, but were full enough to show the curve. Her nipples were darker than I'd imagined, and were erect, taught and ready to feel. She wore only a pair of red panties. They were the type that show some bum cheek but not all. She was blindfold, and lit by candlelight.

We'd been on dates, and we both knew tonight would be the night. I cooked for her at my place. Her senses were already teased a little. Now they were going to be aroused. She undressed for me. It was a slow provocation, a revelation. I'd been hard from the moment she stepped in my bedroom and slipped off her heels. No, hard didn't begin to describe it. This was like steel, and steel under stress. I tingled and throbbed and ached and wondered if I'd just cum in my pants simply by looking at her. Just in case I didn't I had a plan.

I let her listen to me undressing. I said nothing and took it slow. Maybe it was a teasing revenge, more likely it was a little foreplay for her cute ears. I rustled my shirt, popped my buttons and zinged my zip. Then I stood there, naked and throbbing. I looked down at my erection and it excited me. I was aroused and ready to enjoy her, and I wanted her to enjoy me. I watched her shift a little on the bed. Her hips moved as she positioned herself.

Then I left the bedroom. I knew she heard me leave, and I knew she must be wondering why, but she didn't say a word. We agreed no talking, and no sounds. She was competitive, and she wasn't going to let me win a round in our game of pleasures. I went out for good reason. It had to be a good reason because every nerve in my body wanted to feel and see her. I went to find the toys I'd prepared. She must have wondered what was coming. There were little sounds as I returned. Hints of liquid things, and no hints at all of other things. It took two trips to bring everything and I stayed hard for both.

I knew how I would start. I dipped my finger tip in a mix of crushed strawberries, sugar and vodka. I let a drip form on my finger tip, and held it to her lips. They were closed but opened instinctively for the moist treat. To my delight her tongue darted out and she licked her lips. There was a little smile but nothing else. I played the strawberry dip game with each one of my ten fingers and wished I had another hand. Sometimes she sucked the juices and my finger deep into her mouth, and other times her tongue flicked and searched for a treat. My hands were slick with her saliva and the fruit juice. They felt more erotic than hands had a right too.

The temptation to make my cock wet with juice and offer it to her lips was almost too much to resist. Almost. I knew I had other treats in store and didn't want to get too direct too soon. This was a game of anticipation.

My fingers found an ice cube in one the bowls I had prepared. I popped it in my mouth and sucked on it long enough to smooth the edges. Then I leant over her, my mouth hovering just a centimetre or so above her nipple. I felt the droplet of cold water form, and I knew it had dropped onto her sensitive erect place when her body twitched. She bit her lip to stifle a sound, and I smiled to myself. I played my tongue over the back of the cube and moved across to her other nipple. It got the same treatment and same response. Still there was no sound. I'd have to play dirty.

It wasn't too hard to grip what was left of the ice cube between my teeth. It was melting but still whole. I chose her right nipple. I lowered my head and brushed the ice across it. She bucked and tugged on the ropes. I circled and teased, and she twisted. I could see little rivers of ice water running down her breast and goose bumps forming. The tight skin must be hightening the sensation. I lowered my head again and held the cube there. I just held it and let the cold find her nerves. She was breathing hard and her legs were squirming, but now her torso was still.

I played the same game with the other nipple. When I'd given it sweet torture I licked the ice water dripping down her breast and side. And I couldn't resist. For a moment I watched her lightly muscled stomach rising and falling, and then I dropped an ice cube in her navel. She bucked and raised her mid section off the bed. Still no sound, but she twisted and ejected it onto my bed clothes. I picked it up, popped it in my mouth and kissed her, letting her feel the contrast between my hot soft, tongue and the cold, hard ice. She kissed me hard.

It was mango next; soft, sweet and pulpy. I'd cut it up into cubes. I ran one across her lips and dropped it in her mouth. Then I took a few pieces in my hand and squeezed them over her panties. The juice flowed from between my fingers. It found the rim of red lace and oozed down. I did it again, just because I could. And a third time. Her panties, dripped now and there was a wet stain below on my bed clothes. It wouldn't be the last.

For a moment I did nothing. I wanted her to feel the wetness, the stickiness and know I knew her most sexual place was drenched in it. Then I lowered my head again, and bit the little bow at the top of her panties. I tugged my head up slowly. Her panties gripped her pussy more tightly and pulpy juice was squeezed from them. It ran from between the lace and out of the sides. She opened her legs briefly and then closed them tight. I smelt mango and pussy. I felt more drunk than a wino at Christmas. My cock bobbed and throbbed and asked my why I wasn't sliding into her. It was a good question.

The answer was simple. She had to say something. That was the game. There'd be no union until one of us spoke. And silence meant exquisite torture. I pulled at her panties again and felt her legs open wide. They stayed open. I tugged down this time, revealing a little landing strip of pubic hair. Juice stuck to her hairs and skin. I held her underwear down with a finger and licked at her exposed skin. I licked across her pubis. I sucked fruity pulp from her hairs and I let my licking and sucking go down almost to her clit. She was moving softly now. Her hips raised and lowered slowly. I didn't know how long I could resist.

I did know I had to see her most intimate place. I'd always been visual. I had an artist and photographers eyes, and those eyes wanted to see her. I pulled her panties off slowly, watching the trail of moisture they left on her thighs. In the candlelight detail was lost, and only a dark crevasse hinted at the exact shape of her woman's sex. It seemed neat, and pert and I could sense the heat and her own moisture as I put my face close and inhaled. I was close to her and I exaggerated my outward breath so it wafted across her pussy. She threw her head back and shook it slowly. I smiled. She was a player.

I left my face there, just breathing her in, and reached out to find what I was looking for. The paintbrush was new - a wide sable, soft, with a hint of resistance in its bristles. I brought it to make art. Now it was going to paint in a different way. I held it carefully and raised myself onto my elbows. I let it drift down her thigh, just touching. She twitched at the first stroke and I felt her muscles tense. I let the soft bristles roam up one thigh, across her strip of pubic hair and down her other thigh. She was tugging on the rope a little. For a few moments I painted her pubic area, letting the bristles flow over her. Finally, I gave her with she wanted and what I was desperate to offer. I slipped the brush onto her clit.

She bucked upwards like she'd been plugged into the mains. Her legs were wide open. She was pulling hard on the ropes, her head thrashing from side to side. I used the tip of the brush on her clit, flicking it over slowly like moving paint on a canvas. I watched the bristles matt from the fruit pulp and her juices. She thrashed with each movement, and it was hard to keep contact, but this was a job I wanted to excel at. I let her clit rest and brushed her pussy lips. The result was the same. She was jerking and twisting so hard that I worried she would hurt herself. Her mouth was closed tight, held firmly shut.

It didn't do her any good. She caught the first whimper a moment after it escaped her throat. There was no mistaking the sound. It was as powerful in its sexual urgency as it was short. She was going to lose control soon, and I wanted her to. I threw the brush aside and let my tongue drift slowly all the way up her pussy. When it reached her clit I circled with the hard tip. This time she let out a puff of air; a brief explosion of her breath. I started a slowly powerful lapping, her taste fading my own desperate need. And then it came.

"Oh, just fuck me! Fuck me!"

We joined in an exquisite movement of thrusting hips and firing nerves. I took her tied and blindfold. I didn't want to dominate. I just didn't have the self control to free her. I had to be in her. I wonder if she knew I was playing myself as well? Each erotic moment had ignited my desire, and now the only thing that mattered was being inside her. Surrounded by her soft, hot moistness I started to move. She moved too, meeting each of my thrusts with one of her own. We started slow, a dance of rubbing and slipping. She wasn't holding back. Each new movement was met with a gasp and muttered urgings.

There's a certain pride for guys in lasting a long time, but I knew I wouldn't. I knew I was lost when she gasped through deep breaths

"I'm going to cum. So soon! Fuck, I'm nearly there."

I felt that change in sensation, the tightness in my shaft, the feeling just below the head of my cock that moves beyond pleasure, and into something primal and unstoppable. She wrapped her legs around me and suddenly she was leading the movement. It went to fast and urgent and twisting. She began puffing out deep breaths with each thrust and then screamed. It shocked me for a moment. It filled the room with intense female noise, and I knew she was there. That was my last thrust. I held my cock deep in her and gave in to my body's urgings.

My body was rigid, and my mouth open as if screaming with her, but no sound came out. For a moment I was frozen everywhere, except my cock. It spasmed inside her, pumping hot white liquid deep into her pussy. Each spurt of semen set off a wave of pleasure. I held myself until the feelings began to ease and my muscles told me to relax. I lowered myself on to her slowly, easing my body against hers. I had strength enough to slip off her blindfold. Our eyes met, and even in the semi-dark they shared a lovers' exchange. I kissed her lips and fumbled to undo the bindings. On release she wrapped her arms around me, and we melted into each other.

We stayed like that for long delicious moments. Then she lazily pushed met off and I completed a roll onto my back. She must have slipped a finger between her legs because the next thing I knew I was licking a cocktail of semen, fruit juice and wet pussy from her finger. And then she straddled me. I felt my arms tugged over my head and ropes hold them tight. I felt the blindfold take away the sight of her and it hurt like a child losing a favourite toy. I felt her get off me, and heard sounds like she was putting something on.

"So" she whispered "Do you know what I was thinking all those times I let you watch me in the pool?"