Hidden Tension

This is an entirely true story. I'm writing it only moments after it happened.

It's almost unbearable to look at you. Only inches away on the barstool, I can't help but imagine the things I know we must never do again.

I'm not sure if you know it, but you're gorgeous. You make my mouth water. You had to wear that dress tonight, didn't you? It's just a little too short, shows just a little too much. The buttons gap just-so over the shadow that I know leads to the deep cleavage between your breasts. Your hair is perfect. The heel of your shoe juts threateningly towards me as it dangles from your foot.

I take a deep breath and try to focus on the conversation, but as you turn toward our friend your dress moves and I see the shape of your legs shift beneath the thin cotton fabric. I remember the statuesque curve of your hips, you standing with your legs crossed at the ankles, stark naked. My drink must be shaking in my hand. If I could, I would kiss my way up your thighs. I wouldn't miss an inch. I want to run my tongue and lips over that smooth, soft skin.

You lean back in your seat and laugh at a passing joke. I didn't hear it. I laugh anyway, hoping you haven't already read my thoughts. As you laugh your right arm slides comfortably beneath your breasts, their curves visible against the suddenly-tight fabric. I can remember the way they felt in my hands, first caressing, then, later, kneading roughly, pinching the nipple. I remember the gentle give, the subtle taste, and later, the sheen of sweat glistening on your chest. Not always just sweat.

I want to close my lips over your nipples and suck them. I want to kneel over you when I reach the final, frenzied moments and finish over your beautiful chest and belly, covering you in milky cum.

I'd lap it back up if you asked me to.

I've got to stop thinking like this, but I can't. I see your eyes glancing downward, at my hands folded in my lap. Folded to conceal my stiffening erection. I wonder what you're remembering. Tasting yourself on my hands after I played with your clit and teasingly penetrated you, first with just one finger, then more? The sharp slap of my hands on your ass as you rode my hard cock to the rough edge that lies between pain and delirious orgasm? The way I gripped your hips when I fucked you from behind, pulling you toward me harder with every stroke?

Your eyes rise and you give me a soft gaze that lasted just a moment too long. I know you want it now, too. You swirl your glass of wine distractedly, then take a sip. As your lips touch the glass I remember them touching the head of my cock. The shine of lip gloss reminds me of another shine. You were amazing, first licking gently, then swallowing hard and taking the length deep into your wet, warm mouth. I never knew a woman could seem so dominant on her knees, but when you sucked my cock, I felt like I was receiving an undeserved mercy. The wine runs over your lips and I remember the moment when my hands would twist in your hair and for a moment I would lose control and thrust savagely, cumming, spilling my seed onto your tongue. You always took every drop, comfortably, like that was the whole point. You wanted to swallow a little piece of me.

You got it.

We leave the bar. I can tell by the way your legs twitch that something is on your mind. You're parked nearby, and when we stop at your car I get an urge to throw myself to the pavement in front of you. I want to go down, knees digging into the hard asphalt, and place my hands on your hips. I want to lift the hem of that dress and press my nose and mouth between your legs, right against the trimmed patch of curls, where I can inhale deeply and fill myself with the scent of your womanhood. I want to lick you until I feel the soft skin of your thighs trembling against my cheeks and I know you're close to the edge, close to falling over and letting all of your need down on me.

Is this what you're thinking?

We could do it right here, in the car. There's hardly anyone around. You want to hike up your dress and reach down between my legs and find the hard, hot cock straining for you. It's already straining against the tight fabric of my jeans. Are you imagining my hard length plunged deep into your craving, aching pussy? I know you're wet. I want to taste it. I want to feel it run down my cock as your flesh envelops me.

For a moment we stand by the car, and we both know what the other is thinking.

We kiss, once, not roughly, but not with innocence, either. It's difficult, fighting this battle, side by side, against ourselves. But we can't go back.

And then we separate, and I let you get in the car, and drive off.