Incidental Contact

Christine phoned me late in the morning, as I was wandering around the conference exhibit hall. "I'll come to meet you at your hotel," she told me, "but I have to remind you – I may be a slutty exhibitionist, but I only fuck my husband." She paused, then added, "Is that okay? I'll show you everything. It'll be fun!" I heard her breathing over the telephone. Was she as aroused as I was?

"Yes, sure, that's okay. I'm looking forward to it. Room 772." She'd told me much the same thing several weeks earlier, when I'd told her that I had arranged to attend a conference in Vancouver. Christine lived in the suburbs – close enough to easily get downtown, though far enough to make it likely she wouldn't encounter anyone she knew.

"Good. I'll be there about 2."

Three hours later, Christine was lying on her back, her ass perched at the edge of the mattress, her skirt bunched up at her waist and her panties somewhere on the floor. Her thighs were raised up, held high by her elbows tucked in behind her knees, and she was masturbating for me. "Come closer," she told me. Her fingers strummed her glistening pink parts. She had no pubic hair, just as I'd seen in the photos she had emailed to me. Her clit stood tall at the top, and the crinkly opening to her vagina winked at me.

"Closer," she repeated, and I stood between her legs, looking down at her. My pants were at my ankles. Christine's fingers now flickered steadily back and forth across her clit, which only made her vagina wink more frequently. I was mesmerized. I was hard. I was wondering where this was going to end up.

"Closer." I shuffled a few inches closer her. I steadied the root of my erection with the thumb and forefinger of my right hand, and two fingers of my left hand stroked my shaft, smearing my leaking fluid along its length. When I managed to tear my gaze away from her aroused vulva, I glanced at her face. She was staring at my cock.

"Closer." I inched forward until my erection was hovering a mere two inches from the backs of her busy fingers. Christine reached out and transferred some of her juices to my cockhead with her fingers. Once. Twice. Three times. Her fingertips were gentle. I almost climaxed.

"I thought you said 'no touching'?" I wasn't complaining. I was just curious about what her real groundrules were.

"That's just incidental contact."

Christine's fingers kept dancing on her clit. Fair enough, I thought. I didn't want to overthink this moment.

Then she surprised me. "Come on my pussy," she said. "Give me a little warning. We can come together." Her fingers flickered even faster, her breaths shallow and quick.

"I'm close," I managed to say. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. I could feel my orgasm building inside my belly. I was going to explode. I've got to aim it, I thought to myself. Don't get anything on her skirt.

Christine's fingers accelerated into a flurry. I could hear her wetness. "Get ready," I told her.

Her fingers stopped strumming and now spread her pussylips apart, trapping her clit between her forefinger and middle finger and rocking it from side to side. With her other hand, she reached to touch the back of my left hand. "Closer," she grunted, "Get close." My cock was poised a fraction of an inch from her crimson arousal. I was past the point of no return.

"Go inside me if you want."

My eyes snapped upward to look in her eyes, which were staring back at my face. "Really?"

"Yes."

I bent my knees just slightly and leaned forward and slipped my cockhead an inch inside. Christine moaned and nibbled her kegels around my intruding flesh, and my instinct accepted her invitation in full. I pressed forward, sinking balls-deep into her hot, slick sheath in one single driving thrust, just as my orgasm exploded. Christine inhaled sharply. Her fingers, imprisoned between my pubic bone and her swollen labia, restarted their assault on her clit. I jammed my hips forward – no thrusting, no subtlety, just a fiercely and completely buried cock that was jetting streams of hot white into her juicy embracing furnace.

When my pulses slowed and my erection dissipated, my cock reluctantly slipped out. Christine's eyes were still closed. Her fingers had slowed, but they were still busy transferring our mixed soup up to her clit, getting herself off with one final orgasm.

I broke the silence. "I thought you said 'no touching'? I think that was 'touching'."

"Incidental contact," she replied, smiling, "Just incidental contact."