It's All About You

This is my first submission on this site - it is intended for women readers of Literotica and I would welcome their views and any suggestions for future submissions.

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It is a crisp and clear autumn day. The sky is an uninterrupted pale crystal blue, the sea as still as it ever can be. We have enjoyed a light lunch and shared a bottle of wine; talk of life and love and laughter. We are walking now over crunch of pebbles and slightest shush of waves – arm-in –arm, sensing each other's warmth through the cold air. By the time we reach the hotel it is cold enough for our breath to mist and to feel warm blood coursing under chilling skin – reminding us that we are essential – alive!

Once back in the warmth of our room, the afternoon sun washing through the window, I take off my walking boots and socks and shed my jumper. Just in my jeans and t-shirt I run you a warmth bath as you undress, anticipating the feel of the soft cotton hotel gown against your nakedness. When you come into the bathroom and try to hug me I step away, lead your hands back down to your sides, untie the robe and slip it off your shoulders. I love seeing you stand naked before me. I tie back your long brown hair and help you step into the bath. You feel its warmth engulf you. I take the washcloth (sponges are too scratchy for what I have in mind), soak it in the warm water and lace it with that gorgeous-smelling wash.

Without words, I gently wash away the salt and sea from your face, I raise first one arm and then the other and the warmth and softness of the cloth sensitises each pore. Then each leg gets the same treatment from thigh to tip-of-each-toe. I raise you up a little in the bath and your shoulders and collar bones receive the same tender touch. You lie back down and arch your back a little, now breasts and stomach have their turn of softness, until the warm, soft cloth makes its way down below your belly – down and further down until its softness meets your softness and you shudder with the sensation. And you are clean. My hands have done all of the work, but you haven't yet felt my skin on your skin. I help you out of the bath and you smell simply lovely. I have a towel warm and waiting for you and I wrap you in it and make sure you are dry.

Silently, I lay you face-down on the still-sunlit bed. You are warmed to the core. NOW it is time for the featherest of touches. I start on the nape of your neck – you know my hands are there, but the touch is almost imperceptible. Shoulders next – grazing the skin with my fingertips – down each arm – goose-pimples raising marking out where my fingers have nearly somehow touched you. I turn my attention to your feet now – the same lightest of touches – and up from calf to thigh and up and up and... not quite yet. Those feather-light fingers are up and down your spine, over and across your back, and that special place between rib-cage and hips at the tender sides of your torso – "it tickles", you giggle; but I repeat for a little while. Before it becomes unbearable I move down to your glorious buttocks – each pore seems to transform into a nerve-ending until I am gently parting your thighs and grazing (am I really?) your most sensitive place. I do not ask you to turn around – I am not that cruel!!

Now it is time for the shock of cold oil that quickly warms under firmer touch. My hands are into your skin now and playing with muscle, firm and hard and unrelenting, easing out the tension of your busy life. They journey all over your body until they come to a standstill at the last crevice of your buttocks. They pause for a moment until my fingers gently prise you apart and my thumbs graze your outer lips. NOW is the time to turn you over.

You comply, of course, and I have all your splendour on view. I take my time, drizzles of oil in all the right places, just at the right time until you are completely alive, completely wanting. Your breasts both melt and tighten under my hands – your nipples feel like they have never felt before. Your legs lighten under my touch and your thighs seem to have a mind of their own. You start to reach out – to touch my hardness, you grasp my belt, my zip, anything – just to force a hand into my jeans (you know I never wear anything underneath). I place your hand firmly but gently back by your side: "this is all about you", I whisper. And then my well-oiled fingers are in you, on you, around your wetness – and you want that, more than anything in that moment – you want me inside you. It is just fingers for now, until you are writhing and clenching and biting back your shrieks of delight. I slow, we stop.

You reach again for me, for my hardness, you want me naked, firm and proud inside you, but again I simply pull away. I am clothed you are naked – "this is all about you" I gently insist, before bringing my mouth to your soft belly and kissing down to your hips, across from hip to hip and down to that special softness of your inner thigh, but my tongue is a snake with a mind of its own and it is not long before it is parting your folds – my nose pressing against your nub. You are simply gushing now and I revel in your juices. Then finally it is lips on clit and fingers exploring inside of you and there is no stopping you now. You are all movement and quivering and muscle spasm and radiating that special glow. You are satiated, and I know it is time to stop.

You lie back, relax and close your eyes. You doze. Vaguely, in some far-far away land you hear a shower running. It is a strangely reassuring sound. I feel the warm water and delicious wash all over my body. Hard as seaside rock (and who wouldn't be) I contemplate pleasuring myself, but I think again, let the water run over me until my tumult subsides a little. I dry myself off, lather myself up and shave off the last day's growth – I am back properly trimmed and naked.

As I close the en-suite door you stir and stretch – my lips on your nipples before you know it and you murmur something I cannot hear and spread your legs wide. You are soft and wet and ready to receive. Now I am on top of you. You can feel my weight and skin against skin and you writhe under me, trying to capture me inside you – but I am nothing but patient and I hold back enjoying the slipperiness of tip against clit, until I gently push inside your folds. I am playful as well as patient, and I tease your opening with an infinity of tiny thrusts before I am deep in you. I stay there, buried, for a while until I oh-so-slowly start to withdraw and re-enter, from tip to base until you lose all semblance of composure. I first feel hands all over my skin and then urgent finger nails digging into my skin and you spasm and jerk spectacularly and that sends me over the edge. I pump and I pump and I am there with you – in that great big ocean, floating, together, nothing, at one.

We share one last tender kiss before sleep comes to ground us back into the everyday world of time and hunger and dinner.