I Like The Way You Wash Your Hands

"I like the way you wash your hands." Said a woman as she cornered me at the sink of the girl's restroom. A tiny closet of a room with one stall, constructed in the corner of a fairly large half-bathroom, tiled with off-white ceramic.

She pinned me against the sink cabinet with her hips and breathed purposefully from my ear to neck.

NOTE: This was the first attractive woman that had done this; therefore, I was contemplating whether I really needed to duck, doge and bolt out the door for aid from my Lesbian Brother, who was sitting at the bar gawking at the bartender.

In the mirror I could see her pale complexion, blue eyes and blonde curls.

Her hands traced the seam of my jeans, drifting underneath my shirt. I jumped, tickled by arousal.

"Mm," she said, "you like that?"

Her pelvis pressed into my rear for added emphasis.

"What else do you like?" She whispered.

Her lips suckled my neck.

Eyes closed, my dizzy head fell onto her shoulder, knees shaking, ready to buckle into her.

"You know, I own this pub... I have a loft above." She said. Her fingers trail-blazed their way to my bra as she continued to gently grind into me.

I was too nervous to speak; but, my eyes caught hers in the mirror, and I wished she'd hear my silent desire for more.

She giggled, lips brushing me as she did. A soft bite nipped my skin.

Unable to resist any longer, I fell forward onto my elbows and ground my rear into her.

Her voice delightfully satisfied, happy for my reaction. "Slow down," she said, taming my motions with her hands. Clearly she wanted to prolong our introduction, savor our arousal. "Let's go to the loft before someone comes in."

Her hands coaxed me, brushing my hips with their own convincing tone. Her hands wanted me now, but her voice wanted me later.

"Okay." I groaned.

It was hard to resist, and she knew for she hastily took my hand and whisked me out the bathroom. We snuck through the hall, up a flight of narrow steps next to the kitchen.

The pub was a large stone building, lined with dark brown wood floors and deep green lights. All lights in the stairway were off, leaving it pitch-black for business to prevent unwelcome guests exploring her loft. I sensed her grin as I clung to her, relying on her to lead me. Her arms lean and defined from lifting liquor crates reassured me with calm confidence as I trusted her. Swiftly, she flung-open the door of the soft-blue loft and slammed it behind us.

We stood giggling against the door for a few minutes before locking lips. Thighs against thighs. My fingertips threaded her hair, pulling her gasps and sighs into me.

She groaned, "Mm." A second of hesitation. A smile. Her lips curved to a sly crook as she withdrew from my wanton grasp. My desire for more was unbearable.

"I'm going to use the restroom, I'll be right back."

"Okay," I said, confused as we were in the downstairs restroom not five minutes ago. While she was gone I had a delightful opportunity to view the blue paint and icing-white embellishments of the loft. It was as if her ceiling's seams were decorated like cake.

Her wood floors, gently rough with age, presented a quaintly-worn look; and, her floor-to-ceiling window-walls, although chilly for winter, overlooked a beautiful, four-story library across the street. Its marble architecture with gargoyles and window-pecking condors towered over the city's establishments.

I felt her lace, cream-colored curtains. Her bed comforter was a hand-woven British flag. On her bedside dresser lay a stainless steel tray and tea set, empty and neatly arranged, as if a cleaner organized her loft.

I heard the latch of a door, but no footsteps, toilet flush or running water. Thinking it was the front door to the pub, I turned to see who it was. Blind-sided, startled, wrapped in her arms and glossy lips. I blinked. She smiled. I felt an unnatural bulge against my leg. Subtle, yet undeniably noticeable by touch.

I unzipped her jeans and felt her hard strap-on. Black marble.

She pushed me onto the bed, stripped her pants and crawled onto me. The marble cocked brushed my stomach as she licked my lips and traveled downwards to the seams of my shirt. Her tongue slipped in and out, underneath, jesting my breaths as I gasped for one and sighed another.

POP.

The button of my jeans opened and her fingers crawled beneath the fabric, smoothly pulling them off. She smiled at my lace-lined underwear and its feminine, sporty look, savoring the moment. Then kissed and nibbled my hips as she peeled my underwear off. Tracing my mound with her nose, she poked her tongue into me with a delicious moan, and caressed my cunt with a long lick.

She laughed as her nose bumped into something hard. "What's this you naughty girl!" She pointed at a small button on my pee hole.

"It's a vibrating urethral plug!" Smiling, I twisted the end, exhibiting its whirring sound.

BZZZZ.

"Do you like the engine?" I asked.

"I love it!" She grinned in awe and delight.

A frown flashed her face.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing." She said.

"..." I waited.

"It's just I was looking forward to trying the marble strap-on out." She said, starting to take it off.

"Wait. No. It's fine." I chuckled, taking the tip in my hand and kissing her lips.

"But won't it hurt with the urethral vibrator?"

"On the contrary, it'll help. Do you have lube?"

She day-dreamed to the welcome surprise of my urethral vibrating plug co-exhibiting with her marble strap-on.

"Oh yes! In the bedside drawer." She said.

She crawled to the drawer and returned with an overwhelming box of lube, plopping it in my lap.

"Holy shit, that's a lot of lube." I said...

"Hopefully I get to use it all." She winked and pulled out several packets of various flavors. "Beef jerky, Cotton Candy, Cranberry, Raspberry, Strawberry, Vanilla, and Watermelon."

"No way in hell am I going down on Beef Jerky," I said.

"How about Watermelon?"

"Sure." I said.

My urgent need to arrive continued to grow with the buzzing urethral vibe.

She tore open the packet with her teeth and dabbed a small amount of watermelon lube on my lips, letting me taste it. Then waited for my response.

We smiled.

"Give me a moment while I lube Misses Marble." She said, turning from me and lathering her marble cock.

"Misses Marble?" I asked, taking her shoulder and turning her to face me.

Her cheeks were blushed with embarrassment. "You'll see," she said. "Just don't call it a cock. I don't like that."

"Okay." I said, smiling at the silliness of the situation.

She lathered my cunt and 'Misses Marble', gently, strongly, without any sense of hesitation. Her embarrassment replaced with a courage and curiosity to endeavor. The watermelon lube was cool, as I like it, and I could smell its irresistible candy-appeal from a distance.

As I went to lick the watermelon on Misses Marble, I noticed that Misses Marble was sculpted in a delicate woman's silhouette.

I grinned, trying not to laugh. "Your favorite meal wouldn't happen to be pancakes would it?"

"Absolutely! Coconut pancakes with cherry sauce!" She grinned beyond the boundaries of the loft, glowing with inner vibrance.

I pushed her onto her back. Our lips connected, even as I mounted Misses Marble and gently rammed her head repeatedly. The syrupy lube glided easily. I looked down, curious to see what Misses Marble looked like from this angle and saw the lube's watermelon-glaze glinting between our wet cunts while the hands of Misses Marble appeared to be pushing in and out of my cunt as I rode up and down.

"Oh Fuck!" I said. "She's fisting me!"

My partner roared with laughter beneath me, joggling Misses Marble pleasurably. My continued thumping reinforced her wetness as the pressure of pounding built against her pubic bone. Her clit swelled, ready to escalate and arrive.

Our profound musical giggles and snorts catalyzed an immense orgasm. Joy, a shared energy crawling and sprinkling our skin, lifted us to a whole new level of bliss.