I resolve to keep it together. For a while. As long as I can, at least.
But her hand is small and soft and warm.
My resolve to keep myself together is sorely tested immediately—especially when she slides her fist down to the base, and then back up to the top. My eyes flutter into the back of my head, involuntarily. My chest swells, breath halting.
I force my eyes open, look at her.
She’s watching me closely. “Should I…should I stop?”
I swallow hard and shake my head, shrug. “Only if you want to.”
She grasps me in both fists, now, squeezing, twisting. Playing with the feel of me in her hands. Her upper hand is around the head, now, squeezing, and then her thumb presses against the tip, rubbing gently. Toying with the tip, the hole, the rim.
I’m not quite actively holding back, yet, but it feelssogood, the way she touches me. I want to make it last forever, and I also just want to have her keep touching me until the inevitable—and imminent—detonation.
I growl as heat builds low in my belly, pressure gathering in me.
She looks at me in consternation. “Did you just…growl?”
I laugh. “Yeah.”
“Should I be concerned?”
I shake my head. “Remember when I was touching you?”
She nods. “Yes. Very clearly.”
“You know how as you got closer and closer to orgasming, you felt more and more…I dunno…desperate? Like, you couldn’t contain yourself, and you couldn’t think straight or entirely control yourself?”
She’s holding me in both hands, then lets go with one hand and plunges that fist from tip to base, slowly.
It’s nearly my undoing.
“Yeah,” she says. “I remember.”
“That’s how you’re making me feel.” I exhale slowly, shakily. “And just full disclosure, here, I’m trying to hold myself back, but you’re making me feel really,reallygood, and if you keep touching me, I’m gonna come, soon.”
“Would that be bad?”
I shake my head. “No. A little…um, messy.” I huff, blink rapidly as she now slowly slides one hand up and down. “If you want to make me orgasm, touching me like that is how you do it. Fast, slow, squeeze hard, or just a soft touch…it all changes how it feels for me.” I groan, arching backward, hips flexing a little, now. “It all feels …sogood. But…um. If—” I’m losing my train of thought, now. “When I come, for one thing, it’s gonna be a mess. It’ll, uh, squirt out of me. My, um, cum, I mean. Whatever you want to call it. And then…and then I’ll…oh god, that’s good. And then I’ll be back to, uh, normal for a while.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
I meet her eyes. “God, no. I don’t. But this isn’t about me. It’s about you, Jo. You, exploring…all of this. Me, us, yourself, sexuality.”
She bites down on her lip. “I don’t want to stop. I want to…I want to see what it’s like when you…come. I want to give you an orgasm like you gave me. Make you feel good.” She glances past me, at the shower still running behind us. “Maybe, um…we should…if it’s going to make a mess, maybe we should get in the shower.”
“Yeah.” This pulls me back to something like reality. I’ve had my hands on her hips, this whole time, holding her tightly. “You’d need these off,” I say, tucking my fingers into the elastic at her hips.
She nods. “True.”
I pull them down, slowly, and then she steps out of them, and she’s totally naked with me. She has a thin scrim of fuzz over her sex, the same color as her hair. Regrowing, like the hair on her head. She ducks her chin, not meeting my gaze.
I touch her chin. “Hey, now.”
Her eyes meet mine. “I’m naked.”
I nod. “Me too.”
