What Kind Of Reward Did You Have In Mind?

"What kind of reward did you have in mind?"

I ask that question but I ought not to. Frankly, there is absolutely no need.

Her hands are making short work of my doubts and her body next to mine is writhing and pressing close, as if she can't get enough of the touch of me. I feel her breath tickling on my neck as her fingers crest over my breasts, touching too light for me but not quite soft enough that they're like a feather tickling my skin.

She is teasing me but I don't mind. I don't mind her touch and I don't mind the fact that I'm exposed like I am. It's warm and the summer air is kissing my skin like I hope she will be only too soon and I want her, oh god I want her so badly.

I want her to give me my reward because I've been such a good girl.

One hand leaves my body and then there is the rush of something cold and wet on me. Splashing across my belly and evoking memories of other times I've been splattered.

It's happened so much today.

To think that before today I'd never sucked a cock. I'd never had a man fuck my tits. I'd never been so close to getting fucked, nearly having him pressing into me in the moment before I pulled away.

Why did I pull away?

That question is one in a long line of intrusive questions that come on unbidden in moments where I ought to be living in the present but I am always pulled away by doubts and worries and confusion and it's all the fault of being thrust into a situation that doesn't matter and I can feel my attention drifting until her fingers press into the cool liquid she's splashed on my belly and I realize she's spreading it and working it into my skin.

I sigh as she lotions me up, taking great care all the while to be sure that she is thorough.

I'd asked a question and I wonder whether this is the answer. Whether her covering me in this and massaging it into me is meant to be my reward and I think maybe I could live with that. The rhythmic movement of her hands like a massage and her touch tracing the lines of my body and loosening my muscles until I'm like putty in her hands and it doesn't even matter that I haven't cum yet because if she keeps this up I just might get there soon.

She's building a fire in my belly. She's burning it up beneath my skin. She's making my breath come in sharp little gasps as my eyes flutter beneath my eyelids and I whimper, pressing my thighs together and clenching my hands because I can feel my mind drifting and even if it isn't moving in the direction it was before that doesn't mean it is in any way less troubling.

Let me be clear. I want Rachel I wanted her first and I want her now and I have waited decades to be this close to her, to have her touch me like this and want me like she does. Rachel was my dream girl for so long and she was the girl that I held up as the standard, the yardstick that all others need match up to.

She was enough for me, dammit.

Was.

She was enough.

My whimper turns to a soft little moan and I bite my bottom lip and writhe and I try to fight against it but the fucking temptation is too goddamn good. The memories and the fantasies and the promises all tangling up for me and maybe it's just proximity or timing but my fantasy features one partner in particular.

It's always a man. It's been all of them and a combination of them as well.

But right now it's him and the worst part is she knows it. Knows it and knows me and makes it so obvious when she leans in close, her hands still on my body as her lips curl into a devious smile as she whispers deliciously.

"You're thinking of him."

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