A Discreet Distance

Fingers explored the soft contours of shoulders, ribcage and waist, ascended to lightly massage her breasts . Her lips slightly parted as she wandered off into some dream world by herself. The music certainly traveled with her; I could see the tempo in her movements and her breath. Her hands drifted downward once again, her fingertips spreading to massage her tummy, slowly working her top up enough to slip under.

Her hips began moving as well, squirming sensuously in time with the rest. Her hands finally went separate directions. The left drifted slowly to her breast, dragging her top up to expose her navel. She had changed jewelry before going out; a crystal heart dangle now decorated her tummy. Her right slipped down, undoing her shorts. She opened her legs just slightly to give her fingers access within.

I don't know how long she stayed like in that pose, just fingering in tiny motions, only that it didn't seem to matter much. She seemed to have hypnotized herself or sunk into a dream. For a while I began to wonder if she were actually on her way to falling asleep, but the next track started up, and she began swaying gently, still moving her finger in tiny circles.

Once the typical long Hopkins intro finished and the beat took hold again, she came awake. She inhaled a long shuddering breath and pulled herself into a fetal position, pulling off her shorts and dropping them to the side. I had always been able to see when she came home with her work clothes on that she wore no bra under them, so I was unsurprised to discover she wore no panties either. She spread her legs wide, letting me see her sex clearly, now aroused and swollen. Her body began rippling to the beat, legs, hips and chest alternately rising and falling in a sexual rhythm.

Pulling her top up over her breasts gave her better access. The flat, maidenly coins that normally tempted me had become hard cones, which she now milked and kneaded as she writhed erotically. Two fingers of her right hand, now slick and moist, began curling their way into her and her thumb began rubbing her clit. Her breath deepened and quickened, and began to include her voice, a soft cry somewhere between a whimper and a moan. Her skin glistened with perspiration, making her toned physique just that much more enticing.

Then she raised her head again, opened her eyes and looked right at me, her mouth now open in a lusty petition. I was stiff and horny and ached to go to her and slide my cock right between those begging lips, but the words, 'discreet distance rule', somehow stayed in my ears. I stayed put. I went ahead and got it out though, relieving a pained crotch I had almost not noticed because of the show she was giving me.

She smiled and stopped long enough to suck her fingers clean and pull her top the rest of the way off. She resumed, switching hands, and whispered, "Take 'em off!"

I complied, undressing and beginning my own self-loving as I watched her work her hips more energetically. She watched me, biting her lower lip and smiling, clearly as happy to see me doing it as I was to see her. She occasionally licked her upper lip, or squinted as she felt some particularly good sensation. Then she would returned to the same expression after flashing a seductive grin. She continued like that until her brow furrowed and her expression changed, becoming rigid and open mouthed.

Her whole body shuddered and reared up, supported only by her feet and her shoulders, beads of sweat now visible rolling down her skin. After what seemed like forever just shaking with her back arched, she collapsed with a powerful gasp.

She fell sideways to lie across the couch., her tits heaving with the effort to regain her breath. I kept stroking, transfixed as I witnessed the metamorphosis from orgasm to afterglow. I'd never had the opportunity to just watch a girl in that state. I wasn't precisely sure I had ever seen one orgasm so spectacularly, although to be honest, I'd usually been too close to the action in the past to have a good look. My crewman throbbed in response to the spent, languid beauty now stretched out on the couch, looking for all the world like some classical painting, her expression now the image of angelic peace.

The mysterious smile returned as she recovered and resumed watching me. She began massaging her tits, giving me an encore to finish to. She didn't need to continue for long; I sent up a fountain of cum in very short order. I managed to keep my eyes open so I could see her when I did it. The delighted little girl expression reappeared, as if she had witnessed the most wonderful sight instead of a frustrated thirty-year old jacking off.

I lay back in the easy chair, my chest and belly covered with the stuff. After a bit, she got up and went to the kitchen. She commented as she returned with the paper towels, "We should have these handy for you in the future."

"You planning to do this again?" I asked, my breath barely back as I accepted towels from her. She grinned as I cleaned myself.

"Of course. I'll do this ever day if you want. Interested?"

"If I had my druthers, I'd rather ditch the discreet distance rule," I admitted, giving her very close body a frank look. Somehow I still remembered not to touch, even though her sweat-covered skin was easily within reach. "It was very difficult to just watch you."

She smiled sadly and shook her head as she held her hand out for the towels. I stiffened a bit again, thinking about her just taking my cum like that. "Brent, you mustn't. You understand?"

I nodded. She brightened and turned to carry the towels into the kitchen. "I need a shower. No peeking!"

What a bizarre thing for a woman who just masturbated for me to say, I thought.

Sunday morning felt a little odd for me at first. I cooked up some breakfast and sat reading my paper, trying not to think too much about events of the prior day. She came in wearing her customary Aéropostale sleep tee, gave me a bright smile and helped herself to some eggs as her bagel toasted. She got on the computer after that, apparently checking emails and such, as I, completely at a loss for what to talk about with her, kept myself buried in my newspaper.

Can you blame me? The only thing running through my mind whenever I thought to say something to her was, Hey when you were masturbating yesterday, you looked incredibly beautiful. Not exactly breakfast table conversation.

After she finished up on the computer, she disappeared for a while. I resumed my Clancy novel, actually making real progress in it this time. The day continued peacefully like this until early in the afternoon, while I was making a sandwich for myself.

"Brent?"

I turned to see Ronni in all her glory, leaning in the entrance to the hallway.

"Yeah?"

She twiddled with a ringlet of hair. "I was going to go ahead and practice today, if you don't mind."

"Practice?"

"Dancing. I figured I would go ahead and practice with you around now."

I grinned. "You're not worried that I'll start jacking off again?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "If you don't, it must mean I'm doing something wrong."

After she disappeared back to her room, I sighed, shook my head and carried my sandwich out to the table to resume my reading. A while later, she called from the back, "Can you put it on the track before 'Candy-O'?"

"That's a weird one. Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

I went and turned on the stereo, punched up 'Shoo Be Doo' and went back to the table. After I sat down, I noticed movement and looked up to see a bejeweled Ronni entering in a stunning violet evening gown. She strolled out to the pole and posed with her back to it, her head down, waiting for the next track to begin. I realized that as high as her dress was slit and as thin as the material was, showing the contour of her nipples clearly, it was really stripper wear. She had much larger earrings than usual, an ankle bracelet, and a spectacular choker, and she'd even done her makeup. Basically, she looked like she'd just stepped out of the most expensive gentleman's club in town. Actually, I'm not sure they would even have a girl so beautiful.

The moment "Candy-O" started, it was as if she'd just transported me there. She whirled, sending her hair flying, seizing the pole and beginning a hip-bumping motion to the beat that would have been enough to get me horny if she'd stopped right there. Once the verse began, she danced around the pole, her hands repeatedly smoothing her gown from breast to hip as she danced, then beginning to add leg hooks and back arching moves to the routine.

I could tell immediately this was a memorized routine she was working on-- once or twice I saw a frown and head shake telling me something had gone wrong-- and it clearly had parts to it she didn't trust herself to do yet. She would pause in those places, then pick up again after a moment. But one move she did try, climbing the pole once again, higher than the previous day, and this time clutching it with her leg and leaning back to hang upside down. My heart almost stopped when she did that. It didn't just look difficult, it looked damned dangerous, and I knew she was a beginner.

But she pulled it off. Her gown fell open, revealing a violet and rhinestone g-string outlining luscious thighs as she reached down with her hands and allowed herself to slide down and settle onto them in a handstand. At that moment, I was simply staring in slack-jawed amazement. Between the imminent danger of the moment before and the incredible sexiness of her pose, she had me bewitched. Once on her hands, she let go of the bar and cartwheeled onto her feet, holding the stance she ended at for the end of the piece, a pose with one hand behind her head and one on her hip.

I think I was still staring in shock when the next track began and she looked over at me, her eyes sparkling. "Well?"

One thing I had somehow managed to grasp during my stupor. "You are not learning this stuff in some pole-dancing fitness class. You can't be."

She gave me her loose grin again. "I never said anything about a fitness class. I said I was taking lessons."

"You mean private lessons? How can you afford something like that?"

She crossed her arms and smirked at me, leaning against the pole. "I keep a big chunk saved up for a rainy day. I decided this would be worth it."

"But it's gotta be expensive."

"Hell yeah it's expensive! It's a hundred twenty five an hour! But I'm buying in bulk. Ten lessons for nine hundred. That's only ninety an hour."

I stared at her in amazement. This was the girl who drove a cheap scooter to work so she wouldn't have to spend money on a car. "Why are you putting that kind of money into this?"

She bit her lip as she gazed at me, thinking over the question. She shrugged. "Did you know I was a dance major before I dropped out of college? I guess this is just... fun for me."

Her hand ran up the pole and her body started to quirking to 'Night Spots'. She was just improvising now. She was also starting to give me the seductive come-on looks again. "You can't hold on too long" was apparently not inspiring to her; she danced over to the stereo and hit the next track button. "Lust for Kicks" apparently worked better. The violet gown began working its way off her body.

I don't know if those lessons were just for pole dance, or if she was getting stripping lessons too, but she sure had learned how to do it somewhere. She strutted nearer to me for this part, giving me a teasing peekaboo of her breasts from point-blank range before the gown finally slipped away from them, and a hip-grinding removal of the g-string close enough I thought she was about to start lap-dancing. She would have got a surprise if she did, as by that time I was out and stroking. She saw it and stayed where she was, dancing to "Got A Lot On My Head" wearing nothing but jewelry and heels, close enough to touch as I made love to her in my mind.

She wasn't shy at all about looking at my crewman as I worked him. The way her tongue was moving, it looked to me like she was imagining it in her mouth. I sure as hell was. Then she made it back to the pole for "Dangerous Type", a song that I swear must have been written specifically for naked women to dance to. The pole returned to her routine, as she threw in various leg hooks and stretches, but she also began simply pushing herself up against it, holding it between her legs as she slid up and down.

Soon I realized she had switched somewhere from dancing to masturbating. She leaned against the pole, still putting on a show since she was doing centerfold poses, but with her fingers now working deep inside her and her hips grinding both to the beat and to the sensations. The music ended and she slid down the pole facing me, looking across the room at me with her lips open and her breasts laboring, watching me beginning to come to the awesome sight.

The delighted smile was still there, but in the middle of sexual ardor it had a more lusty, adult character. Still, once I had leaned back and stopped, she leaned back also her rump sliding out so her back could sink to the floor. Her eyes closed a little, still looking at me with that pleading, inviting stare, but her fingers sped up and I could tell she was somewhere far away now. not actually looking at me at all. I leaned back and enjoyed her slow transformation from horny dancer to sex goddess and then once again to heavenly being as that angel's smile appeared at the end.

I watched those lovely breasts rising and falling as she breathed, then chuckled. "I can't tell which of us is having more fun with this."

"Me," she declared with a breathy voice and a tired smile. "Definitely me."

Needless to say, my wait for her to come home from work that day had a very different character. For one thing, I had never before actually waited for her to come home. Her work hours had been a time of peace for me, of knowing I wasn't going to be assaulted with a live tit show for the next six to eight hours. Suddenly it had become a time of deprivation.

I literally couldn't think of anything else but writhing, sweaty skin and rocking thighs, unless it was swaying breasts and those inviting, begging lips. I tried TV, I tried the computer, I tried porn videos, nothing would take my mind off her. I was so distracted, I was late getting my dinner. I was still finishing it up when she came home.

She walked in, looking like a dream and smiled at me. "Hi."

No hot wings tonight. That cook had Sunday off.

"Hi," I echoed, and couldn't think of a damn thing beyond that except, "You look good."

She glanced down at her uniform, the same tank top and shorts she always worked in, and smirked at me. But it was true. She'd left her makeup on, I realized. She normally scrubbed it off at work

With a coy smile and a hand on her hip, she asked. "So where do you want me?"

I blinked. "Um... what?"

"I've been horny since I left for work," she declared.. "Got kidded about my nipples at least a dozen times. Pick a spot for me. I'm starting now."

They were standing up rather well at the moment, I noticed. Without hesitation, I stood, pulled my plates together, and carried them to the sink. "There you go."

While I rinsed them and got them into the dishwasher, she climbed on and sat in the middle, vigorously massaging her tits. This wasn't the slow build up like the previous day; she had walked into the house already in heat. She smiled seductively at me as I pulled my chair a little ways back to add a little insurance space. Then she stared pointedly at my chest as she wiggled slowly out of her tank top. After a moment, I realized what she meant and pulled off my shirt. She stared at my pants as she pulled off her shorts and I complied. Once I finally took my seat, we carried on together, she with her everything and I with my crewman, at least until I came.

She wasn't finished yet and kept going, massively aroused and lost in sensuous fervor. It took her a long time, so long that I was hard and stroking again before she finished. She wound up laying on her side and watching me, enchanted by the sight of me beating my meat. Honestly, I found that the weirdest part of our odd new relationship. A woman in masturbation can be beautiful; she moves all her sexy parts in a sensuous show. A man just sits there jacking off. At least, that's the way it seemed to me. Yet she was obviously and unabashedly enjoying my masturbation.

The week that followed went much the same. Monday and Tuesday, when she didn't have work, I came home to find her eager to dance for me. Wednesday through Friday, she began work before I got of, but I wound up eating dinner at "Max's" all three nights. When she came home, we masturbated for each other again. Thursday, she was still energetic enough to dance as well.

Yet when Saturday came again, and I saw her that morning, all I could think about was the fact that I couldn't touch, couldn't wake up with her. head on the pillow next to mine. Isn't that crazy? I was getting these extraordinary live sex shows and pole dances by a woman with pro model good looks, yet all I could think of was how I wasn't getting the perfectly ordinary.

She detected my discontent somehow. "This isn't working out for you, is it?" She seemed somehow truly sympathetic, even though she knew full well it was her rule causing my troubles.

I stared at my coffee and finally decided it was time to ask. "Is there some way you can explain to me why you don't want me to touch you?"

She smiled sadly and shook her head. "It just isn't a good idea."

"Well, I'm not sure what we are doing is a good idea. It's wonderful fun, but... to tell you the truth, it's frustrating."

"I would hate to stop," she worried. "Not only am I having wonderful fun, but you... I don't care how frustrated you say you are, you seem a lot happier."

"I'm happier because I'm thinking about how nice it would be to make love to you, Ronni!"

She beamed at me, that honestly charmed expression of hers, looking like she would like to kiss me. If only she would! I was thinking. Of course, she didn't.

"Why don't we do favors for each other?" she offered. "You know, like requests? Something we would like to see the other person do? Maybe if you can ask for things it will help."

I wound up asking to watch her use a sex toy. She giggled and went to her room, rummaging around a while and finally coming back with a vibrator. The next thing I knew, she was giving me another fine porn show. When I started disrobing though, she asked me to hold off. For the next forty minutes I watched her bring herself to climax with that thing twice. I was throbbing hard by the end.

"Now my request. I want you to come on me."

That almost shocked me. She was hardly the first girl to ask for that, but it seemed an awful lot like touching and certainly violated the 'discreet distance' rule. She nodded in understanding without me saying a word. "Tell me when you're close and I'll come nearer then. I'll just dance for you until then."

She started up the Cars once again and began dancing, no routines, just her usual prancing about and practicing her moves ad-lib. Having watched her vibrator show, I really didn't need more stimulus, but I enjoyed it anyway.

I beckoned to her when the time came and she just threw it in as another dance move, sliding up to me on her knees with her eyes bright and excited. I thought she wanted me to aim at her tits or something, but when I began shuddering she opened her mouth and leaned forward. I got at least half of it in as her lips spread out in a huge open-mouth grin.

She backed away as I settled back in my chair, an odd look on her face. Once moment she seemed happy, like while she swallowed it and used her tongue and her fingers to corral more of it, then the next moment she seemed almost distant, like she was thinking of something troubling. She sat there on her haunches, looking up at me with that odd, wistful look.