No Touching

"Tell me what's going to happen," he said, his voice calm and quiet.

The ridiculousness of the statement made my head spin. I looked up at him from my kneeling position in front of him. He was standing there, legs spread slightly, hands clasped behind his back.

He was fully dressed in a suit, his tie slightly askew. His black trousers were neatly pressed, the seam of each leg pressed into a perfect vertical line just three feet away.

I, on the other hand, was dressed - if you could call it that - only in bra, panties, stockings and garters, kneeling on a pillow in the middle of the hotel room. I had my hands pressed to the tops of my thighs, unsure of where to put them.

He looked at me for an answer, but I could barely meet his gaze. I hated when he did this. This was his way of playing it safe, of giving me an 'out' if I wanted to take it.

I wanted him, and he wanted me - but we were both married, and not to each other.

If I said that nothing was going to happen, that we couldn't do this, if I hemmed and hawed, stammered, was unsure of what I was saying, he would walk out the door and we would never see each other - like this - again.

"Have you changed your mind?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle, truly concerned.

My heart raced suddenly. I needed to say something - right now! - or else he would walk out of the hotel room.

"No," I said, my voice croaking. Suddenly I needed a drink very badly.

I didn't want to do this, and I knew he didn't either. He wouldn't touch me, because he would lose all control and have to have me. All of me.

My pussy grew sopping wet at the thought, and I licked my lips. His belt buckle, just at eye level for me, glinted in the room's light, and I couldn't stop my eyes from drifting down the zipper. I saw movement underneath, and I couldn't stop a small moan.

Memories of conversations flashed through my head, thoughts of times before, of our 'arrangement.'

He had never touched me. Well, not sexually. Not technically sexually. We'd hugged whenever our travels crossed paths, like tonight. He was adamant that he wasn't going to cheat on his wife, and I respected that as best I could.

But damn, it wasn't easy.

My mind raced as I tried to find the right words. Each word was labored and not what I really wanted to say. What I wanted to say was, I'm going to suck your beautiful cock until it explodes down my throat, or maybe even, you're going to lube up your cock to shove it deep in my ass until I come so hard it feels like it's being pulled off your body.

Underneath his trousers his cock began to grow down the side of his leg. I watched it push the fabric out like an inflatable snake, slithering to get a more comfortable spot.

"You're going to take your cock out..." I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact, but there was no hiding the hoarse, anxious lust from the words. My breath was short and constricted I needed a drink.

He was so hard now I could see the ridge of his cockhead pressing against the cotton. It looked extremely uncomfortable for him.

I had a sudden flash of a bird's-eye view of our situation. After all, this was only the third time we had done this. The first time was an accident, a chance meeting at a conference that turned into too much alcohol and then a conversation in his hotel room. He was the gentleman, however, and never made a move, but the conversation turned to sex and I was never any good at keeping my inhibitions after a few drinks.

Even then, he had read me like a dime-store novel, and knew how turned on I was. "You can masturbate, you know," he said to me. "I promise I won't touch you."

He must have thought he was giving me a feeling of safety, but in reality he didn't know how close he was to avoiding being jumped right then and there. The liquor, the sex talk, all of it - it was turning me into a beast about to give into my sexual needs.

At the time I was lying on his hotel bed while he sat at the desk across from me. I wasted no time getting my underwear off from under my skirt, still modest enough to conscientiously avoid baring any flesh to his view. Looking back, it seemed somewhat pointless, given that he knew what I was doing; hell, I craved him paying attention to what I was doing. My fingers danced across my pussy, and I felt the relief instantly. I was watching him intently as I played with myself, seeing his fingers start to caress the bulge in his pants as well.

He shifted in his seat, his hand trying to surreptitiously creep towards his fly. "Do you mind if I join you in a little mutual masturbation?" he asked.

We were still testing each other, inching our way forward towards ecstasy in halting, baby steps. I have no doubt that if I had said that it made me feel uncomfortable, he wouldn't have done it. Even so, the way he said it made it sound like he was being polite, respectful, not asking for permission.

"Oh, yes," I said. I longed to see what he had underneath his clothing. I desperately wanted to watch him stroke himself. I found that to be an incredible turn on, something my own husband refused to do for me.

When his cock sprang into view it was harder than anything I had ever seen. He must have been suffering from tremendous blueballs, given how rigid he was. Lightly taking his dick in his hand, I could see that he was having a similar feeling of relief flow through him as well.

The way he was sitting, though, I couldn't see too much. He was across the room - I was on the bed, he was by the desk. He saw me craning my neck and stood up, taking a few steps closer.

It wasn't going to take me long. I had been so turned on and my fingers were flying across my clit, and there was no holding back my moans which only sent him farther along. It looked like he wouldn't be able to stop either.

His breathing was ragged, and I recognized the signs of his impending climax as my own began rising inside of me. "Do you want," he panted, "a pearl necklace?"

I couldn't answer with words, but my free hand pulled at my bra straps and yanked the lingerie out of the way, exposing my tits to him. He came closer, so close that I could smell him, so close that I could lean over with my tongue and take him in my mouth.

I debated doing just that, taking him in just for a little while to see what he tasted like. I knew that I'm good, and he probably would have exploded as soon as I wrapped my ruby lips around the end of his manhood, and I wouldn't have minded one bit.

Somehow, though, I didn't, I just stared at the angry red knob as he pounded his fist over it, watching the little hole stretch with each thrust of his hand.

My orgasm hit me then, and I clenched my thighs around my fingers, too sensitive to keep fingering myself and too horny to move them away. My little yelp pushed him over the edge as well.

"Here it comes," he warned, just as he fired a searing hot splash of come onto my neck and breasts. I shivered as his ropes struck me, painting my jawline and dripping down my throat. I felt horny, slutty, sexy... and guilty all at once.

He didn't seem bothered, though. It took him a while to settle down, and even longer for his cock to begin to droop, as he stayed hard for several minutes after. I was impressed, and thought more than once about putting it to good use inside my pussy.

He went into the bathroom and came back with a warm washcloth. I took it from him to avoid any awkwardness of him cleaning my body, and he looked appreciative.

Okay, you can come on me but you can't touch me. Strange boundaries you keep.

Nevertheless, that was exactly the boundary he kept. Somehow he managed to convince himself that he hadn't cheated because he hadn't actually touched me. In a way, though, it only heightened the sexual tension between us, like we hadn't actually gotten it out of our systems.

Over the next few months I sent him links to erotic art that I liked, and he made the appropriate noises of appreciation. For the most part, though, my life took a very busy turn, and I wasn't able to communicate with him very much. I began to worry that he thought I was being awkward and uncomfortable - and while there was some truth to that, that wasn't really the main issue. It was simply one of time.

The next time I saw him, I could see he was a bit hesitant to say or do anything, and kept his polite distance. I started feeling bad and pulled him aside to let him know my silence was merely a matter of being busy, not because of him.

He smiled. "That's good," he said, and immediately started talking as if we had grown up together. His ability to take things at face value was impressive, and cute. He made it extremely easy to be with, comfortable and I felt like I was in a very safe place with him. The night sailed along smoothly, and I found myself remembering why I found him attractive to begin with.

We sat at the bar with a few other people, and everyone was feeling loose and happy. I'm often the only girl in groups of technical guys, and of course I can use my lack of filter to my advantage. It's amusing to watch shy boys squirm.

He never did, though. In fact, his confidence and self-assurance was sometimes irritating, but I couldn't tell if I was just upset because I wasn't turning him into a mass of self-conscious jelly like I could everyone else.

Once again, we found ourselves shutting down the bar, and once again we found ourselves in his hotel room.

As soon as we got in, though, he didn't waste any time. "You can take off your clothes if you want to," he said, matter of factly.

I suddenly felt very constrained by my clothes. It didn't even occur to me that the previous time I had been meticulous about hiding my body from him. I had been wearing a very nice bra and panty set, and suddenly, desperately, wanted to know what he thought of them.

I told him so. "Would you like to see them?"

Swear to God, his eyes twinkled. "Absolutely," he said.

I started removing my clothes, and he leaned against the desk, his arms resting on the edge. He struck a figure of a casual man in charge, his hips seeming to be pushed a little forward from the way he was resting against the desk.

I thought about doing a little strip tease, a little taunting to get him worked up and in the mood, but there was something, something about his demeanor that made me hold back. As a person, he was extremely approachable, friendly, polite, confident. As a sexual partner, there was a very definite wall he was putting up, and I couldn't quite read him.

It kept me off-balance, it kept him as a challenge, and it kept me horny.

When my clothes were off, he did a twirling motion with his finger to make me turn around and show off. I did.

"Very nice," he said, smiling.

I put my hands on my hips. "What about you?" I asked.

He cocked an eyebrow. "What about me?" He grinned. "I don't have a matching bra and panty set."

I pouted, even though I had a feeling it wasn't going to get me anywhere. "It's not fair if I'm the only one half-dressed."

"I thought you liked a man in a suit," he said.

"Ah, but you're not in a suit any more," I said. He had taken off his jacket, and his tie was loosened, but he did have his button-down shirt tucked neatly into the waist of his pants. He was growing harder with the wordplay.

"Shall I put my jacket back on?" he said. He was referring to the black and white photos that I adore of men dressed in suits getting sucked off by young, pretty sluts wearing nothing or next-to-nothing. I don't know what it is about it, but there's a control issue there that sets my juices flowing.

"Not necessary, but those pictures always have the guy's cock out," I said, smiling.

He smirked. "Yes," he purred. "I know exactly how much you like that." His eyes wandered down my body, and I realized for the first time that I was absent-mindedly rubbing my own pussy through my panties.

The last time I had tried to hide showing him too much, using my skirt or the hotel bed sheets for cover. This time, though, I was far more exhibitionistic. He was watching my fingers disappear into my cleft, pushing the lacy fabric inside my slit. And he liked what he saw.

A lot.

"Tell me," he said, looking at my eyes again. "Tell me what's going to happen tonight."

I swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to say. I wanted so many things to happen, but I kept getting the impression that he was holding back. He wasn't quite toying with me, but there was still that barrier between us that i didn't fully understand.

"I want-" I began, but he cut me off, shaking his head.

"I want a lot of things that I can't have," he said, wistfully. "I want to bend you over and fuck you until it gets my cock nice and wet and then fuck your ass until I come deep inside."

His sudden bluntness caught me by surprise, and my knees began to buckle. I just barely managed to stay upright.

"I want that too," I gasped. The thought of his hard cock, flesh-covered iron if I remembered it from the last time correctly, pounding into my ass sent my pussy into overdrive.

He shook his head sadly. "We can't have what we want," he repeated himself. "So, I ask you, what's going to happen tonight?"

I realized at this moment that it was a kind of test. I looked at him for a long moment, my fingers still crammed between my legs, as I tried to read him.

It was too late to say, "Nothing is going to happen," because I was standing (barely) before him, my fingers shoved halfway into my cunt fighting for space with my own underwear. I could tell from the look on his face, however, that if I simply stopped and decided to not do anything, he would understand and we would go to a point where he treated me exactly the same as he had been while in public. No difference.

He was, or at the very least he was trying to be, a good person. He was going to do right by me, by his wife, and by his own desires. He was going to feed them without giving in to them. This was his own personal compromise with himself. If he couldn't get what he truly wanted, he would be fine with that. And he wanted me to be fine with it too.

He was walking a razor's edge and the only way he would be able to not get cut was if he was in control of his actions.

Thing was, I didn't know what I wanted. My own marriage was a prolonged experiment in frustration and futility. I had married too young to a man with no creativity, no imagination, and no sense of adventure. Forget anal sex, I couldn't even get him to let me suck him off!

I had other lovers, of course, more consistent ones, more romantic ones, more emotional ones. But there was something about this that I couldn't quite put my finger on (literally!).

I didn't know what was going to happen, and I think that was the difference.

"I..." I began, but then I stopped. Looking at him, I had a sudden thought that if I said that I didn't know, he would end things right there.

Changing tactics, I began again. "I'm going to masturbate in front of you, and you're going to take your cock out through your pants and jack off. When you come, you're going to come on my face."

I started rubbing my pussy again, more determined. I looked down at his trousers as he brought his hands around to his zipper and began lowering it. As his cock sprung into view I stared at it. Once again, he was so hard it didn't even look real.

"I wish I could suck you off, though," I found myself saying before I could stop myself.

"I know," he said. "I have been fantasizing about you sucking me off."

I looked him in the eye. "Really?" I asked.

"Oh yes," he said, surprised that I would even ask. "I can't count the number of ways I've already had you in my head. Trust me, I've come more times in your mouth than I can count. At least in my fantasies."

He grinned at me, and I smiled back. "I've got to get a closer look," I said, and I sank to my knees.

I was now in the position of my favorite erotic photos. Here I was, mostly naked, kneeling in front of a fully dressed man, with his cock poking out of his fly. My mouth watered, but I couldn't take him like I wanted. Nevertheless, I was so turned on I didn't think I was going to last very long.

His cock was hard, beautiful, angry and a deep red. The precome was starting to slip out of the hole at the tip, and I knew just how good that could taste. My cunt clenched around my fingers in staccato spasms as I approached my orgasm.

"Let me see your breasts," he said. Once more I practically tore my bra away from my tits and thrust them out at him.

"I would love to feel my cock sliding between your breasts, you know," he said.

"I love doing that," I said. "I love taking the tip in my mouth when it's sliding between my breasts. I can feel it throb against my chest that way and it turns me on."

I felt the sudden rise, and I heard myself say, "Oh my," and then it hit me. My head rocked back, my eyes flew open, and I locked my gaze onto his. He had a look of pure, unadulterated arousal on his face, which pushed me further over the edge.

My hips rocked back and forth violently against my fingers as I came, which lasted much longer than normal, as wave after wave hit me.

"OhgodIwishyouwereinsideme," I gasped out in one long breath, looking at him straight in the eyes.

His hand flew over his cock, pumping faster. His other hand wrapped around the base of his shaft and squeezing it tight. I thought for a second he was going to rip his own dick off, but he was obviously getting closer. He had been trying to wait to watch my own orgasm.

I settled back on my haunches, and tried to calm down my breathing. I watched his cock, and leaned in close to watch him. I couldn't have been more than a couple of inches away.

"This is the closest I've ever been to a man's cock without taking him in my mouth," I said. "You know I'm going to fuck myself silly to thinking about you coming on my face after tonight."

I don't know what made me say it just then, but it was apparently the right thing to do. I had briefly glanced up at his face to see his reaction when I felt the first jet of come splash against my cheek. I quickly turned back to his cock as another blast struck my lips, and another weaker one couldn't quite reach my face and only fell onto the valley between my breasts.

A final, long string of come hung from the tip of his cock, and it drove me crazy. I wanted to bend down and take it in my mouth and trace it across my tongue until I pulled it free from his cock and let it fall down my chin.

So I did. I bent down, stuck out my tongue, and caught the end of his dripping come with my tongue, and sat back up straight. I had to do it quickly, because if I took my time I might freak him out and cause him to recoil. As I had planned, the trace came with me, pulling free of his cock. I managed to time it perfectly, and never touched his cock at all.

Nevertheless, I had several runs of his come falling down around my face, throat, and tits. He was panting hard, beads of sweat on his brow. He leaned back against the desk again, leaving his cock free. It pulsed and throbbed with each heartbeat, and looked delicious.

I stood up and went into the bathroom before I lost all my remaining control. Cleaning myself off and calming down, I found myself feeling quite proud of my own self-control. I had come close - so close - to breaking through the barrier and sucking him off into my mouth.

He probably would have allowed me to do it, too. He was really far gone, his self-control poisoned by lust. He would have fucked my face, come down my throat, and reveled in the release it provided him.

But it would have destroyed our blossoming friendship - the one that wasn't related to sex. It would have been a betrayal of trust, and that, more than the cheating, would have plagued me with guilt for a long, long time.