The Soft Skin II : Arousal, Musk, and Sweat
It’s a new type of champagne. She can taste the freshness of the bubbles on his cock.
Like raindrops in a shower, the rain falls from the ceiling and splatters across the floor. A soft drizzle has begun to fall.
Her hair is teased so high that it almost reaches the tips of her black leather heels.
She is wearing a black lace bra and matching black lace panties. Wet, fading flowers cover her breasts. Her cleavage stands proud and shines like a bowl of cherries.
Her eyes betray the confusion and disorientation of a lost soul. Her hair is a rich gold color and in perfect health; not a hair is out of place, but it isn’t tousled or unkempt, either.
A large porcelain sink sits to the corner, with bubbles and water trailing from the faucet.
“I’m going to treat you to something different, Jason,” she says.
“What’s that?”
“I’ll tell you when you see it.”
She moves her hands to his waist, and she unfastens his belt.
“I need help.”
“I’m ready, baby.”
She unbuckles his belt and then unbuttons his shirt. He kisses her.
Her mouth tastes salty and sweet, like the sea. Angela tastes like summer, oranges, and sweet, ripe peaches. She smells like a bath, flowery soap, and rainwater.
A hint of sweat and lust, a hint of gardenias. Her perfume is unmistakable — the scent of her golden hair and musk.
The rain smells of wet trees and wet flowers — a moist, wet earth.
She opens her blouse, pulls it off her shoulders, and drops it to the floor. Her breasts bounce out of her bra.
She uses her free hand to free his cock and bring it to her lips. She doesn’t stop stroking it until his hips are thrusting forward and his cock is entering her mouth.
She feels his hands against the top of her head, and she wraps her lips around the head of his cock.
The first thing she does is pull the head of his cock into her mouth.
She’s on her knees, her face smeared with a light sheen of sweat. Her pussy is wet, and a small pool of water coats the ground around her. His cock is erect, slightly swollen, and throbbing with a life of its own.
She feels her own hard nipples pressed against the front of her bra and the soft velvet choker pulled down around her neck.
Her nipples are hard and erect. They are her favorite part of her body, and she likes to encourage them to stand up every time she turns around.
She’s close to him, and her skin is soft and warm. The smoothness of her thighs is a contrast to the feeling of her hand stroking his shaft.
Her hips sway, keeping time with the hand on his cock. The warmth of her body fuses with his.
Her breathing is soft and quick and a little shallow, like she’s been running. Her skin is slick with the sheen of water and soap.
A few drops of water are dripping from her hair, straight down from her shoulders and onto her breasts.
The woman’s heartbeat is like a drum, a long, slow thump, thump, thump; her breaths are like the wind, hushed, quiet, and slow.
Water drips into the sink and the pail. The water tastes of rust. It tastes of oil, fuel, and dead leaves.
She sucks gently. A tiny droplet of semen is on her lower lip. She licks it with her tongue. She smells herself: a mixture of arousal, musk, and sweat.
Her skin is hot, and she’s slick with sweat. Her lips are red and glistening, her breasts are also flushed, her legs still sticky from the shower.
Her skin is warm and soft but firm. Her breasts feel supple and full, her thighs strong and tight.
She is soaked and colder than the rain. It seeps through her clothes and through her skin.
After a second or two, she begins to yank on his cock with her hand, trying to draw more semen from him.
He tastes of her; she tastes of him. His cock is hot, wet, and salty, and she wrestles it with her hand and tries to draw every drop of his cum from him.
It’s a new type of champagne. She can taste the freshness of the bubbles on his cock.
He groans and his cock pulses, like a drum beating with his heartbeat.
The bathroom is quiet, the rain a muffled distraction in the closed room. Her tongue flickers across the underside of the head of his cock, then dips into the slit.
She sucks on.
He gasps, and his cock swells even more.
Her slick, hot mouth wraps around the head of his cock.
Her hair is tangled and mussed. Her skin is flushed from the heat of the moment, the steam from the hot water, and the angle of the light. She wears a pair of black panties, the lace wet and dark with her juices.
Her legs are sleek and strong; the muscle ripples beneath the skin. Her hips are round and strong, her thighs firm and well defined.
The rain hisses through the broken window above her.
The sound of water pouring off the roof is muffled; the hiss and drip of the rain are louder; the sounds of her moans and breathy inhalations are still louder.
Her legs are spread, her thighs soft and fleshy beneath her skirt. Her nails are clear and polished; her panties are lace and wet with her juices.
The skin of her thighs is cool and damp, but beneath it is hot and sweaty, and her juices are hot and slick as they mix with the water on her skin.
Her wet panties damp and cold against the soft flesh of her ass. Sweeter than strawberries, not tart like grapes, but with a tang of bitterness.
Hot jets of cum shoot from its tip, and she feels them coat her throat as it spurts.
His cum is salty and thick. It slides down her throat like a thick, sweet treat. The copper and cinnamon of his blood and the fiery sweetness of his cum.
She takes the rest of his shaft into her mouth and lets her tongue swirl around it. She does this for several minutes, until he is completely spent.
He groans and spews his load all over her face and her breasts.
The only sounds are his wet cock and her soft moans. The man’s whispery moans, his breathing, and the skin of his thighs slapping against her cheek as his cock moves in her mouth.
She strokes it slowly, watching as it grows again from a pale, flat head to a thick shaft.
He can feel her breath on his cock and his balls as she takes his cock in her mouth. He can feel the warmth and wetness of her mouth as she blows him delicate and slow.
Her gentle touch slid across his firm skin. Then she pulls away cautiously.
The words “thank you, my love” come from his lips.
She offers a warm, “You’re welcome,” and then smiles.
He can smell her scent, the strong, floral scent of a woman. Her hair is soft to the touch, and he can feel it brush against his palm as he runs his fingers through it.
Check out part 1: