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"Come up," I say.

I wince and grip the phone hard. I almost said please.

"You sure?"

Minutes later we're in my shower, but it feels awkward and tense. He holds me from behind. He wants to gift me with another massage, but after the last time and the fight I can't. It would be putting myself in his hands, like I'm apologizing, so I can't.

It has to be his turn tonight or maybe in a way it's my turn, but my turn to do him.

"No. Not tonight," I say, "Let me." Not an apology but making up. Something relaxes inside me. I'm calmer now. I think he might be too.

I reach behind me and find his cock. I grip him gently and begin to slide. A shudder goes through his body still pressed against mine. The time has come for his. I take his hands from my body and turn to face him. I come close, sliding my feet across the wet floor, easing him back with my breasts and my belly, until he is in the corner against the shower walls.

I soap up my hand and softly grip the head of his cock, not moving. I look up into his eyes.

"Look...right here," I say, riveting his eyes to mine, knowing that soon he will be unable to hold his gaze. I begin the tease. Slow sliding with a light grip until I'm at the root of his cock. I tighten my hand, release, slide my grip up, up, but stopping before that special place on his cock. Back down, grip, and again, and again, and the next time I go just a bit higher, not fully on the place he wants, but teasing, nearly there. Again, slightly higher, again, the same, the same and again, and at last, what he craves, my grip sliding against the underside just below the head, sliding my thumb over the spot, slowly once, twice and then my hand all the way to the tip of his cock.

His eyes are straining now into mine. He is fighting to hold on. I slide my hand down and follow it with my other hand, Two hands now sliding down then starting at the tip again, one after the other, one after the other, as if he's pushing into an endless tunnel of pussy. Over and over and I can feel the head of his cock plumping. Then the other way, pulling gently with one hand followed by the other, stopping below the head. Not too much, not yet, not yet. I slide up and down with just my thumb and finger, not a full grip.

His eyes glaze over, looking into my eyes but not seeing. I play with his cock, watch while he tries to regain his stare into my eyes, but when he does I take him up antep escort higher, teasing him higher, closer. He cannot do it, cannot look at me. His eyes clench shut as he throws back his head and moans. I've got him.

I can sense it when he's close. I take him to the precipice and back down, then again, higher and down again. I have him there, almost there, my hand gripping him, not moving, and he is there, right there. The slightest movement, a change in the pressure is all it would take, but I hold him there, don't give it to him, not yet, not yet.

"Not yet, Greg. Not yet," I say, not to deny him but to encourage him to wait, to let him know that he can go higher, can feel pleasure beyond what he believes is possible, if only he lets me take him there.

I cup his balls in one hand, comforting them like he comforted my pussy. I want him to feel the warm protection of my hand. When he his pleasure retreats the smallest amount I start again, right to the edge again, a bit higher, so close. His arms shoot out to the walls as if he needs to find purchase there, as if his legs will give out, but he can't a good enough grip. His hands go on top of my shoulders he is bearing down heavily. I steady myself to carry his weight. His spine curves with the strain.

He is quivering as I hold him at the edge. I slide my thumb, just my thumb on the underside of his cock where it is the best for him, once, twice and then I stop and hold him. He moans when I don't give his orgasm to him. Again with my thumb, the slightest movement, just once, and now he bursts out, like a sob, despairing for me to make him come.

"Okay, Greg, now"

I grip his cock and slide my hand up and down, not fast, not beating him off, but slowly and steady, so he knows that I won't stop now, knows that I want him to come for me. He sobs again and I feel his body wrack. I look up into the agony of his face and the first rope of his cum just touches my jaw and falls onto my breast. Again he pulses and there is more cum. He shoots cum three times, four and I'm cupping his balls, gripping his cock hard to feel the pulses, seven, eight, a pause and I slide my hand one more time and he pulses again and one last time and I feel his body slump its weight onto my shoulders.

I let go of his cock before it gets too sensitive and we clasp each other in our arms. He trembles and gasps for air. I can feel his heart beating against my body. He slows down. He is done.

~

We dry off and I lead him to the bedroom. We are not done. But how can he, I wonder, so soon after the shower? I've tried before but he's never been good for a second one, a one-shot, he called himself and joked about being old. Older than me, eleven years, but not old.

A strange feeling comes over me? Curiousity? Trust? No, not that. It is faith, faith that he will take care of me somehow. It surprises me. Should I feel worried. To have faith is to have feelings...No. The fight. I called and he came up, so it's still the deal, our deal.

"Wait," he says and he begins to arrange pillows on the bed as if he is building a nest. He guides me onto the pillows, legs supported and spread wide so that the soles of my feet are touching each other. I decide to allow myself to trust him, to let myself trust him and without worry. Worry can wait, I decide.

But immediately I feel confused because he takes me to school before I feel his hands on my body. He kneels beside me, hands on his thighs. He wants me to breathe a certain way and demonstrates it. I try and it feels unnatural at first, but moments later, better. He places his hands gently on my chest and above my mound. I breathe in slowly and deeply, then release my whole body, all of it and the air whooshes out of me, again and again.

His hands comfort me. He begins to rock me softly, side to side in a natural rhythm. I breathe and feel relaxation flow through my body.

His lower hand slides down until it is over my pussy lips. He waits there, hardly moving. I feel myself blossoming into his hand, his finger settling into my wetness, resting there. And then he starts, something strange, something different. The tip of his finger, the lightest touch, almost not there at all, traces the side of my hood. It is the smallest of movements, millimetres, always to the side. His finger joins the rhythm of my breathing, tracing down, tracing up, down and up.

"The canoe," he says, "not the woman in the canoe."

It feels wonderful at first. Minutes pass with this and soon my arousal overtakes his rhythm. Too slow, to slow, I need more. Down then up, down then up, the same speed. I can't stop myself. My pelvis thrusts and tilts in desire.

"No," he says quietly, "Relax everything, everything inside, and let my touch come to you."

I let go but clench up again immediately. I try again and relax, relax, but I clench again. It is hard at first, trying to let go, to let my pelvis not seek his finger. I try to receive the pleasure, to simply let it come to me. A calm settles over me and it is easier now. I feel the urge to clench, but I relax it away. I relax it away, relax, relax...

It is a different sensation, less intense than climbing to orgasm. Over and over he traces on the same spot, never varying the light pressure, never varying from the place he caresses. It is a soothing rhythm and a soft touch, touch that I can trust, touch that I begin to feel will continue forever. And it does, down and up, down and up.

And my pleasure blossoms, growing so slowly but sustaining there. I am floating high in a cloud of total pleasure. My arousal builds and builds, but slowly, slowly. I breathe in and out but differently. My intake of air is more urgent and my breath shudders as I start to release it. I am breathing so deeply, as if I am taking in the whole atmosphere, cleansing myself with the crystal clear air, as if the air has become water. Each breath refreshes my whole body, trickling everywhere, into my spine, my skull, my limbs, my pussy.

I am lifted, feeling the sensations, but it is so different, so different. My pussy is my centre, at the core of my pleasure and yet, my pussy is my entire body. His touch there, always the same, down and up, over and over, is a light massage. His touch talks to me, saying that I should simply receive, simply take what comes without aim, without anticipation. I am to feel the pleasure in this very moment and nothing more, and that's what I do. I concentrate on the feeling of his touch. It is easier now to let my muscles release. I no longer feel the uncontrollable urge to thrust, to clench. I just let it happen. I hear myself sighing over and over, a singsong sigh, oh!...oh!...oh!...

And it goes on and on. I've lost track of time. I've lost track of place. I drift away, floating above. I am only a cloud of pleasure now, a vapour of pure pleasure. I am immersed in it. I feel barely aware, vaguely conscious and I might be sleeping as the pleasure flows in waves.

Floating, feeling, breathing, it goes on and on without time. And now, I orgasm, but differently, effortlessly, wave after wave of pleasure. I float through it, above it, as if coming is inevitable. I lose track, can't feel his finger anymore, just the pleasure of it over and over, and I'm coming again and I feel a deep sigh escape me and it goes on and on, coming again and again and again...