AllFreeNovel
Share Us
When my hands, my bare hands, settle on her skin, my dick throbs so hard I think I’m going to come in my pants like a teenager. The sound that rips from my throat is guttural, groaning and brutal. I can’t remember the last time I touched someone’s skin besides my own without gloves. I truly don’t even know if I’ve done it once in the past twenty years. Doctors have examined my hands, but me removing my gloves like this to purposely touch somebody else?
It does not happen.
Sensation sparks under my palms, and I can’t stop myself from digging my fingers into Deirdre’s sweet little waist. The scarring has numbed a lot of feeling in my hands, and I’m almost grateful, because even this is already overwhelming and I do not get overwhelmed.
At least, I didn’t. Before.
Back before I saw her, heard her, wanted her. Back when my life was empty and pointless and actually made sense.
None of this makes sense. I was never supposed to take off my gloves. I was never supposed to need her like this. Need her beyond anything I’ve ever known before. This isn’t simple lust. I can’t even say that it’s just obsession, even though I know I am obsessed.
“Fuck. I missed you,” I say again. I had to travel up north to Thunder Bay to straighten out some business at our warehouses there, and every day I’d spent away from here, away from her, made pressure build behind my eyes.
She doesn’t reply except for making a throaty little sound when my hands come up to cup her breasts. I drop my head forward just as Deirdre tips hers back, my forehead coming to rest against hers.
Her skin against mine is like a drug. It numbs the prickling feeling I get at the base of my skull every time I take off my gloves until all that’s left is need. I drag my palms across her breasts, kneading, feeling her nipples rise and press against me.
I want to feel her everywhere. I keep my left hand where it is, gliding the right one down, past the pretty flare of her hip, through the soft brush of her curls. With the state of my skin, it’s usually hard for me to tell when things are wet. It’s not hard now. She’s so slick down there my fingers slide through her folds until the tip of my middle finger is drawn to her entrance. I press, and she practically sucks me in until I’m buried to the second knuckle.
Deirdre’s been fairly still and quiet in my hold, almost pliant, until now. She jerks and shudders, her back arching as her pussy clamps down with mind-blowing tightness on my finger.
“What are you doing?” she moans.
I curve my finger, stroking inwards as I grind the hard part of my palm against her clit. Her pussy spasms in response, and I just about lose it when I think of what that pressure would feel like on my dick.
“I’m taking care of your pretty little pussy.”
“No.” The word is a breathy moan. “I don’t mean literally, I mean… Oh my God…”
She’s close already. I can sense it in the changing of her breathing, the swollen quivering of her cunt.
“I mean,” she pants, writhing like a snake, like she’s trying to get closer and get away from me all at the same time, “I mean what are you doing? What are you doing with me? This wasn’t the agreement. This wasn’t what you told me when you took me.”
I almost want to laugh at myself. Laugh for thinking I could ever have her here, have her simply play for me, and leave it at that. A beautiful, untouchable performer in a cage. Something so intensely, painfully beautiful it hurts to look at her and hurts even more not to touch her.
I never thought I was a fool. But maybe I am for her. Maybe she’s turned me into one.
“Fine,” I breathe quietly against her ear. She’s seconds away from explosion, but I pull away my hands. She starts to moan in complaint, then slams her mouth shut, tensing. “Get your violin,” I tell her, before turning and striding from the room. I head for my bathroom for new gloves and a chance to cool my head. To remind myself why I brought her here. What this is supposed to be.
Even if that feels completely hollow now.
I wash my hands and face in the coldest water possible, revelling in the numbing pain of it. It’s not cold enough to distract from the heat pulsing through my veins, though, and after drying my hands and pulling on new gloves I adjust my crotch. I already know I’ll be jerking off later and I shake my fucking head, because just what in the teenage hell has my life turned into?
When I emerge, I find Deirdre holding her violin and bow, dressed in a pyjama set. It’s probably the frumpiest outfit she could find in there, as if the shapelessness of the pale blue cotton is armour. It’s almost obnoxious how she still looks like a haughty, angry queen despite the slouchy garments. I get the sudden, world-tilting sense that I’m in her domain instead of the other way around, and I do not fucking like it.
I need to remind her, remind both of us, what this is.
“Play,” I grunt, seating myself on the edge of the bed. She doesn’t hesitate this time. She doesn’t dither or dawdle or tell me I’m too distracting. She just marches right up to me, lifts her instrument, and starts.
The song is jagged and discordant, a chaotic jumble of notes that somehow threads together into a melody I can latch onto. It’s bitter and chaotic, like rage made sound. It’s not her usual style, but I soak it up, because it’s still her and apparently I can’t do anything but drink up every little bit of her I can get.
There’s a hard set to her mouth and a bright flush in her cheeks, and I wonder what has pissed her off the most. Me touching her, or me leaving her hanging a moment ago.
I wonder if she finished what I started, all alone in that closet. If she coaxed that soft pussy into coming. My dick pounds.
I close my eyes, letting myself focus on the music instead of how badly I want to see Deirdre rubbing her own clit. The notes practically puncture holes in my brain, they’re so sharp and harsh. But even so, even though the song isn’t slow or sweet or pretty, I still react to her playing like I always do. Like the song forms a fist around my heart.
She makes me fucking feel.
