Look But Don’t Touch #3
Her inner thighs trembled violently, and with a high, shattered cry, she broke.
Her pussy convulsed in a massive, milking orgasm, clamping down hard on her fingers as a fresh wave of wetness flooded out of her.
The sight of her shattering pushed Mike entirely over the brink. He gave four more lightning fast, desperate strokes, his body locking up as his climax hit like a freight train.
He pulled his hand back right at the last second, letting his cock violently erupt.
A thick, heavy rope of white cum shot through the air, traveling across the space and splashing directly across Felicity’s flat stomach and breasts.
Two more powerful ropes followed, splatting against the crimson silk of her open robe and her inner thighs.
They both panted in the heavy silence, the room smelling richly of cum and raw pussy juice. Felicity looked down at the hot, white cream dripping down her skin, a completely dazed, deeply addicted smile spreading across her face. Week one was proving to be a masterpiece.
By Thursday afternoon, the game had evolved from a nightly ritual into a constant, low-burning madness.
The absolute ban on physical touch had heightened their senses to a dangerous degree.
They had agreed to meet for dinner at an upscale, dimly lit steakhouse downtown, a place with high-backed leather booths and a thick atmosphere of expensive privacy.
Felicity arrived wearing a skintight, sleeveless black dress that ended mid-thigh.
When she slid into the booth opposite Mike, she offered him a wicked, knowing smile.
As the waiter poured their wine and walked away, Felicity slowly uncrossed her legs.
Under the cover of the long, heavy white tablecloth, she casually kicked off her heels and slipped her legs wide apart.
Mike looked across the table, his breath catching.
Beneath the fabric, she had slowly hitched the hem of her dress all the way up to her waist.
She wasn't wearing any panties. The dim, amber lighting of the restaurant barely reached under the table, but as Mike leaned forward slightly, he could see the pale, smooth curve of her inner thighs spread wide, completely framing her glistening, hairless pussy.
"You look a little tense, Mike," Felicity murmured, taking a slow sip of her red wine, her hazel eyes locked onto his with absolute, slutty defiance.
"You're out of your mind," Mike rasped, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. Beneath his tailored slacks, his cock instantly hardened, expanding into a thick, rock-hard rod that strained painfully against his underwear.
"No one can see," she whispered, a flush of pure excitement rising on her chest. "The rules still apply. No touching each other. But I am so incredibly horny right now, and I need to feel myself while you watch."
Slowly, deliberately, Felicity reached her right hand under the table. Mike’s eyes tracked the movement, his heart hammering against his ribs. He leaned back in his seat, adjusting his posture so he had an uninterrupted view beneath the white linen drape.
She slipped her manicured fingers down between her thighs, her middle finger sliding directly into the wet crease of her pussy lips.
Slick.
Mike let out a silent, ragged breath. He reached down with his own hand, unbuttoning his slacks and pulling the waistband of his boxers down just enough to free his fully erect, throbbing meat.
He kept his hand hidden under the table, his strong fingers gripping the base of his purple, veiny shaft.
He began a slow, silent, heavy stroke, pumping his thick meat right there in the middle of the crowded dining room.
"Oh God," Felicity whimpered softly, her eyes fluttering as her thumb found her swollen clit.
She began to rub it in fast, tight circles, her index finger sinking deep into her dripping hole.
The risk of getting caught was making her pussy soak through her own hand, her juices running down the back of her knuckles.
"Watch me, Mike. Watch what you're doing to your little slut in public."
Mike’s stroke speeded up, his knuckles brushing against the underside of the wooden table with every heavy upward pump.
He watched her hips subtly roll against the leather seat, her tits bouncing slightly beneath her dress as she frantically worked her clit.
She shoved two fingers deep inside her tight, dripping pussy, the quiet, wet squelch of her self-abuse masked perfectly by the low murmur of the restaurant's jazz music.
"Slide those fingers deeper," Mike ordered in a rough whisper, his face a mask of intense concentration. He was leaking a heavy puddle of pre cum, his thumb smoothing the slick fluid over his sensitive crown. "Show me how wet you are for me."
Felicity gasped, her chest heaving as she violently rubbed her clit, her fingers pumping in a frantic, sloppy rhythm. She curled her toes against the carpet, her inner thighs trembling as the wave building inside her threatened to break.
"I'm gonna cum, Mike... right here," she breathed, her eyes locking onto his with absolute desperation.
She gave her clit one final, heavy pinch, her pussy clamping down hard on her own fingers as her orgasm violently ripped through her.
Her hips shuddered against the booth, a heavy gush of wet pleasure pooling on the leather beneath her bare ass.
The sight of her coming in the middle of the restaurant pushed Mike completely past his limit. He gave four more brutal, rapid strokes, his balls tightening into a hard knot. He tilted his pelvis slightly, letting out a muffled groan as his climax hit.
A thick, hot rope of white cum erupted from his tip, shooting under the table and splashing directly onto the dark fabric of Felicity’s dress where it pooled on her lap. Two more powerful ropes followed, splatting against her bare inner thigh and the carpeted floor beneath them.
Mike quickly tucked his spent, throbbing dick back into his pants and zipped up, his chest heaving as the waiter suddenly reappeared with their appetizers.
Felicity offered the waiter a polite, completely serene smile, while under the table, she used the linen napkin to lazily smear Mike’s hot, thick cum across her bare skin, her eyes locked onto his with a deep, unbreakable addiction.
By Friday afternoon, the antibiotics had nearly cleared the last of Felicity’s infection, but the agreed-upon week of no penetration was still holding strong.
The game had consumed them entirely. Every interaction was a countdown to the next exhibition, and today, Felicity had engineered a new venue.
She had texted Mike a set of coordinates to a secluded overlook just outside the city—a gravel pull off hidden by dense oak trees, facing the distant skyline.
Mike pulled up in his heavy black truck, finding her already waiting in her small sports car. She rolled down her window, her face flushed with a dangerous, excited energy.
"Get in," she commanded, pointing to the passenger seat of her car. "And leave your pants unbuckled."
Mike smirked, his cock instantly hardening inside his jeans at the sheer authority in her voice.
He hopped out of his truck, his denim already straining with a thick, heavy bulge, and slid into her low-profile passenger seat.
The interior of the car felt incredibly small, trapping the intense, sweet scent of her vanilla perfume between them.
Felicity was wearing a simple, oversized white button-down shirt and nothing else.
Her long, bare legs were tucked up slightly against the dashboard.
"Look at the rearview mirror," Felicity whispered, her voice trembling with raw horniness as she adjusted the small glass rectangle above the console. She angled it perfectly so that Mike had a crystal-clear reflection of the entire lower half of her body.
With a slow, deliberate movement, she spread her knees wide apart, pressing her feet flat against the dash.
Without any underwear, her pussy was completely exposed, resting right on the edge of the leather bucket seat.
Her pussy lips were already bright pink and swollen, a thick, glistening trail of wetness leaking down the center of her slit and dripping onto the dark leather.
"Rule number one," Mike muttered, his voice a gravelly rasp. "Look, but don't touch."
"Exactly," Felicity moaned, her eyes locking onto his reflection in the mirror. She reached her hand down, her manicured fingers slicking themselves in her own hot juices. She rubbed the cream up toward her hood, exposing her hard, angry little clit to his staring eyes.
Mike didn't waste another second. He popped the top button of his jeans, yanked his zipper down, and freed his thick, purple shaft.
It sprang loose into the tight space of the car, fully erect and veiny, pulsing with a heavy bead of pre-cum at the tip.
He gripped himself tightly at the base, his strong fingers closing around the hot meat, and began a fast, demanding stroke that made his heavy balls swing against his thighs.
"Fuck, Mike, you look so big in here," Felicity whimpered, watching his hand pump his cock in the reflection.
The sight of his thick meat expanding with every stroke drove her wild. She shoved her middle and index fingers deep inside her soaking wet hole, her thumb finding her clit and working it in a frantic, sliding motion.
Squelch. Squelch.
The wet, sloppy sound of her self-abuse echoed loudly inside the cabin of the car. She rolled her hips against the seat, pushing her pussy closer to the mirror's view, exposing the tight, puckered skin of her asshole as she arched her back.
"Tell me what you want to do to me, Mike. Tell your little slut," she begged, her breathing coming in ragged, desperate gasps.
"I want to bury this cock so deep inside you," Mike growled, his stroke becoming a brutal, punishing friction.
The veins on his neck stood out as he watched her fingers disappear into her dripping pussy.
"I want to hear you scream when I stretch you out. Rub that clit, Felicity. Rub it for your man."
Felicity went into a frenzy. She violently pinched and rolled her clit, her inner thighs shaking uncontrollably against the dashboard.