It wasn't about the rubbing, or the friction, or the feel of it, exactly. It was about the atmosphere, perhaps even the ambiance, if that's not ridiculously snobby.

So without wasting any more time, I jumped up from the bed, wriggled out of my damp panties, and sat back down, cross-legged, stark naked, and looking directly in his eyes.

I wanted him to watch. I wanted him to stare. Hell, I wanted him to help, but I wasn't going to let him.

My eyes might not have strayed very far, but my fingers certainly had. While one hand caressed and fondled my breasts, the other had found its way between my legs, between my thighs, between the spread, puffy, slippery lips of my normally shy cunt.

An electric jolt surged through me. It may have had been the urgent touch of finger to clit, or it may have been the sight of him unzipping his trousers. Did I care? Hell no! It was the feeling that mattered.

My gaze fell. I watched his hand disappear and return, cock held firmly, smeared moisture leaking from the tip.

My fingers worked faster, my thumb stopping now and then to help pinch and flick at my sensitive clit, then plunging down to join the rest of my fingers and they all strained to enter my sopping cunt together, doing their Oscar-worthy imitation of a turgid cock.

He began stroking himself and all of the feelings inside me intensified. I wanted him to touch me and I wanted to touch him. I wanted to clean the crown of his cock with my tongue. I wanted it to be my hand silently pumping him toward his inevitable climax.

Without stopping the pistoning action between my legs, nor taking my eyes off the dripping tip of his cock, I beckoned him with my eyes. I didn't want him to touch me, to impale me, even to help. But I needed him closer. Within reach. Not of my slippery fingers, or my rhythmically thrusting lips. No, I needed him close enough to come. So when he exploded, so very soon, he would come on me, and not the floor. I didn't care where on me either. Just somewhere on my bare, hot skin.

He understood somehow, and stood close while he stroked. His eyes devoured me, and I loved knowing he wanted to be my fingers, how much he wished my lips were around his rigid cock.

Suddenly it was a race.

I've always been a good multitasker. I kept my eyes on his pistoning hand as my fingers continued to plunge in and out like a lover that's been gone too long and is trying to make up for lost time. My other hand thoroughly molesting my nipples, I called out the heavy artillery - stories, fantasies, images of men I knew and that I desired in the most carnal way. Men I'd HAD. Men I'd devoured.

I recalled a story where the man had been tasked to perform with an audience of appreciative women. And a reality where he'd just had me to show. A silly situation a friend told me, with two men playing for each other while she rubbed in the shadows. I rubbed now, without shadows, without fear and without doubt.

He was ready to come. His cock was swelled, and his breathing was shallow. He stood close, so his movement was near me, and he smiled at me before the last stroke.

When he came, I could see everything clearly. The slip of his hand over the end of the head and back again, and the spurt of the fluid from the end. As well as seeing it, I could feel it. His come spurted across the small gap between us, and most of it landed on my busy hand. A small amount fell between my fingers and my desperate clit, and that was all I could take.

As I rubbed his hot semen in my most sensitive parts, I crossed the point of no return. The near silence of the room was punctuated by my loud gasp of release. My knees jerked upward as I hunched over, my hands continuing their work even as the electrified nerve endings of my sex cried for me to stop, overwhelmed with the feeling of release.

He laughed then, as he stood there. He slowly stroked his still-hard cock, coaxing the last of his release, smiled, and laughed. "See?", he asked, without expectation of a response. "You sit there doubled up with pleasure, and yet twenty minutes ago you were telling me you couldn't do it."

"I couldn't, Sam. God, I've been trying. You've no idea."

"I think I know. You'd convinced yourself."

"Yeah, but Kevin was good. I just... couldn't."

"It wasn't him. Listen, no pressure, but... wanna try for two?"

"Not like this."

"How then?"

"Could I be on top?"

"Emily, you're always on top, no matter where you are."

"Shut up and lie back. You're hardly any use like that, anyway."

"Best you do something about it, then."

I pushed him back on the big bed, and proceeded to see what I could do. Guys are strange. Big tough guys, strong and resiliant. But if you kiss them unexpectedly, they cave like wet cardboard. Sam, for instance. I knelt on the floor, and proceeded to kiss his thankfully clean body from the ankles up. He shuddered, but said nothing. I glimpsed now and then at his sexual barometer though, and it was soon pointing up. Well, a little to the north, but you know what I mean.

I continued. The barometer was my target. I really wanted to get my tongue all over it, and then swallow it with my lips. Both sets. Consecutively. Sam kept popping his head up to see what was going on, or reaching toward me with his hands. I slapped him, playfully, and told him to mind his own business. He stopped, after insisting that was exactly what he was doing.

His resistance had dropped to nil by the time I nibbled his balls lightly, and then gently licked my way up the lower side of his twitching cock. I couldn't help but clean up the dribbles that collected at the top, but every time I licked him there he jumped, and made more mess. I didn't give up, and was lost in the task at... well, mouth, until he spoke.

"Emily, as much as I like that, and by God, that's a lot, if you want to be on top you better stop it."

I paused for a moment, pondering. Then I stood at the end of the bed before climbing up, and crawling along over his body, my knees either side of him, my tongue sliding up the middle of his chest, my hard nipples scraping over his hairy skin. Slowly. By the time my lips met his, my labia had slid up and over his cock, letting it slide delightfully down between them, both of us shuddering with the contact. Removing my mouth from his, I backed up a little, letting his hardness slide naturally against me, and slowly, very slowly, I pressed against him, and he slid much more intimately, deep inside me.

We both sighed as I sat up, my knees in front of me, on both sides of his body, his cock in me, pressing in just the right places.

"This," I told him, my voice hoarse, "Is fucking on top!"

"You should have said."

"I'm a doer."

"In that case," he croaked at me, trying not to move. "In that case, Emily, do me, for Christ's sake!"

I did. I pressed my palms flat against his chest, and I lifted my weight from him pulling myself up the length of hard cock before falling not so gently on it. I did it again and again, moving around ever so slightly to get things in just the right place.

Sam fell silent beneath me, not wanting to come before I did, but I didn't really care. I was living in the now, using him just the way I'd used my fingers earlier. I sweated above him, loving every slide of his cock, my slipperiness coating him and dribbling constantly, my sweat dropping on his skin. It was as though I'd developed fingertips inside me, and I could feel the outline, the shape of his cock. I could slide myself over the swelled head of it, feel the texture of his skin, of the pores. I imagined I could feel the drops forming on the tip of it, and wipe them away with my intimate touch.

I did feel his body tense. I did feel his cock expand. I did feel the muscles inside him give up the fight, and release his stickiness inside me. I did feel him coat me inside, the individual spurts as he came. After that I lost track, as my body clamped tightly around him, my knees squeezed around him and my tortured cunt accepted the inevitable. I came as he was still pumping, our joint shudders accentuating the almost painful feelings. My body contracted down to a small point between my legs, and I tried to stop at the same time as moving faster. The pleasure expanded and my body glowed with pleasure and heat.

I dropped on top of him, our sweaty skins sliding together, our groans deep and full of meaning, but only to us.

Eventually, we both calmed down enough to speak again. I got in first. "I thought you came to watch?"

"No, no. I watched to come."

"Oh, how did it go?"

"I'm a little overwhelmed, Emily."

"We weren't going to do this, you said."

"I know."

"Did you mean it?"

"No."

"Bastard."

"I know. I guess I should be sorry."

"Fuck sorry. What about Kevin?"

"You want me to tell him, Em?"

"No."

"You don't want him to know?"

"I'll tell him. He's my lover."

"He's my brother."