Keep Your Hands To Yourself!

“I brought you lunch.”


“Thanks. Give me a couple of minutes. As you can see, I’m in the middle of something here.”

That I can see. You are under the hood of your car, doing heaven only knows what. Putting the lunch on the workbench, I open up the containers of soup and unwrap the sandwiches.

“I’m going to get started without you. I’m starving and my soup will get cold if I don’t.”

“Sure. I shouldn’t be too long.”

I wipe off an old bar stool and sit down to eat. “What are you doing?”

“Would you know what I was talking about if I told you?” I can hear the smile in your voice.

“Probably not.” I shrug. While you may find my lack of mechanical knowledge amusing, it is not something that unduly bothers me.

“How long will you be?”

“I’ll be quicker if you quit distracting me.”

I harrumph and open my soup container. It smells good and hot; I’m cold so it’s just what I need. As I eat I watch you work. I like watching you work. Your movements are efficient yet graceful. I like the way you talk to yourself when you are concentrating. And I really like watching you bend over. You have a very fine rear end.

“Are you sure I can’t distract you?”

“Yes.” You shoot a stern glare over your shoulder, “Keep your hands to yourself!”

My soup finished, I lean back on the bar stool and let my legs fall open. “Keep my hands to myself? Like this?” I say as I slide up my skirt and run my hands between my legs.


You look over your shoulder again, but the frown fades comically fast when you see me stroking myself fingering the top of my stocking. I lean forward; give you a clear view down my shirt, undo a couple of buttons and pull open the neck line. My bra and the tops of my breasts are exposed. I caress them, running my finger along the edge of the bra, teasing myself.

“Well, that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“But I am keeping my hands to myself.” I protest.

“Yes, yes you are. My Bad. Please continue.”

The skin under my fingers pimples in gooseflesh and I can feel my nipples hardening inside my bra. Pulling the lace of my bra down, I lift my breast out of the cup and hold it in my hand, rolling my nipple between finger and thumb. It hardens further, a tight bud of pleasure, sending delicious shocks into my core. I feel my panties get damp.

What had started as a silly joke is rapidly becoming something else as I am already turning myself on. I doesn’t help that I came over hoping to get laid anyway.

You have turned to watch me, wiping your hands on a rag hanging from your belt. I sit back on the stool, place one foot on the stool next to me and play with my breast with one hand while the other strokes my clitoris through my panties. I begin to relax into the sensations I’m arousing and close my eyes. I can feel my wetness soak through my underwear.

I hear you move and open my eyes. Quickly putting my foot on your chest, I stop you in your tracks.

“No touching. You are filthy.” I say firmly. “You keep your hands to yourself.”

You grin and move back to lean against the car, settling in to watch. “Can I give instruction?”

“Maybe next time.” I have a good stroking rhythm going on and I don’t want you interrupting my road to orgasm with instructions. “For right now, stay there, shut up and watch.”

My breathing is getting short. I want more. Pulling my undies aside I put my cool fingers on my warm clitoris. The contrast in temperature heightens my arousal. I start to rub slowly in circles. Immediately that warm, liquid feeling of sexual arousal starts to radiate out from my abdomen.

I bite my lip to keep back the moan building in my throat as I push two fingers into me. I love how silky slick I feel; how tight and hot and wet. I explore for a moment, stroking myself from the inside.

When I open my eyes, I see you watching me intently.

I remove my fingers and lick my juices from them. I admit to making a bit of a show about slowly sucking them clean. Not surprisingly, I taste of sex and arousal. You lick your lips, wanting to taste me too, but I shake my head. This isn’t a joint venture. Not this time. You are only here as a witness.

While the fingers on one hand continue to play with my clit, I place my other hand back between my legs. My eyes close and my head falls back as I begin to rub and stroke and tease myself towards orgasm. I’m breathing hard now. My skin is hot and flushed. My breasts feel full and heavy, and I wish I had another hand, or two, to play with my nipples.

I’m making noise now, squirming on the stool. I’m panting, the pressure is building and my release is only moments away. I find my g-spot deep inside me and press it. I want to squeeze my thighs together but I also want you to watch, but as my orgasm overtakes me I forget about you and clamp my legs together holding my hands fast between my thighs. I come quickly and intensely. A moment of magical oblivion.

I open my eyes, but leave my hands where they are. My insides are stilling pulsing gently around my fingers as the contractions of the orgasm fade. I drift into that post orgasmic state of complete and boneless relaxation. That was fun.

“Jeeze! That was more than a little distracting!”

I smile, rearrange my clothing and get up to leave. “Your soup is cold.”

“That’s it?” you throw your hands up in exasperation, “You eat, you come and you leave?”

I look you over; damn you are an attractive man. I give an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Bring me dinner tonight and maybe I’ll let you join in.”