Remembering Your Touch

The painting reminds me of you. I sit down on a bench at the opposite side of the street and look closer at the graffiti at the back of the office building I work in. I am on my lunch break and I need some fresh air. I despise office days and am looking forward to working from home the next few days, planning the new next gallery opening. The sprayed picture depicts two hands, showing their palms, as if offering safety and trust. Strong hands. Masculine hands. Hands that know what they are doing. I take another bite of my sandwich.

I loved your hands. All your strength was in them. The way the muscles and veins showed when you formed a fist, or grabbed something. The soft skin of your fingertips touching me. And your nails tenderly scratching my arms, my back, my thighs. Your hot palms on my naked butt, your stiff fingers inside me. I clear my throat. Oh, how I miss you.

A brush of cold air plays with my hair and I shiver. Oh, how I miss you so. My thoughts are wandering and images of our last meeting are flashing through my mind. I watch myself opening the door to your bedroom, knowing that you’d be waiting for me. I had been receiving your messages all day, telling me exactly how to prepare for our rendezvous at night. I was excited. I could smell how excited I was.

I was wearing the bra that made my breasts look ample and big, the matching lace knickers and the high heels you had bought me the week before. Red and shiny. They screamed raunchiness. So when I opened the door, you knew what to expect. But still, I had to hold my breath. I was nervous that I wouldn’t please you. I wanted to be exactly how you wanted me to be.

You were standing by the window, looking over the park and the pond close to your house. Your hands were crossed behind your back. You turned around and looked at me. And smiled. “You are beautiful, girl. Now come here and give me a kiss.” . I walked over to you and our lips met. Oh, how I had anticipated this moment of touch between us.

I realize that my eyes are closed,I open them and I look around. A strange sensation has woken me up from my daydreams. I touch my lips and try to figure out where the tingling yet cold feeling comes from. It is almost as if the wind just kissed me. Maybe Mother Nature knows how much I miss you and wants to enhance my experience of going back to moments of bliss with you. My fingers are still on my lips and I remember.

I remember how soft your lips were on my mine. How demanding yet playful your tongue danced in my mouth. Your hands in my hair, pulling me back. I opened my eyes and looked at you. I could see the want in your face, the primal power behind your eyes. I swallowed. It was going to hurt. And I was going to like it. You made me stand straight up and turn around. Your strong hands were on my shoulders, then brushing my hair to the side. You opened my bra while your teeth were biting my neck. First nibbling, then harder, pulling my skin and leaving burning marks behind.

I touch my neck. What is it with the wind today? The air doesn’t have teeth so how could I just have felt something biting me. I look around again. There was no one there. And how odd it would have been if someone is walking around, biting strangers’ necks. My mind must be playing tricks on me. I shake my head.

You made me stand there, anticipating your next move. Without any warning, you pushed me forward and I landed on my knees, on your bed. You leaned down and whispered: “Are you ready, girl?” – “Yes, Sir!”. – “Pull down your knickers and present yourself to me.”.

I pulled down my knickers and pushed my butt up. Resting on my elbows and knees, I was vulnerable. I was like a prey ready for the predator to torture and ravish. Your hands were massaging my naked cheeks, gently. I held my breath. I knew this was just preparation, I knew more was to come. The massage turned into squeezing and your nails were digging into my skin now. I moaned from the painful sensation and closed my eyes, taking it all in. I loved when you played with me like that, slowly building it up, making me aware of that there was more to come.

Smack! My whole body was shaking. Your hands had left a burning mark on me. Another slap. I moaned. You didn’t hold back. All your power, all your strength, was focused on the palms of your hands now. Slap, slap, slap. The pain was almost too much and I instinctively tried to crawl away. “Don’t you move, girl. I am not done with you yet.”. And I stayed. I felt the burn, I could almost imagine the marks that you had already left.

One of your hands on my lower back, I knew what was to come now. Your fist hit my butt with so much energy that I jumped forward and squealed. You cleared your throat and I steadied myself again. Another punch, and another. I could feel the vibrations going through my cunt, and my arousal becoming stronger. And so could you. “I can smell you. You are enjoying this, aren’t you?”. And you stopped.

I jump up. It feels like something was burning my back and my butt. I look at the bench but there is nothing. “The wind smacking and punching me, eh?”. I laugh to myself. My imagination is really going wild today. I gently massage my backside and smile to myself. The sensation is so similar to what you had done to me, I can feel my cunt getting needy. I sit down again, now enjoying the stingy pain from imagined slap and punches. I refocus on my memories of our last meeting.

I listened to you opening the zipper of your jeans. I held my breath. I needed you, I wanted you. I needed you to take me, I wanted you to fill me up. And there it was, your hard cock pushing into my needy cunt. I moaned. One hand squeezing the skin over my hip, the other pushing down my face onto the bed, you took me exactly how you wanted to. Thrusting, pushing. slow and gentle, fast and brutal. You were dictating the rhythm. I was just a hole you were using and I loved every second of it.

I started clenching my cunt, feeling the orgasm close. “Not yet, girl. I am done with you yet.”. I held my breath and focused on not allowing the shivers of relief run over me. I could feel you getting harder inside me and I knew you were close too. I wished I could see your face but my eyes were closed, and my face was still held in place.

“You can come now!”, you shouted. I felt you spasm and your hot juices filling me up. Knowing that I had pleased and helped you come, pushed me over the edge. I was twitching under you, moaning. I loved when you made me do that, wait for your permission and then come because you allowed me to, because I was your plaything. “Thank you, Sir.”, I whispered. “Good girl”, you said.

I open my eyes. I can feel your cum run out of me. I feel the post-orgasm glow. I just had an orgasm, I am sure of that. I pull up my skirt and touch myself between my legs. I am wet. There is no cum running down my thighs. How can there be? But I can feel it. I am confused.

I wish I could call you right now, telling you how memories of us together made me experience it all over again, had made my body remember. But I can’t. It had been our last meeting. Six years ago. The day before that truck hit you and you died. I miss you. I miss your hands. I wish you were more than just the memories stored in my mind, and the wind on my body. I get up, pull down my skirt, and look at the graffiti one last time. My lunch break is over.