White Walls, Wet Skin

The warm water droplets cascaded like a creek waterfall against his black skin. He stood there with his shower cap secured to his head, keeping his beginner dreads from getting wet. The tiled wall, it was white. He couldn’t understand why the color of the wall intrigued him all of a sudden. He stood there, letting the water fall on him without a word. Wouldn’t have mattered anyway; he was the only adult home. The kids were sound asleep, his wife at work, his mind filled with parched desires.

Those water droplets felt so good on his skin. They whispered secrets he wished her hands knew when they touched him. His mind wandered from his thoughts, trying to keep them from forming. He looked down near the trim plate and noticed the tiles looked whiter and smoother there, probably from being right underneath the head.

The head.

A kiss, that’s all he wanted right there, right on the head. Her smooth pink lips, her eyes closed as her lips contacted his hard cock. He blinked when his cock twitched. He looked down and realized his thoughts had started to make him show. His chest wasn’t breathing steadily as the thoughts of her lips came rushing back to him. The shower water didn’t help. Each drop felt like the kiss he was imaging so hard. Absentmindedly he watched as his black cock grew to a semi-hard state. It seemed an invitation to release himself from the desires of his heart. He didn’t even realize his hand had moved to his pec.

He tried to play it off as if he was just helping the water wash off any filth he had accumulated through the day. But his hand stretched out in the water; his palm rested on his chest, gliding down with the waves. He let out a sigh feeling his skin ignite under his own touch. God, did it feel good. This was what he wanted, the lightest of touches. His arms crossed each other, and he rubbed his fingertips down from his shoulders, uncrossing his arms as his hands found his chest again. His eyes were closed, his imagination was wild. He knew it was his own hands, the water helping them slide, but in his mind, he saw her freckled hands, small as they were, dance across his body. He could feel her behind him, her breath on his shoulders because he was taller than her. Her breast pressed firmly against his back, but they were still so soft, and he could feel his fingers grabbing onto them later. Her nipples were hard, and they gently bit him from behind as her hands found his nipples.

No!

He threw his hands down quickly off his nipples. He didn’t want to think that way. He was a man, and a man shouldn’t want that type of touch. He should want her to scratch and bite him, to grab on tight as he made her cum again and again and again. At least, that’s what he had always been taught. He wasn’t man enough if he wanted her to touch his freshly shaved balls with just her fingertips. He wasn’t man enough if he wanted her to lay on top of him and gently slide her pussy off his rippling hard cock. He felt the jolt in his cock again. The water was warm, and it made his dick wet and smooth, just like her moist pink pussy when he was buried deep inside of her.

His hands were wrapped around his cock for a moment, and he gripped tight, trying to remind himself this was what he wanted—aggression. But the moment he gripped his cock, it almost immediately went limp. Another sigh, this one filled with regret. He just wanted her to know how he felt. What he wanted.

Dominant to the core, he always got what he wanted in bed—except for this. He never had a problem telling her what to do, where to be, how to stand, where to bend, how long to hold it. She was as submissive as he was dominant. He held the keys, he drove, and she was along for the ride. He chose where to go, ran it by her, and then they took the trip together. How often had he come to this junction and not made the turn? He could be standing there with her lips wrapped around his cock. One of his favorite things was to see her slide his dick out of her mouth, stick out her tongue, and slap his shaft against it repeatedly while their eyes locked. That was one of those moments where he’d whisper in his mind for her to take her time and give him a long slow lick up his shaft and just lick the slit and around the head when she got to the tip. He wanted her to tease him, make him want to be back in her mouth, but only give him a little… taste, if you will. But regardless of the want, the surefire need he had, his lips wouldn’t form those words. And soon, she would just be shoving his cock back in her mouth, gagging on it lightly as she forced him to the back of her throat.

His cock stiffened at the thought of her on top of him, her hips roughly grinding back and forth. He imagined his hands finding her nipples and twisting until she cried out in ecstasy. When she was done with the grind, she’d lean down on top of him, her heaving, hot chest molding itself into his pecs. Feeling her weight on his body, he’d embrace it as he wrapped his arms around her. And she would keep the speed going; knees pressing against his thighs, she’d bounce that big peach ass up and down on his rock-hard black cock. He could almost feel her juices splashing down his legs as she continued to cream on him. Her moans would fill his ears, and he’d kiss her neck before biting down and sucking enough to make her cum but not to leave a hickey. Here was when he wanted her to slow down to the slowest speed possible. He would like to turn his head to face her and for them to watch each other. If only she would take her free hand and stroke his face, then kiss him tenderly. He’d love to feel her lips caressing his as her other lips stayed wrapped around his cock. At a painstaking pace, she’d move inch by inch.

The two of them would reach a 9.1 on the Richter scale as their bodies shook from the tease. He’d let her play her game. His tongue would find hers, and she’d continue to try and tease him but tremble as she paused with his tip about to slide out. That would be enough; he would end that silly little game. He’d suddenly roll the two of them over and slam right back into her pussy. She’d scream his pet name, which would only cause the blood to rush to his cock even more. His hands would find her wrists, and he’d hold her down and have his way with her, just the way she liked it.

He gasped as his eyes sprang open. He hadn’t even realized that he had closed them. The light on the ceiling of the shower seemed too bright, and his eyes hurt because he’d had them shut so tight. He sighed again, leaning against the wall and letting the lukewarm water run over his cock. He reached over and turned the knob to heat the water back up. Man enough. Could he still be man enough if he told her of his desires? What if he said he’d like her to be a little gentler with him sometimes so he could feel the impact of the softest touches, the slowest grinds, the lightest of kisses?

He recalled the first time he had told her to play with his nipples. Oh, they were a young married couple, barely a year into their marriage. She was kissing him all over, the feel of her soft pink lips rivaled only by her long dirty-blonde hair tickling his skin. As the trail of her kisses came back up his body, the words came out before he even had the chance to understand what he was asking. She had covered his chest everywhere but his nipples. He wanted to feel her kisses there and her hot wet tongue rolling around his areolas, to feel the aching as his nipples twisted into a hard nub begging for more.

She gave him the most curious of looks then, a look of shock that broke his forehead into a cold sweat as she asked him if he was serious. He almost didn’t say yes; he was glad he did. It felt like the lifeblood pumped through him anew, coursing through every vein and igniting nerve endings he didn’t even know he had. But that look she gave him, the words that left her mouth: “Are you serious?” He wouldn’t demand something so unconventional—unmanly—ever again.

He shook his head and looked around the shower, trying to remember how he had even gotten there. The steam rose against the white tiles and the see-through shower curtain. He grabbed his bath scrunchy and the bottle of body wash, shutting those feelings away from the forefront of his mind. He felt his cock start to soften, each pulse dropping it further and further into the flaccid state. Aggressively popping open the shower gel, he squeezed some out onto his dark blue scrunchy and placed the bottle back on the shower floor. Then he wet the scrunchy and started to scrub his body, his dark cock finally resting. He stared at the ceiling and ignored the light hiss from his still hard nipples as he rubbed over his chest. He tried and tried to force those thoughts out of his mind, but they kept reasserting themselves, reminding him of what he wanted to tell his wife to do to his body. But how could he tell her when she had already shown him what she thought of him. Her look at that vulnerable moment had said he wasn’t man enough.

He shook his head again and started to wash his penis, feeling a sense of gratitude as he scrubbed under his balls. He’d almost moved past those intrusive thoughts until he tilted his head back up from looking at his cock and noticed the label of his bottle. The brand name was there, written in red—as red as her nails on another night.

He was there before he knew it. The ceiling fan turned at its lowest setting, blowing the gentlest of breezes on the two of them. She’d sat near his feet, her hazel eyes holding the brightest of twinkles as she looked not at him but through him. It was as if she could see his desires clearly for the first time; he didn’t have to say a word, she just knew. She saw him naked, exposed, the little secrets he kept under lock and key from her were an open box full of goodies for her to play with.

Her hand rested on his thigh. She had just gotten her long acrylic nails done in red—one of his favorite colors to see on her. It was a fire truck red that set off the dark red of her hair she had dyed a week earlier. Her lips curled into a smile across her round face, and before he could ask what was on her mind, she began tapping her fingers against his inner thigh. 1-2-3-4. All those nails sent little prickles of endorphins through his system. 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4. He felt his throat get tight as he tried to swallow his anticipation. She looked at him with the same sparkle in her eyes. Then she stopped tapping and began to move her hand up his thigh.

He tried to stifle the sound of ecstasy that left his mouth, but it was to no avail. She had him, she knew it, and he was going to lay there and feel the power the smallest touch could have on him. He felt his knees buckle as streams of white cum left his melanoid cock and splattered on the see-through curtain. He let out another steamy groan as he kept stroking, feeling every pent-up drop exit the head of his penis. Breathing heavily, he leaned his weight on the shower tiles to keep himself steady. He took a moment to recover, feeling his head swim from his vision. He reached over and turned the knob to heat the water back up. Man enough. Could he still be man enough if he told her of his desires? What if he said he’d like her to be a little gentler with him sometimes so he could feel the impact of the softest touches, the slowest grinds, the lightest of kisses?

He recalled the first time he had told her to play with his nipples. Oh, they were a young married couple, barely a year into their marriage. She was kissing him all over, the feel of her soft pink lips rivaled only by her long dirty-blonde hair tickling his skin. As the trail of her kisses came back up his body, the words came out before he even had the chance to understand what he was asking. She had covered his chest everywhere but his nipples. He wanted to feel her kisses there and her hot wet tongue rolling around his areolas, to feel the aching as his nipples twisted into a hard nub begging for more.

She gave him the most curious of looks then, a look of shock that broke his forehead into a cold sweat as she asked him if he was serious. He almost didn’t say yes; he was glad he did. It felt like the lifeblood pumped through him anew, coursing through every vein and igniting nerve endings he didn’t even know he had. But that look she gave him, the words that left her mouth: “Are you serious?” He wouldn’t demand something so unconventional—unmanly—ever again.

He shook his head and looked around the shower, trying to remember how he had even gotten there. The steam rose against the white tiles and the see-through shower curtain. He grabbed his bath scrunchy and the bottle of body wash, shutting those feelings away from the forefront of his mind. He felt his cock start to soften, each pulse dropping it further and further into the flaccid state. Aggressively popping open the shower gel, he squeezed some out onto his dark blue scrunchy and placed the bottle back on the shower floor. Then he wet the scrunchy and started to scrub his body, his dark cock finally resting. He stared at the ceiling and ignored the light hiss from his still hard nipples as he rubbed over his chest. He tried and tried to force those thoughts out of his mind, but they kept reasserting themselves, reminding him of what he wanted to tell his wife to do to his body. But how could he tell her when she had already shown him what she thought of him. Her look at that vulnerable moment had said he wasn’t man enough.

He shook his head again and started to wash his penis, feeling a sense of gratitude as he scrubbed under his balls. He’d almost moved past those intrusive thoughts until he tilted his head back up from looking at his cock and noticed the label of his bottle. The brand name was there, written in red—as red as her nails on another night.

He was there before he knew it. The ceiling fan turned at its lowest setting, blowing the gentlest of breezes on the two of them. She’d sat near his feet, her hazel eyes holding the brightest of twinkles as she looked not at him but through him. It was as if she could see his desires clearly for the first time; he didn’t have to say a word, she just knew. She saw him naked, exposed, the little secrets he kept under lock and key from her were an open box full of goodies for her to play with.

Her hand rested on his thigh. She had just gotten her long acrylic nails done in red—one of his favorite colors to see on her. It was a fire truck red that set off the dark red of her hair she had dyed a week earlier. Her lips curled into a smile across her round face, and before he could ask what was on her mind, she began tapping her fingers against his inner thigh. 1-2-3-4. All those nails sent little prickles of endorphins through his system. 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4. He felt his throat get tight as he tried to swallow his anticipation. She looked at him with the same sparkle in her eyes. Then she stopped tapping and began to move her hand up his thigh.

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