Copyright 1998, Screamer
All Rights Reserved
"I said, Do it."
He did not hesitate a second time.
The conversations in his head are amazing. The entire time his hand is sliding slowly up and down the length of his hardening shaft, his mind will not shut down. Why does she want me to do this? Why doesn't she want me inside her? What can she possibly be getting out of sitting there and watching me masturbate myself? Why won't she touch me? What can she possibly be thinking about me, watching me do this to myself?
He found himself losing concentration. Over and over. As the questions rolled back and forth in his mind, he couldn't focus on what she wanted him to do - only why she wanted him to do it.
"Does it feel good?" she whispered.
He nodded, afraid of his voice.
"Good." She leaned back, keeping her eyes directed on the head of his cock.
He groaned. More from the conflict inside than the pleasure he was receiving. The one and only other time he had masturbated for a woman, it had turned out badly. Years ago, while still married to his first wife, he climbed atop her one night and knelt over her chest, stroking his cock, and telling her how it felt. Although she lay there beneath him, silent except for an occasional deep breath that he mistook for excitement, she had been disgusted by his actions. Afterwards, as he cleaned his spent passion from her breasts with a warm, wet washcloth, she berated his supposed perversions, and asked him why he couldn't just be normal. Her reaction had so devastated him that he wasn't sure if he could go on.
As it turns out, he didn't.
He had a new girlfriend now. The one sitting at the edge of the bed, as he leaned against the headboard, pulling on his foreskin. He couldn't see her, he'd closed his eyes. But he felt her. He always felt her.
She was different. There were many words to describe her, but the only one that came to mind as he felt his erection grow was "fire". She was burning, down there at the edge of the bed. He could feel her mental heat reach up and stroke the fur on his belly and chest as he continued to manipulate his own cock. She was wild, free, a nymph in deed and word. She did not fit the picture of what he had previously considered sexy, but she was one of the sexiest women he knew now.
And she was making him do something he felt such guilt and pain from doing.
His mother had caught him masturbating twice as a teenager. Her anger and loathing at his sick, perverted need had stayed with him throughout his marriage, and lingered even today.
He shoved it from his mind. If he lingered on the thought tears would come and the moment before him would vanish.
He wanted this moment. He needed this moment.
He knew what she wanted before he began. When she sat on the edge of the bed, and urged him to undress, he knew what was coming, felt it deep in his gut before she spoke the words. They had been together long enough for him to have told her the stories of his mother and his former wife. They shared everything. He'd never felt so free as he did with her. She allowed him to share his most perverse, most devious desires with her, and she never judged them, or him.
And now, she was sitting at the edge of the bed, her hand lingering over her nightshirt where an engorged nipple lay beneath the soft cotton. She was smiling softly at him, he saw when he opened his eyes finally.
He was rock hard now, and the muscles in his thick thighs were beginning to strain upward. If he kept his hand moving as it was now, fast, hard and rough, he'd be coming in a matter of moments.
Did he want this to end so quickly? Did she?
She was making it seem as though this was for her, but he knew better. She wanted to exorcise the demons she feared kept him from reaching his potential as a lover. She knew the passion and fury he held deep within his soul, and more than anything, she wanted to unleash that - for his sake, as well as hers.
She was a needy little thing. Thinking of her hot, wet nether regions surged his erection past the point of no return, and he knew it would only be moments before…
"On me." She whispered in a deep, dark voice. "Cum on me…" She moved her body up in the bed, spreading her thighs, and opening her outer pussy lips with her lithe fingers.
It was more than he could take. He leaned upward in the bed, all thoughts of the former wife and his mother banished from his head. All he could think of now is where she was leading him, down the darkened path to total sexual freedom. He'd wanted to go there all his life, and she was leading the way for him, lighting his path, opening the doors and showing him through…
The explosion was beyond his capacity for understanding. His cock erupted in energy filled blasts, sending his upper body reeling backwards, his head hitting the headboard of the bed as his shaft throbbed with unbridled lasciviousness. Breath would not come as he writhed and thrashed on the bedsheets.
She was moaning too. From a distance, he could hear her, and without looking, he knew that her fingers were buried in her cunt, pushing her clitoris around, mingling her juices with his freshly spun ones in the valley of her outer lips. He felt his heart rate surge at the thought of it, and longed to be able to open his eyes, to see her lost in her own passion, knowing that his masturbation had stirred it deeply within her.
But he could not. As his body began to quiet, he felt an unusual peace wash over him, sweeping through his body like a long lost soulmate. He reveled in it, and even as he heard her orgasm, his thighs entwined with hers, he could not find the energy to reach out to her.
Somehow, he knew she understood.
With her passion spent, she made her way up the bed, and wrapped her body around his, cradling his head in her arm, and kissing his chest softly. "How good you are," she whispered.
Return to Screamer's Verbosities