I ask if I can watch and you blush and shyly say yes. You still aren’t used to someone who doesn’t get mad when you touch yourself. You search for porn on the laptop, turn it on and look at me one more time to make sure I’m really not mad. I smile and tell you how beautiful you are, sitting there with your cock in your hand.
You turn your face to watch the screen, but you leave your body in profile for me. Leaning back in your chair, you relax, cupping your balls, the first tentative strokes increase. Images flash on your laptop screen: cocks of all sizes, pink pussies, gaping assholes, boys fucking boys, girls fucking boys with fists and strap-ons. The people in the videos moan and yell, slap and fuck. The sound of your breath quickens, your ancient office chair creaks, the lube on your cock is wet and thick.
I’m hypnotized by your hands. I follow each practiced stroke up and down your shaft. I love the contrast of your strong hands against the smooth pink of your cock. You glance at me to see if I’m still watching from across the room. Sometimes I touch myself too, but I prefer to watch you, losing yourself deeper and deeper in pleasure.
I love it when I wake up in the morning and find the evidence of your night before. The butt plug, the wads of tissue. I think of you fucking yourself deep into the night, when I’m sleeping so hard I’m past dreams. I imagine you there, in the glow of the laptop, alone in the dark. I know you picture yourself there in those scenes, the room full of strangers lining up to fuck your ass, to come in your mouth. You want to be filled up, violated and taken.
I love it when the sleep still hangs heavy in your face and the coffee pot is empty and your mind is full. I know what you’re going to ask for, so I leave you alone to reboot. These moments aren’t about sex. You’ll open the door, your eyes bright, energy restored. You’ll kiss me because I understand; and you’ll understand when I need to do the same.
I love it when you’re spread out naked on the bed in front of me. Knees splayed, waiting for my fingers, my cock, my whole hand, a dildo, it doesn’t matter. I part you slowly, your cock stiffens as I explore. We improvise the rhythm, our rhythm, slower to slow to fast. You stroke your cock, it’s unbelievably hard. I thrust into you.
I take your balls into my hand, I know just how hard to squeeze. You aren’t shy now as your whole body writhes with abandon. Eyes shut, back arched, I’m in you and I am you. You close in around my hand, warm and deep. Your hand moves up and down so fast on your cock that it’s just a blur. You bite your lip, buck and twist. I urge you on, I want to take you there. One final arch and you’re gone. I pull away, you fall back, limp and satisfied. You run a finger through the small white pool on your belly, then lick it off because you know it pleases me. You’ll ask if I’m satisfied, if there’s anything I want now. I’ll say no, because I love to watch you masturbate.