Mutual Masturbation

It's Masturbation Month...and the Masturbation Monday prompt this week is all about mutual masturbation.

This particular art form has always sort of eluded me. Having a bit of the ADD, I have a hard time focusing on either what I'm trying to do or what I'm trying to feel. I don't think I've ever gotten off with this method of sexual stimulation...not to say that it's a bad addition to the foreplay toolbox. But, I'd prefer to either take care of my partner completely, focusing on his (or her) pleasure...or...be the center of someone else's sexual attentions.

Actual intercourse is different. For some reason, I guess because I don't have several balls in the air at once (yes...I said that), I can focus on pleasing myself and the other person at the same time.

Mutual masturbation, for me, is more about the beginning. It's the place you start when you can't keep your hands off each other, fumbling with clothes, digging to find a way to simply touch each other. It's an initial release, sort of like an appetizer. But it's not enough. For me. It's not satisfying enough on it's own.

I'm not saying I can't get off that way. I can. I did just the other night...several times. J slipped his fingers in my wet and very expectant pussy. He pushed them deep inside and worked my clit with his thumb. I told him not to be gentle, and he held me down with his body, reaching his fingers in as deep as he could. And I could feel myself tighten around him, pulsing.

It was satisfying. But there's something to be said for feeling...or knowing...that a man is cumming inside of me. Those orgasms are what I live for. And I'm damn good at timing my own orgasms to match my partner's. Something about feeling that buildup in the him...the tensing of muscles...the holding of breath...the way his body starts to sort of twitch and lurch. That's when my own body let's go.

This doesn't happen with mutual masturbation.

That doesn't mean it can't happen in a story though...so - here ya go...a super short tale of cumming in the car (and yes...I've done this - not easy, but possible).

*********

Jamie reached over and placed her hand on Chris's thigh. He took his eyes off the road momentarily to look at her and then placed his own hand on top of hers.

In the dark, street lights lit up the inside of the car in intermittent flashes of light, and with each flash, Chris could see the sparkles in Jamie's eye make-up -- the soft pink blush darkening her cheekbones, creating a shadow that made her look dramatic.

Jamie squeezed his thigh absently, looking ahead at the traffic. She wet her lips and closed her eyes, tired after the concert and ready for bed.

Chris reached over and rubbed her bare knee, sliding his hand up her thigh, under her short sequined dress. She didn't turn her head toward him, but he could see the corners of her mouth turn up in a dreamy smile. She squeezed his thigh a bit harder as he moved his hand up further, and she spread her legs to allow him easier and fuller access.

"I love it when you go sans panties," Chris smirked, "I could smell you all night."

Jamie smiled a little wider, and he could hear the softest laugh briefly escape her lips, the deep red lipstick long worn away.

He reached further up her thigh and let his fingers gently graze the outsides of her labia. Her sharp intake of breathe and almost imperceptible shudder encouraged him to continue. He ran his finger up her slit, parting her lips to access her clit and began to slowly circle and tease.

Jamie reacted by squeezing the inside of his thigh. She traced the inner seam of his jeans with her fingers, upward, across each button, and back down, where she could feel the bulge beneath pressing against the denim. She loved 501's for just this reason...easy access. One-handed, she opened his jeans, and squirmed her hand into place, as he shifted in his seat to help her.

"Oh, good god, Jamie..."

"Don't wreck the car, Chris..."

"Oh, I won't, just don't take your hand of the stick, Jamie...drive me all the way home, girl..."

He leaned further toward her, pushing two fingers as deep inside her as he could. And Jamie tried her best to rub him off. Both of them were constricted by position.

Chris turned left on their street, moaning softly under his breath, and accelerated. Jamie reached up and hit the garage door button. The car pulled into its spot, and the door slid closed behind them.

Jamie undid her seatbelt, "Pull your pants down to your knees Chris..." She was breathless and wild-eyed, climbing over the console, straddling him, and then sliding herself down his expectant cock. There were no formalities, just fucking...her ass pounding against the steering wheels, his hands on her hips.

It was only minutes, and both of them, in their hunger, came.

Jamie slumped against him, breathing hard.

"I love you, Jamie..."

"I love you, too, Chris..."

"Let's go inside and do this right..."

"Oh, this was right...it was just right..."

12 Practical Tips for Having Sex in the Car
Car Sex Positions

A Living Canvas

It's Masturbation Monday...but rather than self-manipulation this fine evening, I've opted for a little help in this story. Even though THEY aren't masturbating...perhaps the characters will inspire YOU to?

A Living Canvas

Jenna became highly aware of her own skin, as the warm breeze hit places usually covered in public. She and Michael had the backyard to themselves. The kids were gone for the weekend, and, generously, Mother Nature had graced them with a sunny afternoon. Michael took the opportunity to pull Jenna, by the hand, away from her chores and responsibilities. Sometimes he had no choice but to make it a directive. She had a tendency to wind herself up and lose focus on what mattered. And Michael had to cook up something out of the ordinary to really reset her. This afternoon, he had just such a plan in store.

Standing on the soft green grass, Michael spread a blanket. He walked behind her, surprising her by picking her clean up off her feet. She giggled and squealed a bit with the shift of balance from her own feet to his arms. The shift in power was more than symbolic. It was obvious the role she was being asked to assume. And gladly, she began to leave her To Do list behind.

"Close your eyes, Jen. No talking. No moving. I'll move you as necessary."

Jenna nodded and sank down into the blanket and the softness of the earth below it, eyes closed, a smile relaxing her features. She could hear Michael moving around her, setting things down, and preparing, for whatever it was he was planning to do.

And then he was above her, unbuttoning her well-loved plaid, cotton shirt, which was rolled up at the sleeves as to keep them out of the dish-water...and then her jeans: unbuttoned and unzipped, slowly being pulled off of her body. He turned her just enough to each side to remove her arms from the sleeves of her shirt and then undid her front-clasped bra, peeling it back like wrapping paper, revealing her breasts, nipples already signaling her growing dedication to the moment. Slipping the bra out from under her back, he left her in the sun with the directive to keep her eyes closed.

Within minutes, he returned, setting more things down around her. Jenna could feel him kneel beside her, could feel his warm breath above her left nipple...her right...and then her neck. In her ear, he whispered, "You're a perfect canvas...that porcelain skin, crying out for the images in my head. These ideas...they'll find a home here...and here....and here..."

With each "here", he kissed her, on the side of her breast, on her stomach, and just below the edge of her white cotton panties, which he'd left on her.

And then she felt the cold touch of the paint-dipped brush on her collar bone, as it made a trail between her breasts, to her naval. She sucked in her breath when the brush moved softly back up to circle each of her breasts.

She sighed, and released every other last thought, letting her brain be submerged in the smell (one of her favorites) of freshly cut grass and the sound of the erotic musical strains of Enigma's MCMXC a.D. The swirls and dips of the brush, into and out of the valleys of her torso, took the rest of her bodily concentration, and everything else was pushed outward, into the space around her, and set free. 

Jenna had no idea how much time had passed, as she drifted in and out of a light sleep. The warmth of the sun on her skin lulled her back and forth along the edge of a dream that vaguely resembled the scent of a distant memory. But when the brush stopped moving, Jenna was softly roused from herself by Michael's voice.

"Imagine what he could have done with a canvas such as this..."

She began to open her eyes, but Michael told her to stop.

"I'm not done, Jen. It has to dry. And while it does..."

Michael began to slide Jenna's panties over her sun-kissed hips and down her thighs. He spread her legs, just a bit, his hands, on either side of her, steadying him as he lowered his face to kiss her softest, sweetest parts. He licked the creases where her inner thighs met her outer labia...and then grazed his tongue from the base of her inner labia, all the way to her clitoris, where he stayed for a moment, collecting himself, as she slowly began to lose herself.

"Jenna, you have to hold still...to let the paint dry. You can't touch it. You can't move...unless I move you."

"Okay, Michael. I promise not to move." But she wasn't so sure she could keep her promise.

He licked her, and tasted her, and slipped first one and then two fingers inside of her, knowing just where to touch, with just the right pressure, to bring her complete release. He worked his fingers and tongue in tandem, bringing her just to the edge, every muscle in her lower body taut and her breath held. That is when he stopped. He pulled away, and he watched the swirls of paint move across her flesh, the yellow and blue patterns turning from static to rhythm, like animation...the wind - alive and dancing, just as the artist had intended.

Under Surveillance

Misty gave her directive, "Call. Dave. Home," and the car's bluetooth obliged..."Calling Dave. Home."

"Yell-o...'sup, hon?"

"Drivin'."

"And?"

"Just stuck in traffic, bored outta my mind."

"Ahhh...lookin' for some action, eh?"

"Yep."

"I could probably swing somethin'."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Like what?"

"Like...where are you?"

"Near exit 277. But, we're at a crawl...and I'm wearing a skirt."

"Good girl...makes things easy. Panties?"

"Could lose them quick and easy."

"Do it."

He waited a moment as he heard her rustling around a bit.

"Done."

"Lick your fingers. Really suck on them...leave 'em wet..."

She did.

"Now rub them around your clit until it swells...but don't touch it directly. I want that sucker throbbing before you give in."

She was quiet, but obeying his every word.

"What's it look like?"

She slid her skirt to her waist, spread her legs, lifting one knee against the gear-shift and the other against the driver's side door.

"Wet...and very, very pink."

"Good. Are you still at a stand still?"

"Yep. Must be a wreck ahead."

"Too bad...their misfortune has led to our benefit..lick the first two fingers on your other hand and slip them in your cunt."

She followed his direction.

"Now, with your other hand, begin massaging your clit."

"This isn't easy in this space, Dave."

"Didn't promise easy, did I?"

"No."

"Didn't really ask, either..."

"Correct, as always, my love."

She stroked herself into a flurry of wetness.

"Is that your wet pussy I hear, serenading me?"

"Yes...I'm very, very wet. I'm likely to make a damn mess of the car seat."

"That's why we splurged on the leather, babe. Never question."

She gasped a bit as her breathing sped up. She could feel the tell-tale signs of her oncoming orgasm...the heat rising up her belly, across her chest, encircling her throat, like the ghost of his hand pressing her head against the headrest. Even from miles away, he could restrain her every move - play her like a theremin.

"You aren't allowed, Misty."

"Ah, Jesus, Dave...you've gotta be kidding me...I'm so close..."

"Nope. Only me. So stop. Now."

"Okay..." she whined.

"I mean it." His voice was stern.

She begrudgingly removed her hands, pulling her skirt back down around her thighs, wiping her wet fingers on the soft fabric.

"How do you always know?"

"Because I know you...and I'm always watching."

She furrowed her brow into a questioning expression of playful annoyance.

"Well...are you at least home now...can we fuck the minute I walk in the door? Seriously...I'm fucking horny, Dave..."

"Not yet. Almost."

"Where are you?"

"Near exit 277."

"Wha--"

Misty looked to her right...a blue Honda. She looked to the left...

"Ah...fuck you, Dave...did you record that whole fucking thing?"

"You betcha, sweet heart..."

He winked at her from the cab of his shiny, white Dodge Ram pick-up. And he left her with the same lecherous smile that had drawn her in all those years ago.

(I had to write this one...as I gave masturbating in the car another go recently. It's not easy. In fact...it can only really happen when stuck in traffic...like our girl, Misty, here...or when on a nice, straight highway with the cruise control on. No...it's not the safest thing to be doing. But, there are times when a girl just has to try to get her rocks off. I was on a short expanse of highway, so there really wasn't much time. I knew I'd never get off, but there are moments when simply touching myself can release a bit of pent up tension. I even tried parking at Wal-mart...way out away from everyone else's cars...to finish the job. But, it didn't happen. Frustrated...I did my errands and managed to get my mind off of it. Nothing like shopping in Wal-mart to cool your desire right off.)

Breaching the Surface

There are those moments when nothing can satiate my desire besides penetration. The blessed insertion of something, preferably fleshy, and warm, and connected to something I want and love, into my hungriest places, all of which seem to be so conveniently created to invite him in. The tantalizing build up of his hand on my thigh, especially in a a public place, or somewhere nothing can be done about it, just serve to make the release that much more sweet.

I can feel him, across the room, naked. His heat. His eyes following my curves. And my body tenses. I keep breathing in and forgetting to breathe out, my chest expanding, my lungs filling, releasing just enough to keep me from passing out. Those shallow, expectant gulps of air...my whole body reaching out for his offering.

It's a metaphorical and almost silent dance. A quiet desperation seen in the trembling of lips and fingers and shoulders. An unspoken desire that screams from the depth of the eye and the uneven sighs that barely escape, in and out.

It's hard to define or explain desire. I'm sure it's onset is different for many of us. But for me, it's a deliciously painful greed. The kind that makes the world slip away, because all I want is that which is before me. Not just some of it. All of it. Now.

But, the waiting. The waiting and the denial are almost as sweet...are they not? As long as it doesn't last too long, that is.

When I feel him slip in beside me, wrap me in his arms and pull me to him, our bodies forming one fluid machine, my breath heightens and deepens, becoming audible as my hunger begins to speak in a language only the body knows.

He kisses me, softly, holding back, because he knows how crazy it makes me. He drives me like a luxury car, smoothly and sensually...totally in control. His hands search my skin as if it explained the meaning of life in brail, gently in places, grabbing hold of me in handfuls in others, reminding me that all of this is his...not because he takes it...not even really because I give it. It is his because, like any kind of faith, it just is. His touch makes my body believe.

On our sides, his tongue searches mine for secrets and treasures, while his right hand follows the curve of my back and my plump behind. I wrap my left leg over his, exposing the core of my heat and hunger. He teases it, runs his fingers across it, but eventually, he covers it completely with his hand, probing gently at first...one finger...

And I melt, I sigh, I come completely undone. All the breathing in and holding the want as if it were a word on the tip of my tongue...the kind I can't let go...the kind that keeps me up all night looking for it. To let all of that out is like being slowly submerged in warm water...maybe something like going home. The perfection of it...that seemingly simple moment...the sort of thing that happens all the time. It still holds that power for me...when he slips his fingers inside me...when he first penetrates me.

Because when he does that...when he breaches the surface of my bodily being - he enters my soul.

It is always more than what it seems.

With him.

Masturbation Monday

The Centerpiece

"Tabitha, this house is just unbelievable! Who is your decorator? I simply must know." Angelica looked around the living room. The marble floors, the large, plush rugs, the exquisite furniture. Every piece was decadent. The detail was unequivocally riveting, and Angelica felt as if she could just sink into the over-sized leather couch, cover herself with the cream-colored, cashmere throw, and lose herself in the 1st edition Lady Chatterly's Lover on the coffee table.

"Michael Evansfield planned and oversaw the whole process. It was a stunning thing to watch him work...the drawings, the fabric swatches, the dreamy young men he brought to assist him. I'm telling you, Angelica, you could give up television and reading altogether with a crew like that around. Pure, sensual entertainment."

"Well, this is going to be a fabulous open-house, Tabby. Everyone will be so jealous. What are you serving?"

"That's a whole separate and wonderful affair. Michael hooked me up with the chef at Tempranillo. His cuisine is like an orgasm melting on your tongue, I'm telling you. He's made all these wonderful, little appetizers, and Micheal promised an enticing display."

"Ooh, it sound scrumptious. I can hardly wait."

"Well, Micheal won't let me see it until all the ladies arrive. He says he's cooked up a lovely surprise for us all."

______________ XXX


"Ladies, ladies, ladies..." Micheal burst into the room in a flurry of satin and velvet and spicy cologne. He stood with his legs perfectly straight and connected at the knees, his hands clasped under his chin, and an impish grin to pull them all in.

"I have such a treat for you tonight, ladies." He walked toward Tabitha and took her hand in his. "Over the past several months, I have grown to adore this woman. Her sense of style and her willingness to allow my creative instincts to make this house into an unrivaled beauty have just made my heart swell with gratitude. I'm so happy to have had the chance to work for such a gracious and charming woman." Michael then leaned forward a bit, putting his hand to the side of his face as if telling a secret, and in a low voice, he said, "Not to mention that she's virtually filled my bank account to overflowing in the process." The small crowd of women laughed and clapped in their upper-class way, controlled and just a touch condescending.

"And so...ladies...I implore you to follow me into the dining room. If you thought this room was to die for, you will be heady from the perfection of the next, pardon my immodesty."

The ladies collected like a group of noisy hens and followed Michael through the french doors into the dining room. Sudden gasps and squeaks and other noises of surprise and shock came from various corners of the room as the women took in their surroundings. From the pastoral paintings in ornate gold frames to the glossy mahogany table and the deep burgundy brocade drapes, the extravagant, yet oddly understated feel of the room was almost enough to draw the eyes away from the centerpiece.

Or not.

In the middle of the table, what seemed to be the statue of a young man, naked, his muscular body transfixed in the process of an upward undulation, began to move, ever so slowly.

"Oh....my....god." Tabitha went pale as a pearl and looked around at her guests to gauge their reaction.

Judging by the grins, averted eyes, and blushing cheeks, she made the assumption that the ladies were quite uncomfortable. But, in minutes, not one pair of those averted eyes could stray from the scene unfolding on the table.

The man, seemed to be in the throes of ecstasy. His hips pulsed slowly toward the ceiling and then back to the gleaming, mirror-like surface of the table. His reflection rippled beneath him.

From within the group of women, huddled in a circle like wintering penguins, Angelica emerged.

"I have to see this more closely." She walked toward the table. Looking at Michael, who stood off to the side, beaming with delight, she asked, "Can I touch him?"

Michael grinned, a deep, throaty laugh boiled up from his diaphragm. "My dear, he's a work of art...how else are you going to fully appreciate him if you don't touch him?"

Angelica reached out and touched his abdomen, the muscles there contracting with his smooth, wave-like movements. Like an electrical current, the energy he exuded traveled through her fingers, up her arm, and down her shoulder, resting in the small of her back at the base of her spine.

"Oh, good lord, that is a fine specimen."

If it were even possible, Michael's grin widened. "Well, my love, to truly experience art, you must take it in through all of your senses. He walked to the side of the marble-topped buffet and picked up a tapestry-covered footstool. Moving toward Angelica, he placed the stool at her feet.

"May I?" He offered her his hand.

With a look of confusion, she took his hand and stepped up, boosting herself on to the table.

"Ah, ah, ah...let me take those lovely Jimmy Choos of yours. Wouldn't want to scratch the beautiful finish, now would we? Watch your nails, too, hon..."

Angelica, having no clue what to do next, now that she was on the table, beside the naked man, a wide-eyed bevy of gossipy, wealthy women staring at them, mouths agape.

Which sense to test first? Smell...taste?

Michael reached out and placed a tiny cracker, covered with a dollop of caviar, on the man's stomach.

"See if you can enjoy that tasty treat without the use of your hands, love."

Angelica's eyes twitched back briefly to her little crowd of anxious spectators. What the hell? She thought. And she leaned forward, on her hands and knees, slipping her tongue beneath the cracker, placing her lips on his skin. The smell of him was primal. And she noticed his skin glistened as if rubbed down with gold shimmer. She heard him part his lips and exhale as she lifted the cracker into her mouth. And from the corner of her eye, she saw his member twitch to life. It made her forget herself. It made her forget the people in the room. It made her forget everything but the taste of his salty, sweet flesh.

And, good god was she starving.

Masturbating for Him

He likes to watch me masturbate. But I hate being watched.

If He tells me to do it, though, I can't say no. It would be against the rules.

It makes me uncomfortable to be so open and vulnerable. So "on display." But, then. I'm His to display as He wishes, right? If He wants to gag me with my own shirt to keep me from crying out, and then asks me to close my eyes, bite down, and slip my hand into my panties, I'll suck back my pride (because I shouldn't have it, anyway, should I?), feel the heat in my cheeks (both sets), and begin to rub my clit.

Image source: MasturbationMonday.kaylalords.com

He won't accept that for long, though, will He? He'll know I'm holding back. He'll sense it, and He won't like it. And as much as I don't like being on display...the humiliation of being watched...I like disappointing Him even less.

So, I'll do what He asks. I'll slip my fingers inside of myself, and though I won't forget He's there, reclined, relaxed, and amused, I will begin to enjoy myself, if only because it's easier to come that way, which will get it all over with faster. Because, see...He'll know if I'm faking. And He wouldn't take kindly to a lie.

I'll go deep into my head, recall something arousing...I'll imagine my fingers are His dick, and I'll feel the heat and weight of him on top of me. I might moan a bit as the image takes over. With Him so close, I'd be able to smell Him, and that would help keep me in the place that allows me to hide.

But He'd figure out my trick. And He wouldn't let me fall back on it for long.

He'd make me open my eyes and look at Him.

He'd make me face His challenge.

He's benevolent, though. He might help me. He might place a vibrator on my clitoris while I worked my fingers in and out, feeling the wetness multiply, soaking through the satiny fabric.

He might have mercy on me.

But he might not.

He might pull the vibrator away, tell me to remove the wet panties, and command me to present.
He'd probably tell me to keep touching myself, so he could watch me from a different view. This one, even more vulnerable...my ass cheeks in easy placement for a smack, my asshole exposed.

I know Him well. He'd have to touch it. He'd maybe lick his forefinger, insert it into my asshole to the second knuckle. Hell...He'd probably go all the way, fucking me with it, slowly.

And I'd have trouble concentrating on my own movements. I'd slow down, maybe even drop my hand away from my pussy.

But, He wouldn't let me stop. No, He'd still be watching.

He'd pull his finger out. And, knowing it would drive me mad with embarrassment, he'd lick my asshole. He'd make out with it as if it were my mouth, tonguing me, loving to make me squirm with discomfort.

He likes to make me squirm...to make me uncomfortable.

He's looking for my limits.

He's mapping them out...keeping track of every curve, harbor, inlet, and peninsula of thought, fantasy, and fear. So He can use them.

He's a very observant man. A detective of sorts. And He misses nothing. Forgets nothing.

I find that terrifying and exhilarating all at once. That He knows me so well. That He cares to. That He can tell me to do something as simple as shove my shirt in my mouth and masturbate for Him. And that He knows I'll do it.

No matter what.

Daydreaming

She looked at the large pile of dirty clothes, sighed, and shook her head. Walking out of the laundry room, she glanced at the kitchen sink full of dishes, the counter cluttered with papers, keys, and wayward items that just never seemed to find a proper home and stay there. There were toys on the living room floor, and her office desk was covered with piles of bills and to-do lists.

"Fuck it," she mumbled under her breath.

Sometimes that's the only solution.

She wandered in to check on her napping children and then padded back to her own bedroom, drew the blinds, and then closed the door and locked it.

She lay down on the unmade bed, buried her head in his pillow, and inhaled deeply. His scent still permeated the room. She'd been up early with the baby, and when she'd come back, she'd found him naked, the sheets drawn back, his cock in one hand, and his other teasing his own nipple.

She'd smiled and slipped in beside him, her hand cupping his balls while he continued to slide his fist up and down his shaft. He'd moaned softly with her touch. Leaning over his chest, she took his other nipple in her mouth and sucked hard, letting it recede back to his body through her teeth. He'd pulled her on top of him and slid into her like a knife into butter, smoothly and slowly, both of them letting out a sigh of release as she settled at the base of his cock and squeezed her vaginal muscles around him. His hands on her hips, she rocked back and forth slowly, rhythmically, speeding up and slowing down as he willed her, wordlessly, with his body. It took only a few moments and his stomach muscles began to contract, his hips jutting upward into hers, lifting her and taking control even though she was on top of him. His head went back, his chin up, neck muscles strained and taut, face looking pained with the intensity of the pleasure and the imminent nearness to climax. Just the sight of his expression caused the beginning of her own orgasm, and as he exploded into her, her cunt began to pulse like the mouth of a hungry fish around his rigid cock. Every muscle in his body was tightened, but as the orgasm subsided, his abdomen let go, twitching its way to resting. A sheen of sweat beaded up on his forehead. He'd looked up at her and smiled, his hands reaching up to hold her breasts and squeeze her nipples until she giggled and pushed his hands away playfully.

He'd left for work shortly thereafter, leaving her here in this mess that never seemed to go away.

Now as she lay in the dark, in the blissful and brief quiet of the afternoon, she spread her legs and found release again as she breathed in the smell of his sweat from the pillow.



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I know you're watching....

Patricia walked into the storage room. The floor was swept clean, the garage was down, and Jeremy's work truck--hitched to it's trailer--was parked toward the back. She knew he'd be back within the hour, lunch in hand for the both of them.

A wicked little grin tugged at her lips. Wouldn't it be nice to surprise him?

She slipped her dress from her shoulders and let it fall to the ground, puddling around her feet. Stepping out of it, she kicked off her shoes, unclasped her bra, letting it slip from her shoulders and down her bare arms to join her dress on the ground.

Laying down on the cold tile floor, Patricia arched her back and inhaled sharply. She giggled with the delicious shiver that the shock sent through her body. Picking her ass up off the floor, she pulled her panties down around her ankles, kicking them aside, leaving her naked, goosebumps covering her from neck to thighs.

She placed her hands on each of her breasts, rubbing over her nipples softly, though they were already erect from the cold. Licking her right forefinger and thumb...then her left...she began to tease her nipples until she could feel the rising pulse and heat between her thighs. Her clit began to tremble from within, and her pussy began to open hungrily, waiting for something to enter.

Her stomach began to feel hollow, as her pelvis tilted upward, ready to receive. Patricia trailed one hand between her breasts, down her torso, across her navel, and into the soft, clean-shaven folds of her twitching cunt. Touching her clit felt like a low level electric shock, vibratory and warm, and she let loose a soft moan of release upon contact.

Her whole body relaxed, heat extending to every extremity, a buzzing under her skin.

She slipped one finger into her wetness and felt her muscles contract in response. Her pussy tightened around her finger, hugging it greedily, unwilling to let it go. But she pulled it out and slipped it back in again. Each time, her muscles grabbed hold, and her body melted with the effort.

Patricia lifted her feet up off the floor and opened herself up as wide as she could...to the point that she could feel the cold air of the store room on her exposed asshole. It, too, began to pulse in response to the new stimulus. It fluttered softly, being so fully exposed, and Patricia licked her lips and moaned a bit, arching her back and feeling the cold tile on the back of her head, hard and unyielding.

Her eyes closed, writhing on the floor, she made quite the spectacle for Jeremy in the doorway. As Patricia worked herself into a frenzy, the telltale pink rising from her belly to her breasts and up her throat to her cheeks, making obvious her state of ecstasy, Jeremy smiled. He leaned against the door frame, with one leg bent and crossed in front of the other, and interlaced his arms across his chest. He cocked his head a bit, ran his tongue across his teeth, and licked his lips. He wondered if she'd intended to be caught, or if he was simply just this fucking lucky.

Patricia's back arched, she squealed a bit, and nearly rose from the floor as every muscle in her body clenched in orgasmic rush. She cried out, grunted in a rather unladylike way, and her face pinched, as if in pain. Her thighs clamped on her hand, as if unwilling to let it go. But within seconds, Patricia lay on the floor, one leg bent, knee pointing to the ceiling, and the other splayed to the side, exposing her glistening cunt toward the door. Toward Jeremy...who was clapping, slowly, and emphatically.

Patricia smiled to herself before pretending to be horrified with surprise.




P.S. Head on over to the Masturbation Monday page to see what everyone else has come up with for this photo prompt. Delicious, isn't she?

Caveat Emptor

The man in the suit was speaking to them both, "I want you to lie down in front of the window. People will be filing past, and that will give them the best view."

"What exactly do you want us to do?" asked Callie, the shorter of the two, and younger by a few years. Her short curly hair, matched the short curly hair between her legs, which the man was looking at now. She followed his gaze and looked down. "Do you want me to shave it?"

"No. It's fine. Everyone has their preferences, and I'm sure someone will like to see what you've got there. Besides, there's no time."

Emily, who was already shaved hairless as a babe, looked at Callie, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes. It's easy money. And you'll be here with me. I'll be fine." Callie looked away.

The man in the suit continued with his brief instructions, "The crowd will begin filtering in around 10. They'll wander past, gaze in...but some will linger, so try to change it up a bit - don't always do the same thing. Don't ever forget you have an audience, and making them happy is what I'm paying you for."

"Simple enough," Callie mumbled, and glanced away. She was obviously afraid, and ashamed.

The man left them alone in the room. They had thirty minutes to prepare for the "show." Emily put her arm around Callie's bare shoulders, "Are you really sure? We can find other ways to pay the rent."

"No. I mean, yes...I'm sure. And no...this is easiest. And no one's sticking their cock in me. I'm safe here."

"You're always safe with me, Callie."

"I know. I just wish we didn't have to work so hard to make it."

"It won't always be this way, Cal. It won't."

Callie looked up into Emily's amber eyes. Emily always tried to keep her up, but Callie hovered just above rock-bottom no matter what Emily did.

"Just keep your eyes on me, Cal."

"Okay."

Callie took her place on the bed, her head just below the dark window. Emily lay beside her, resting her hand supportively on Callie's muscled thigh. It was tense, and Callie's face was cemented into a frown.

"You should smile, Callie. Our tips rely on how happy we make our audience."

"I know," she whispered. "What am I supposed to do? Just fuck myself?"

"Just take your time, Cal. These guys just want to see you enjoy yourself."

"That's rich, Emily. You know that ain't gonna happen."

"You could try, Callie. Just close your eyes."

What I would do with you...

I wish I could catch you with your eyes closed, in the mussed up, white cotton sheets, doused in early morning sunlight, your hand wrapped around your erect cock, massaging yourself to ecstasy. I know it would take awhile. And I know you would be less excited about the outcome than if you were coming inside of me. But...I like to watch your hand move...slowly at first...then faster, the skin of your shaft pulling up over the head like it was made especially for that purpose.

I'd smile as I tip-toed to the foot of the bed, as quiet as a breeze. And as soon as my hands pressed into the mattress, you'd start, your eyes wide, caught in the act. But then you soften, and smile. You might put your hands behind your head, silently telling what you expected with your eyes. That slight lowering of the lids. The hint of a smile. I would know what you wanted.

If I were there, I would wrap my hand around yours and feel the muscles in your fingers working. And then I might take over. I might move your hand out of the way, placing my own around the base of your dick...maybe hold and caress your balls for a few seconds...maybe kiss them...lick them. And I'd probably take the head of your cock into my mouth, taking all of you in to moisten your skin with my spit so I could work my hand up and down without pulling your skin. I'd try to mimic the speed of your earlier movements, finding a rhythm that would make your eyes roll back...that perfect tempo that draws a moan from deep in your chest, like a deep rumble that you breathe out in a sigh.

When you began to writhe, I'd likely move on top of you, lying my naked body on yours, letting my weight press my breasts against your hot chest. I'd kiss your neck, nibble your ear lobe, and maybe whisper something like, "How do you want me to fuck you today, Daddy?"

You'd likely move your hands to my hips, pushing me up and guiding me slowly down onto your hungry cock. The subtle movements of your fingers would drive me left and right, forward and back, my skin well-trained to listen to the demands of your touch.

I would move more quickly to match the increased speed of your breath, rocking back and forth on your cock, feeling it hit the spot that makes me melt, over and over, until I'd spill my release. You'd feel it dripping across your balls, soaking the sheet beneath you.

And you'd come.

With your hands grabbing my thighs, you'd groan and pulse, your abdominal muscles tightening, forcing your breath to become quick and shallow.


I'd relax my weight onto you, run my hands through the hair on your chest, and smile.

If I were there, that's what I'd do.

The sweetest perfume

Today, I wore a skirt to do housework. Sans panties. And every time I squatted down, knees spread, and felt the cool air kiss my cunt, I couldn't help but smile. A few times, I reached down and touched myself, slipped a finger inside. I wondered if Daddy would notice. I didn't want to tell him, I just kept my mind racing by waiting to see.

It wasn't until mid afternoon, when he needed to take a shower and get ready for work, that he asked me to bend over the edge of the bed so he could fuck me. When he flipped up my skirt and was greeted by a bare ass, he had to have known I'd been uncovered the whole day.

What he didn't know, is that after he fucked me, his wetness still between my thighs, I lay down on the bedroom floor and fucked myself to the sound of the water running in the shower.

My fingers smelled like "us" when I was done. Knowing I'd wash them, I rubbed both wrists across my wet pussy.

Every once in a while, I smell them and smile.

Unsatisfied

She stood next to his chair and imagined him untying her robe to expose her body. He'd touch her belly, caress her breasts, and likely pinch her left nipple, the one that drove her crazy. He would be rewarded with that delightful squeal that encouraged him to continue torturing her...gently of course. But tonight, the chair was empty.

Swinging her left leg up and over the arm of the chair, she lowered herself to feel the pressure of it against her pubic bone. Moving slowly, she gently rocked herself back and forth and slipped her hands inside her robe to fondle her breasts. She was sure to squeeze each nipple until they were hard, sending their pulse along a wire directly connected to her swelling clitoris.

Quietly, she felt the moan escape her barely parted lips, and she closed her eyes.

She wouldn't come this way. But as she held herself up, one foot planted in the seat cushion and one firmly on the floor, her thighs taut, she imagined his scent and the feel of his warms hands touching her skin.

She opened her eyes and licked her lips, slipping two fingers into her mouth, sucking them, and retracting them -- glistening with saliva.

Since she wasn't wearing panties, it was easy to simply lift herself a bit off of the chair, inserting both fingers deep inside of herself. Letting her weight back down, she rode her fingers, feeling them wiggle within her like ribbons dancing in a windstorm.

She imagined his hand there, between her thighs, clasping her entire sex in the palm of his hand. She tried to feel his fingers, thicker than her own, stronger, owning her, hooking into her,

Right hand still squeezing her right breast, fingers pinching the nipple harder and harder, she sighed with exasperation.

It wouldn't do.

Standing slowly, pulling her fingers out, unsatisfied , she lowered herself beside his chair.

On her knees, she closed her eyes, bit her bottom lip, and sighed.

She would just have to wait until he got home.

It's been a long time since I gave you all a picture. Figured it was high time I flashed you one.

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