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We were sitting on the couch one evening, enjoying the last of a bottle of wine that we’d been sipping steadily as we watched a movie. It was one of those romcoms with a sexy twist, not porn by any means, but with some nice bodies on display and one very engaging sex scene. So as the movie ended we were both a little drunk and a little horny. And I wasn’t very surprised when my husband, without any overt physical or verbal preliminaries, turned to me and said, kind of mock-formally, “Would you be so kind as to masturbate me?”
My husband loves being masturbated. He loves fucking too, of course, but there is something about being masturbated that gives him a special thrill. He says its partly a physical thing – the sensation of a woman’s hands on his cock which feels different – not better, but different – from the feeling he gets as his cock slides in and out of her slick moist pussy.
But he says it is also a mental thing – the power dynamic I guess. The feeling of being under the woman’s control, as she draws him deeper and deeper into the throes of sexual passion, while she stays aloof and relatively disengaged. His need gives her power – her power to transform him from a sober responsible and respectable man into a panting, jerking, gasping animal focused on nothing but the feeling of her hands on his cock and the engrossing irresistible urgency of his approaching orgasmic ejaculation.
I understood this part of it better after I’d watched him being masturbated by another woman once a couple of years ago. We were strolling back to our hotel one evening after a big formal dinner in another city. Along the way, as we passed down a rather posh and relatively quiet street, he paused before an unremarkable but well-presented house with a discreet and rather enigmatic sign on the gate. ‘Writhe’, it read.
‘What’s this place?’ I asked.
‘This is where, for a modest price, cute young ladies take off their clothes and masturbate you. I think I’ve mentioned it.’ Indeed he had. He’d told me that he’d visited a few times when he’d been in this city alone for work.
‘Do you want to go in now?’ I asked.
‘Sure, if you’ll come too.’
‘Of course, wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
And so, a few minutes later, I found myself sitting in a comfortable chair in a tastefully-decorated room, watching a petite and very pretty and self-possessed young woman with a superb figure kneel in front of my husband as he stood over her. She was naked, he was naked from the waist down. He had shed his trousers and boxers, but still wore his shirt and tie and suit coat. His cock stood up stiff and large and lewd and primal beneath this civilised garb, making a striking and exiting contrast. As she oiled his cock and started to stroke I saw at once what he’d meant by the power dynamic. I watched as this powerful and successful man, so poised and urbane, was transformed by this woman as she stroked his cock into that panting, shuddering animal, utterly consumed by the most basic of urges – the urge to ejaculate. Which, after ten very intense minutes, he did – all over her beautiful tits.
She was good, but she didn’t have much to teach me. Because the other reason my husband loves being masturbated is that I’m really good at it. And as I responded to his request that evening on the couch, by reaching over and undoing his fly and pushing his pants down over his hips and fondling his cock, my mind went back many years, to my undergraduate days and the sweet boy who taught me how to masturbate a man to orgasm, and taught me too how to enjoy my own orgasm at a man’s hands.
It was my first year in college. Like many girls, I set off for University eager for a lot of sex with a lot of guys. I guess I expected eventually to find a ‘boyfriend’ and have some kind of committed relationship with him, but I was in no rush. I was more than happy to play the field for a while until the right guy came along.
So I had my share of adventures, including quite a few one-night stands. And I can’t say I didn’t enjoy them. I did! There is something about the brazen horniness of it all, the preliminary flirting, the all-too-obvious signals, the first uncertain kiss, the swift urgent fumbling, the delightfully slutty feeling when you allow your thighs to part a little to encourage a man you only just met to feel your pussy and slide his fingers into your pussy, the heady moment when all your clothes have come off and you display your naked body to him, the moment of truth when you lie back and open your legs for him and invite him to push his cock into your body, the strange and electrifying voyeur/exhibitionist sensation of watching a man you hardly know at his most private and vulnerable, and of knowing that he is watching you at your most private and vulnerable… oh, yes, I loved all that.
But one night stands have their limits. The actual sex is often pretty ho-hum, and occasionally downright unpleasant. There is the ever-present potential for embarrassment – do I remember his name, does he remember mine? And the sometimes awkward task of making it clear to someone who decides they want Escort to try an encore that this really was a one night stand.
For all these reasons I found myself looking for something half-way between a steady boyfriend and a series of one night stands. Without thinking much about it, I found myself developing a series of, well, ‘arrangements’ one might call them, with about half a dozen guys. These days you’d call them ‘friends with benefits’. They certainly weren’t ‘boyfriends’. They were not even really part of my closer circle of friends – the people I’d normally go to a movie or a play with, or go to dinner with. They were just guys who I’d fuck.
It was all very casual. Often I’d just bump into one or other of them around campus, and we’d have a coffee or a drink, and then drift back to his room or mine and we’d fuck. But sometimes if I was at a loose end and feeling randy I would call one of them up and ask if he would like to drop round. And sometimes one of them would call me up and ask if I was ‘available’. With some of them it became a bit of a joke. One of us would literally call the other and say ‘Can I come round for a quick fuck?’ Usually the answer was ‘Yes please’.
I have to say that the sex with these guys was great. We got to know one another sexually, and knew what worked for one another. They were all, to some degree, sweet, interesting, impressive and good looking guys, so it was nice to spend time with them. And there was plenty of variety. The membership of my ‘harem’, as I sometimes thought of it, varied as old ones dropped off and new ones joined. Plus I still had a few one night stands, which is how I found new men to add to my harem. So all in all I had a lot of sex. It was great.
But what has this to do with masturbation? Well, the answer is that one of my regulars refused to actually fuck me. Let me tell you the story from the beginning. It started the way these things usually do. We had known one another slightly, as friends of friends, for a while. One night, drinking in a larger group at a local pub, we found ourselves talking. Joe was fun and interesting, super-smart and serious – and good looking. I was feeling frisky. He seemed interested. We went through the usual moves and, as the evening drew to a close, ended up leaving together.
I put my arm through his as he walked me back to my college. He pulled me close and put his arm around me. I turned my face up towards his, offering myself for a kiss. He kissed me, first a brush of the lips, then his tongue in my mouth and mine in his. His hand brushed my breast through my shirt. I ran my hand up his back under his shirt. ‘Come back to my room’ I whispered, and off we went. All very normal, all very nice.
Things stayed normal when we got to my room, at least at first. Our clothes were soon off. He kissed my breasts and fondled my pussy. I squeezed his cock and caressed his balls. But then things went astray. I lay back and opened my legs for him. I grabbed his cock and drew him towards me, intent on guiding him into my pussy. He loomed above me, seemingly all ready to push himself into me, and I was pretty desperate for him to do so. I really wanted that feeling of my pussy bring filled by a nice big cock – and his cock was nice and big.
But he refused. ‘Sorry Kate, I’m not going to do that’.
I thought he was joking. ‘Do what?’ I asked.
‘Have sexual intercourse with you,’ he replied. Yes, he actually said ‘sexual intercourse’!
‘What? Why not?’
‘Well, I just don’t think its right,’ he said. ‘I know it might seem a bit weird, but I do think that sexual intercourse outside marriage is wrong…a sin, in fact, and…’
The penny dropped. I knew Joe was a Catholic, and that he was living in a fairly strict Catholic college, so I might have guessed that he must have been pretty devout. But not that devout! Over the months that followed we talked about this whole issue quite a lot. Like many devout Catholics he struggled to reconcile the church’s strict teachings on sex with the attitudes of society and with his own rather warm and sensual nature. His answer was to enjoy all that sex had to offer up to but not including actual intercourse.
Eventually I learned to accept this, and even to admire his discipline and self-control. But that first night I was disappointed, and challenged. I couldn’t believe that a sane and heathy man with his cock standing up hard like a flagpole could resist the urge to slide it into my warm, moist and very eager pussy. Certainly no man had ever declined the invitation of my open thighs before. For half an hour I kept trying to tempt him. As we kissed and fondled and fingered one another I tried to manoeuvre myself into a position that I could drive myself down onto his cock, but each time he wriggled away before his cock touched my pussy lips. Eventually he looked at me, smiling but obviously serious, and said ‘Hey, just quit that, will you? I really don’t want to do that. So can’t we just relax and enjoy one another in other ways? Otherwise I’ll have to get dressed and leave.’
I felt a little abashed at that, and Escort Bayan a bit intrigued. ‘Ok,’ I said. ‘I promise I won’t try to get you to fuck me. So what do you want to do with me?’ I found I really didn’t want him to go, and I was horny enough to go along with whatever he suggested, given that the straightforward fuck I had been expecting was now off the agenda. But I didn’t know what he had in mind.
The fact was that, although I had been fucking very regularly for a couple of years by then, my sexual experience was actually rather limited. Each of my many sexual encounters had followed a pretty similar pattern. Once the clothes were off the guy would kiss and stroke my breasts, I’d squeeze and stroke his cock, he’d finger my pussy a bit. Maybe I’d give his cock a quick suck. Maybe he’d give my pussy a quick lick. And then we’d fuck, he’d cum, and we’d be done.
And here is a secret I’d kept very much to myself in those days. No guy had ever, up to this time, given me an orgasm. It certainly didn’t mean that I didn’t enjoy being fucked – I did, loved it. But I’ve always found it hard to reach an orgasm simply by having a cock inside my pussy. And no guy had ever taken the time and trouble to try to give me an orgasm any other way. They’d fingered my pussy of course, sliding their fingers along my slit and up into my pussy, but none of them had focused on it long enough to find my clit and give it the attention it needed to bring me to climax. Likewise I’d had plenty of guys lick my pussy, but again not with the care and attention and patience required to make me cum. This didn’t bother me much. In fact I hardly expected anything different, and I certainly never asked the guys I was fucking to pay more attention to my pleasure. I made it easy for them to be rather selfish lovers.
And the truth is I was a rather selfish lover myself. I loved the sensations of a man mounting me, of his cock in my pussy, of his body enfolding mine, of his weight on top of me, of the thrusting and pounding as he pushed into me, of the gamey, sweaty smell of a rutting male, of his cum streaming into me. It was easy for me to enjoy all of this. It didn’t require much effort on my part. I’d just open my legs and let a guy have his way. The other things I might have done to give a man pleasure, with my hands or my mouth, all seemed like a lot of work and much less fun for me. I’d rub and squeeze their cocks, and give them a quick lick and a suck, but I’d never taken the time to work out how to bring the off that way. I tended to skip all that and just fuck.
So Joe’s answer to my question about what he wanted to do with me was rather challenging. ‘I want you to masturbate me,’ he said. ‘And I’d like to masturbate you.’ I thought it was quaint that he used that word, rather than any one of the dozens of slang words available, but I liked it. In fact I’ve always loved the word, and the deed itself. I started masturbating myself very early on, and had if I was alone it was rare for a night to pass without me fingering my pussy and stroking my breasts until I came. But I was nervous at the thought of trying to please him that way, and unsure about whether he could please me that way either.
So it was in a rather hesitant tone of voice that I replied ‘OK, we can try that. But I’m not very good at it…’.
‘Don’t worry,’ Joe replied. ‘It’s not difficult, but there are a few tricks that I’ll be happy to teach you. And I’d like you to teach me how to give you a nice orgasm with my fingers…’.
‘OK!’ I said with more enthusiasm. ‘Let’s start with you. What do you want me to do?’
‘Great!’ he said, as he rolled off the bed and stood up beside it. ‘First thing is position. I like to start off standing up, and its best if you sit on the bed in front of me. That makes it easy for you too – not too tiring for your arms!’
I swung myself round to sit on the edge of the bed, and he stood in front of me between my open legs, placing his hands on my shoulders. His erect cock swayed in front of me, and I reached out to grasp it.
‘Do you have any lube?’ he asked.
‘Sure, of course!’ and I delved into my little bedside cupboard for the bottle of baby oil that I kept there. I squeezed a pool of the oil into the palm of my hand and began to slather it over his cock. My hands are quite small and his cock was quite big so I could take him in both hands and I began to slide them up and down his now very slippery oily shaft. He gasped softly, and his knees sagged slightly as he began to rock his hips gently in time to my strokes. His eyelids fluttered and his face took on that inward look that a man gets when the sensations from his cock take over his mind.
‘That’s gorgeous’, he muttered a little breathlessly. ‘Now, go a bit slower…..squeeze a bit tighter…urrgh…no, don’t go over the head of my cock, it is too sensitive…that’s it….perfect….a bit tighter still…ahhh…’
His head tipped back and his mouth hung open a little and the tip of his tongue peeped out between his teeth as he panted with pleasure, his exhalations coming out in a little woosh which he Bayan Escort timed with the gentle thrusting of his hips as he pushed his cock into my hands. His own hands slid from my shoulders and onto my breasts, and he started to fondle and knead them deliciously.
‘You could stroke my balls….’ he muttered between gasps, so I took one hand off his cock and began very gently to fondle and caress his balls as they hung in his scrotum, swinging a little with the rocking of his body.
‘Yes, yes, yesss…that’s heavenly…’
‘Oil my tits for me?’ I asked. I love having baby oil slathered over my breasts when they are being stoked like that. I took my hand off his balls and passed him the bottle. He squeezed some oil over my breasts and began to rub it around the with one hand. With the other he squeezed another dollop of oil into my cupped hands which I then slathered over his balls and his cock, and kept stroking.
Now we were settled into a nice little rhythm, and I found myself looking at Joe as he loomed over me. He had a lovely body, quite tall, well-muscled but not too much, and it was beautiful to watch his torso as he tensed and flexed while my hands on his cock and around his balls drew him closer to ejaculation. His nicely-sculpted chest heaved and the muscles of his tight, hard tummy flexed and rippled alluringly, while his lean, strong thighs tensed and bulged as he rocked his hips back and forth. And his cock felt superb in my hands. It was big, as I’ve said, and quite thick – my hand couldn’t close around it – and incredibly hard, and it had a slight upward curve which I found very sexy, and I loved the feeling of its hardness and its silkiness and the ridge along the underside where I knew his semen would soon be surging up…
It wasn’t long before I sensed that he was getting close to cuming, and after a little while he looked down at me and said, a little breathlessly, ‘Let’s change position to finish off.’
‘Sure,’ I said. What do you want?’
‘Lie back on the bed,’ which I did, facing upwards, and he then climbed on top of me. He knelt with his legs apart, his knees on either side of my hips. He leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of my head, so he was on all fours with his body suspended above mine. His cock hovered above my belly, and his balls hung down heavily between his parted thighs. I took his cock in one hand and his balls in the other and began to stroke and fondle him again.
“How am I doing?” I asked.
“Beautiful, beautiful, perfect… squeeze a bit harder…stroke a bit slower….slower….harder…”
As we got our rhythm going again he bucked and writhed with every stroke. His head hung down over mine, his long floppy fringe of hair brushing my forehead. I had an incredibly vivid sense of his body as it rocked and flexed so close to mine, and I found – and here was the lovely surprise – that I could appreciate his body more, enjoy it more, this way that I would have if we’d been fucking. I’d never been this close to a man in his sexual frenzy without having his cock in my pussy, and when that is happening I’m inevitably preoccupied with my own sensations as I feel him move into me and inside me. This was different. Now I could focus on what he was feeling and doing, and I found I really loved to watch him.
Apart from anything else, I actually kept my eyes open! When I’m being fucked I nearly always have my eyes closed, but now my eyes were open and taking everything in. I gazed at his face as it loomed above me. It was quite transformed by his extreme arousal, his eyes closed, his lower jaw gone slack, mouth now hanging quite open, his tongue lolling out a little. I looked down at his beautiful cock, pointing towards me, as my hand surged up and down along its curved length, and his balls swung gently in my other hand, their weight a promise of sheer animal potency.
Above all I found I loved the feeling of power that it gave me, with his cock in my hands and my strokes and caresses causing him to convulse and writhe and moan with pleasure. And his smell – his sex-sweat, all gamey and sharp and, well, manly. I was incredibly turned on.
After a few seconds he rasped out ‘I want to cum on your tits…please can I cum on your tits?’
I kind of moaned in reply. ‘You can cum wherever you like,’ I said. ‘Cum all over me please, please…’
And he did. Uttering a kind of feral yowl, he lifted his knees off the bed and took his weight on his toes, so he was now crouching above me on all fours, like the animal he’d become at that moment. At the same time he thrust his hips forward and I felt the surge of semen in his cock. I squeezed him tight and felt his superb cock twitch and surge and pulsate in my hand as, from deep within his loins his body pumped his semen up and out of his cock. I watched transfixed as his semen gushed from him in half a dozen long, strong spurts. Many times I’d felt it happen when men had ejaculated their loads of semen into me, into my pussy, but I’d never seen this magic sight before, or felt the warm sticky milky ropes of cum as they splashed across my body. I felt the sticky, slimy warmth on my skin. And I saw his sweet boyish face go rigid, his chin sagging, his mouth hanging half open and his tongue visible, his breath coming in short sharp urgent little burst, like a little animal panting.
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