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Laura and I had talked about self-love before (for some reason we never said the word “masturbate” or “masturbation”). Yet I was still surprised by her request, that cozy winter Friday night before we nodded off in each other’s arms in my sparse off-campus college bedroom. We had been an item at university for several months now, and pretty much every Friday night since we had first met in the Fall, we had spent at one of our rooms, depending on which roommates had vacated for the weekend or that particular evening. I had come to savor each one, looking forward to Friday night as soon as classes had resumed again on Monday mornings.
Our conversations had circled around what our first sexual self-discoveries had been like, how we had found ourselves pleasuring ourselves more often at certain times of year or some situations more than others. She was unusually candid — I had never had a lover who had expressed so much interest in sexual matters before, not like I had a long list — who was as honest and forward about nearly everything. I had even managed to confide that I had sucked my high school buddy Lenny’s penis more than once and told stories about our little ejaculation contests and other adolescent explorations.
“I’d like to see you pleasure yourself next week,” she said in her soft voice.
“Huh?” I said, not sure I had heard her right.
“I’d like to see you stroke your penis. I’d like to see what you do, or what you used to do, when you were horny as all hell, had an evening to yourself, and no one to help out.”
“Why do you wanna see that?” I asked, actually quite puzzled.
“Well, I’ve gotten to know your body pretty well,” she said, rubbing my chest while we huddled under the blankets, the February Wisconsin night wind rattling the windows and reminding us of how nice it was to have each other and our bodies entwined for warmth. “I know what I like to do to arouse you.”
“Doesn’t always take much,” I laughed. Just watching herself slip out of her clothes in the evening was enough to send tremors of pleasure through my ardent cock. She had long taffy-colored hair and smooth, supple breasts that fit nicely in my hands. When her jeans slid down her slender hips, my penis would twitch involuntarily.
“I know, but I know arousal from my perspective and it would be fun to see what you do. Where you touch yourself, what you do to yourself.”
I thought for a minute. It was a request that took me aback, one that I needed to process a bit. Self-pleasure had always pretty much been a private affair. As soon as this thought popped into my head I knew it was inaccurate; not only had Lenny and I done our little fun activities together, but we had sometimes had other horny friends around too, with hard impatient cocks ready for relief of some sort. But for the most part, stroking my penis was something I had done alone, in bed, at night, in the dark with just my own overheated thoughts for accompaniment. It would feel funny to be rubbing up my prick in front of Laura, who would presumably want the lights on and such.
On the other hand, while I couldn’t totally identify her motives, it did occur to me that if she saw me go through my self-pleasure routine, she would be in a position, so to speak, of learning something else about my body and how it dealt with arousal. And if that was interesting to her, why should I argue? She had proven a willing lover, one who early on had put my own pleasure on the same level as hers. It was entirely likely that whatever she learned she would put to use, and the more I considered the matter, the more attractive the request became.
“Okay,” I murmured, drifting off to sleep.
“Next week?” she asked.
“Okay,” I whispered.
It occurred to me by around Wednesday the next week that Laura was also about due for her menstrual period, which then made a little more sense.
That next Friday night at my place as we got ready for bed she began with a question. “So what did you normally do if you were dying for a climax? Did you just hop into bed and get comfortable?” Her smile was soft, the little dimple on her chin as endearing as ever, her hair loose around her shoulders.
I laughed and had to think. canlı bahis “Sometimes, but it all depended.”
“What were your most exciting times?” she asked, relentless, her questions often taking me off-guard.
“Well, usually when I hadn’t come in awhile.” It was her turn to laugh.
“Well, we know very well you came three times last weekend,” she giggled, “the last one a nice one too.” I remembered all too well that last Sunday morning, when I had been awakened to the feel of her mouth on my prick, in its early-morning hardness phase. She had, all too quickly, delicately and thoroughly, drained my testicles before we even had breakfast. The thought of her lips and tongue at work that morning made my prick stir in my undershorts.
“Well, now that you ask, my favorite times were always when I could see myself,” I replied.
“So the light would be on?” she asked, eyebrows arching in curiosity.
“Not only that, not just that I could see my own body, but I had a mirror of some sort.”
Her eyebrows went up a little higher. “Oh?”
“It was fun,” I said, a little embarrassed, “to see my prick go through its phases of erection. I would watch it in the mirror while it was still just dangling. Sometimes, all it would take was thinking about what it would feel like when I would finally touch it, and it would harden in front of my eyes. Before my fingers ever got there.” I remembered charting its progress through the stages of excitement, my hanging balls rising up into the tightened skin of my scrotum, my prickshaft lengthening and thickening, the head of my cock growing excruciatingly sensitive to the slightest touch.
Her eyes softened and gleamed with interest. It didn’t sound so strange to be telling her this.
“It is awfully nice to see your penis get hard,” she said.
She looked around the room. There was nothing that would serve as a mirror anywhere. We had a mirror in the bathroom but my roommate Paul and I just used it the way you always used bathroom mirrors, for shaving and combing, all that stuff.
“Be right back,” she said and went into the bathroom.
She came back in a few minutes.
“Got a Phillips screwdriver here anywhere?”
“Yeah, try the top drawer of my desk, right side.”
She found the screwdriver, trotted to the bathroom and returned less than five minutes later with the bathroom mirror, handily removed from its frame.
“You sure look pleased with yourself,” I remarked.
She did look amused. “Yep, let’s see, what if I put it here?” She propped it up on a chair.
“Did you do your cock-show standing up? Or did you lie down and look at your big manly tool in action that way?” Her smile wasn’t mocking, just interested.
“Both,” I admitted. She smiled.
“Okay,” she said. “We’re on. Let me do one thing first though.”
She insisted on disrobing me herself, carefully removing each article of clothing and putting them carefully away. We had cranked the heat up in the room so we would be comfortable without any clothes on.
“Already we are inauthentic,” I said. “Look at this!”
My prick stood ramrod straight, pointing at the ceiling. Just having her pull off my undershorts was all the excitement it could take.
She laughed. “That’s okay, we got all night.” She asked me all sorts of other questions, about things completely unrelated to sex or relationships or anything. When my prick had dropped back to semi-hard condition, dangling but not entirely relaxed, she raised her eyebrows again.
“I will just watch from the bed,” she said. “Talk to me as much you want, but if you want to stay silent the whole time, that’s okay too. But I would enjoy hearing about what is going through your mind.”
“Okay,” I said. I am not quite sure what I was thinking right then. It wasn’t so much stage nervousness, although that was present too, but just not knowing exactly what this was going to be like.
“Can I ask you a favor?” I began.
“Would you take your top off?”
She laughed. “That’s not very authentic either.”
“Less so than you think,” I replied. “Lots of times what would get me started was thinking about some girl’s body. If bahis siteleri I had known you in high school all it would have taken was imagining your beautiful chest, a remembered glimpse of a nipple pressing on your blouse earlier in the day, for me to get turned on.”
I had reached down and had gently begun running my fingertips around my prickhead, always my starting point.
She smiled and pulled off her top, a cotton pullover. She hadn’t worn a bra this evening, always a pleasure to me, so as she pulled the top over her head I could see her breasts drop back down after the cloth had pulled up on them. Her nipples were dark and hard, one of her most handsome features. Her long hair draped on her angular shoulders. She sat back down on the bed.
“Okay, here’s your erotic image,” she smiled, and crossed her hands behind her head, so her breasts spread apart in front of me, their soft heft of intense allure.
A little shudder of pleasure ran through me, and my prick began its delightful little journey from expectant semi-hard to its ultimate fullness.
“So turn towards the mirror,” she suggested.
I found that if I positioned myself right, I could attend to my cock, pretty much the way I used to, but also still have Laura in my sight-lines too. It was a double bonus, to tell the truth
Before I had any girlfriends to speak of, I could entertain myself for an hour or longer sometimes, before the desire for release would get the upper hand. Tonight I wasn’t in any hurry, but things were different.
I pulled my prick around in front of the mirror, watching it grow into its steel-rod condition. I was keenly aware of Laura’s intent gaze. She looked right at me, and my cock, and then checked out the mirror image too, trying to figure out what it would look like from my point of view. Many times I would stop touching it entirely, just looking at its proud and insistent stiffness from a variety of angles, until it began its descent to a half-hard status. For some reason I have never figured out, the semi-hard state is the most arousing one, you have an eager anticipation that changes once you get to the rock-hard-now-it’s-time-to-come phase.
I turned myself around in a variety of directions, marveling at just how nice my cock looked from different perspectives, the firm underside, the veins standing out, the shadows my glans-ridge made. All the while sliding my fingers lightly around my prickhead, or rummaging around my balls, now pulled up tight against my groin. I would wave it around, or pull it down with one hand and let it go so it would slap back against my belly with a smack. Lenny and I used to call all these activities “Operation Cock Worship” and I think one time, after a few purloined beers, we had gotten carried away and started doing little ritual things to our pricks, like we were praying to them in some sort of ceremony. “Oh Mighty Cock of Lenny, we pray that you will soon erupt, and send multiple seed amongst your faithful, that you, strong and powerful prick, will be ever lustful, ever hard, basting cunts from shore to shore…” we went on and on, waving our cocks around and laughing our heads off until we had splattered ourselves with semen.
Sometimes I would pull up close to the mirror so I could admire my tool, pulling at my ballsack and watching my prick twitch. Sometimes I would just stop and look at it, or make it bob up and down by squeezing my groin muscles. This in particular seemed to amuse Laura.
“Come here a second,” she said once. “Do that in front of me.” I stood not six inches from her face, bobbing my swollen organ in front of her face. She examined the shaft and then looked closely at my balls.
“Look at this!” she exclaimed. I looked down, and saw my balls moving around in their sack, like they were restless.
“Yeah, they do that,” I said. “Don’t know why.”
She looked with astonishment, “It’s like they’re alive!” she said, as my balls oscillated about in their hairy home.
“Well, they are,” I retorted. “They’re thinking of you!”
We both laughed.
“You know the main trouble with this little exercise?” I said. “I want to be putting my penis up you,” I indicated her groin.
“Not bahis şirketleri here?” pointing at her mouth, her lips in an inviting smile.
“That’s fine too,” I returned her smile.
“No, not tonight,” she shook her head. “I will make good on you tomorrow, promise, but tonight I want to see you finish yourself, by yourself.”
“Would you ejaculate in front of the mirror, standing up?” she suddenly asked.
“Not usually, but I have certainly done it.” I debated confessing to her than I was actually able to put my prickhead in my own mouth. It was a lot of effort, and took some heavy duty contorting while I laid on my shoulders with my legs stretched out in back of my head. Not all that comfortable to be honest, but it sure felt nice to be able to tongue your own penis, my prickhead pointing down, then my lips closing over my smooth engorged head. Maybe I would tell her about this later, but I had a feeling that that little trick might remain secret forever.
“Instead,” I continued, “once I feel like I am anxious to come, I usually lie down like this.”
I settled in next to her on the bed. I could still see myself in the mirror. “At this point, it feels so good to pull on my balls,” I muttered, as I reached down and worked my testicles around. Sometimes at home I would scoot my rear into a pillow while I fondled my balls, enjoying the pressure generated at the space between my balls and anus.
“Ah, fluid,” she murmured, looking at the tip of my prick. Sure enough a little drop of that wonderful clear fluid was perched right at my prickhead. I put my right forefinger in it and smeared it around my increasingly anxious glans. Up until this time, I could get away with touching my penis without any fluid, if I was soft and gentle. But now it wanted liquid lubrication.
I spat into the palm of my right hand, and placed it on the top of my prickhead, moving it in a circular motion onto my prick, until my hips were squirming about, and my whole cock glistening wet.
I stopped for a few minutes while Laura examined my prick from top to bottom, balls to piss-hole.
“Lemme see you finish yourself,” she whispered.
I complied, although at this stage I often looked less at the proceedings, sometimes just closing my eyes and imagining someone, in this case Laura, doing wonderful things to me, or just focusing on the nerve endings along every inch of my cock.
I never forgot my balls though, and kept one hand always on them, squeezing gently and running them about in their overheated sack. I would run my fingers along the shaft, circle the glans, and finally when I could stand it no longer, I made a fist of my right hand, thumb and forefinger making a ring, and pulled rapidly up and down on my shaft. This took all of a minute or two before I started spurting semen all over my belly. The build up had been a pretty good one, probably heightened by the presence of my handsome audience, and my second spurt went up six inches or so, towards my chest. I kept both hands on my prick, pulling slowly and gently on my shaft and glans, milking out the last drop of semen. It always amazed me just how nice it was to coax that last little bit out, dragging little whimpers of pleasure along with it.
Finally I lay back. My prick still stiff and linear on my belly, but starting to shrink, headfirst as it were. The prickhead always diminished first, and was quite tender for several minutes. If I stayed lying down, my shaft would stay fairly decent-sized for awhile, but if I got up to pee or something, just a few steps of it swinging about seemed to shrink it down double-time.
But tonight Laura was busy examining my prick and balls, looking closely at the pools of semen on my belly. Somewhat to my surprise, she gathered a bit of the semen and rubbed it around my balls. She had played with my semen before but never with this much attention.
That night after we turned the light off and settled in to bed, she said she thought we should get ourselves a bigger mirror for the room.
“So you can watch me jerk myself off every night?” I snorted.
“No, no,” she murmured. “So we can watch ourselves make love.”
Ah, now that was an idea I could get my head around. I held her close and let me mind wander among the possibilities of watching her suck me off in the mirror and a million other images, and then happily dropped off in the sleep that comes after a ball draining spend.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32