I wake to the feel of him stirring next to me, to milky light filtering in the window, to the sound of birds just outside. I am curled away from him, but feel his warmth against my shoulders, back & hips. As noted before, he’s a morning sex guy, and I wait, barely breathing, to see what he will do. Will it be another morning like this one?
But as I feel him begin to move, I realize it is not to be. I feel his hand move down, but instead of reaching for me, he reaches for himself, for the cock that I can already sense is half erect, and begins to stroke it, slowly, deliberately. He is quiet, but not stealthy, for there is no shame in what he does, and in fact he knows I will often wake just as he is reaching his climax and lay there, my cunt throbbing, vicariously savoring his pleasure.
Today is such a day. I lay still, and listen to the sounds of his breathing as it grows more urgent, more ragged. I feel every movement of his hand as he slowly strokes down the shaft of his long, beautiful penis and back up again, pausing just as his fist closes over the head, squeezing once, twice, and then pushing downward again. It is a rhythm all his own, but one I have grown to know as intimately as I know my own. I’ve learned to mimic that rhythm with both my hands and mouth, and I follow his movements in my mind, feeling his body tensing as the orgasm builds inside him. His hand moves quicker then, and suddenly he isn’t stroking so much as fucking himself, faster and harder, his breath coming in ragged gasps and his body tensing and arching up from the bed. And then, suddenly, his breath catches, he moans, pumps his fist up and down one more time, and it is over. I imagine his semen sliding over his fingers. I long to turn over and lap it up from his hand like a dog. But before I can move he slips quietly out of the bed to begin his day.
I lay there and listen to the shower turning on, imagine him washing the cum off his fingers, and reach my hand down to my pussy. I wore panties to sleep in the night before and they are soaked. I push them aside and slide a finger, then two, inside myself. I run my slippery fingers over my lips, to my clit, and back down again. I wonder what he thinks about he is masturbating–does he think about fucking me? Someone else? This is one thing he doesn’t often share with me. ‘They’re just images,’ he says. ‘I hardly recall them after. No big deal.’
Sometimes I masturbate like that too, with just a serious of random images in my head. But usually my dirty fantasies are pretty specific. This time I imagine that I am he, with my/his cock in my hand. I am stroking it, coaxing the orgasm, pulling it from my cock, feeling the drop of pre-cum…I lift my fingers to my mouth and taste it on them. My rhythm is now his, stroking down hard, pulling slowly back up. I feel the orgasm building in my balls, the heat and tightness starting there and building, reaching up… I see myself stroking my cock, god what a beautiful long hard cock I have and it feels so good to stroke it, to squeeze it, to pull an orgasm from it…and suddenly I am there…cum is shooting over my hand and I am shuddering with an orgasm.
His orgasm.
