Really, I Tried To Write

It really is 0130 on a Sunday morning, and I really am awake, but I am sitting under a pop-up canopy in a local park helping with an overnight ultramarathon run. These people are crazy, frankly, but all the lithe runner bodies got me thinking, and since I was awake anyway, maybe I could write something. After several false starts, however, all I can come up with is remembering a story a former lover once told me.

She came home early; I do not remember why and found her then-husband home as well. For some reason, she did not slam the door and announced her presence as she would typically have done. She thought he was in the spare room but not finding him there she crept to the bedroom. Something caught her attention before she barged into the room. Maybe it was the way the door sat partially closed, perhaps it was a shadow on the wall, but she paused and looked through the gap. What she saw horrified her, at least initially.

He laid on the bed, stark naked. His hand wrapped around his erection, and he stroked it rhythmically. What horrified her, beyond the fact he was masturbating, something she had never seen him do, much less caught him at, was that he was masturbating himself with a pair of her satin panties. She would see flashes of purple as he grunted and moved his cock in his hand or his hand over his cock.

She told me she was ready to storm into the room and demand he stops the deviant behavior (she had a pretty strict upbringing apparently), but she could not bring herself to do it. The more she watched, the more she realized how much the show turned her on. She got wet watching him pull at his cock. She found that she would touch herself, and gasp at how hard her nipples had become, and how sensitive. The more she pinched her nipples through her bra, the wetter she got and the more she needed to pinch her nipples. Because this was all before she had discovered toys herself, her options were limited to shoving a hand down her pants and fingering her own clit, something she told me she had only done once or twice in her life before this point. She realized that they were both about to cum. She stared at his cock as the seamen spurted out of the now swollen purple head and onto the material of her panties. The more he stroked, the more cum poured out and soaked into the panties, both the ones in his hand and the ones valiantly trying to cover her own swollen love organ.

At last, he collapsed against the bed, and his hand fell to the side. She watched his cock deflate, still covered in the satin material. She quickly let herself back out of the apartment and dashed to her car to calm down, as well as give him time to pull himself together before she came home again.

I remember that as she told me this story, she handed me a pair of her panties, a pair that I had said looked good on her. She encouraged me to wrap them around my now firm erection as she watched. The more I stroked, the more her nipples hardened. The closer I got, the faster her hand moved between her naked thighs until we were both climaxing together. Just as my cum bubbled to the top of my cock, she sucked the head into her mouth, and I shot down her throat as she frigged her clit. It was a rather remarkable scene I remember, and not the last time she would ask me to perform for her.

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