1. The sound of one hand wanking


    Date: 9/13/2015, Categories: Masturbation, Author: Alexandra_A, Rating: 14, Source: LushStories

    began finger-fucking, forcing as many inside me as I could, tucking in the thumb till I was knuckle deep. On the glowing screen, dangling bollocks were jangling as his fist demonstrated how a cunt would be both stretched and battered by his swollen monster. Synchronously, my head battered the headboard and the bed rocked in violent empathy. Eyes rolled to the ceiling, I absently counted the recessed spotlights, their chrome surrounds reflecting the warm, soft, clean light of the cold, hard and filthy screen. I could have cum there and then. I should have. When I glanced down for that final glimpse of his glistening meat, the one that would break the camel's groaning humped back, the call had ended. He was gone. Holding my breath, I turned my senses outwards into the night, heard the creaking of trees beyond my window, the sporadic pings of cooling pipes beneath the carpeted floorboards, the reassuring bass murmur of the downstairs TV, and berated myself for my carelessness. I had been deaf to the world, lost in the fantasy. So lost, that he could have crept up and caught me. Never again, silly bitch. Never again. Be careful! The sleeping screen lit up, startled me into action. I tapped it with a sticky finger. Nothing. Tapped again, and again nothing. I played my cleaner, weaker hand across the glass and answered his silent call. 'I thought I had lost you.' 'Sorry. I heard stirrings. Thought she was coming down.' 'Ah. That explains it.' 'Where were we?' His camera focussed on ...
    his shrivelled crotch, while mine exposed my sagging tits. Hardly the stuff of pornographic fantasy. Neither were my words. 'If you talked to her like you talked to me, I bet she'd be wet enough.' 'Who?' 'Your wife! If you said the things you've said to me, you'd get her juices flowing. You saw what it did to me! I all but wet the fucking bed!' 'That's what I love. A woman who's well lubed, who's always ready for a good pounding.' As if to demonstrate - though I'd been pounded enough times to glean his meaning - he pumped up his tool and aimed the shiny tip between my eyes like a cocked shotgun. I lowered the iPad between my spread legs, let the light of his room spill into mine and illuminate my darkest place. By the meagre glow, I aligned our sexual organs then pressed his disembodied appendage to my sex lips. It had been an age since I'd been pierced there. The sharp though distant memory of that last time pricked a poignant tear from my eye that blurred his onscreen words even more than did my slick lubrication. Recently discarded knickers quickly erased the smeared signs of arousal and, while I deleted the resulting inadvertent gobbledygook from my message box, he dispatched unexpected though ultimately inevitable words. 'Fuck, I'm going to cum. Are you ready?' A droplet of precum dangled from a gossamer thread. By inexpert reckoning, I estimated a couple more strokes could possibly do it. I was instantly decisive. 'No.' 'Oh.' 'Not yet.' 'Okay.' 'When did you last cum?' ...
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