1. The sound of one hand wanking


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

    'This morning. In the shower. You?' 'Months.' 'Oh, I'm sorry.' I found myself shrugging in the solitary darkness. 'Don't be. It's not your fault.' 'No. I suppose not.' 'When did you last fuck her?' The thread snapped. His cockhead wrinkled. Time ticked. 'Look, I just want to wank. I thought you did too. I told you before that this isn't helping.' He was right. It wasn't. I stopped the half-hearted self-stimulation, felt suddenly cold and not a little ridiculous. 'I did want to. And I suppose I still do. But only as a substitute for intimacy. Not for its own sake. I'd much rather simply be holding someone in the darkness than finger-fucking my own cunt for a complete stranger, but there you go.' 'I'd rather be wanking. With you.' His last two words summed him up. Summed me up. Summed up this whole sorry scenario. With me? Really? Me? Who am I? A willing gash in the ether? A sad and desperate woman with even more sad and desperate needs? Nothing unique about me. Nothing at all. 'It's late. I'm sorry, but I'm supposed to be sleeping.' I slipped the iPad under the pillow then lay on my back, knees akimbo, fingers still intrigued by the sensuous novelty of smooth, wet flesh where before had been a tangled bush. I skated across it, danced and slid across it, back and forth, up and over my denuded mound, and then, when my body's heat had boiled away the musky moisture, dipped between my ...
    swollen lips for more. The downstairs TV died. A light switched. A door clicked and weary feet counted all thirteen of the staircase's risers. Socks stealthily padded. Clothes silently met the floor. The bed creaked. Creaked again. He waited. Waited some more. Covers covered him. The bed warily welcomed him. I knew what he was thinking because I had oft thought it myself. Please be asleep. Please don't speak. Please don't expect it. Please. I simply cannot do it. Breathing steadied. I waited. Waited some more. 'I shaved my...' The word was a stranger to my lips, no longer belonged to this room, but latent arousal forced it from me, '...pussy.' We were both staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the blotchy blur of blacks and greys. 'Oh.' I reached for his hand and found the hand of a corpse. Fingers interlaced. His body tightened. Though on the brink of tears, I pressed on, lifted the clammy hand and placed it on my belly. 'I...' I recalled the font, the famously unadorned font, and embellished my whisper with all the lust, all the need, all the love, I could muster, 'I want you to fuck my shaved cunt till... till my heart bleeds.' Silence. A long, dangerous, heart-wrenching silence, that was suddenly butchered by groaning springs, a mounting beast, and a deep, satisfied sigh. As tears streaked my cheeks, the most beautiful cock I have ever seen slid effortlessly inside me. *****
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