Masturbation Monday: “The Patterned Carpet”

A black and white photo of a naked woman kneeling on a patterned carpet about to take a clothed man's cock into her mouthThe patterned carpet is rough against my knees. When I put my just-above-the-knee dress back on, will everyone see the redness there and know exactly what I’ve been up to? Will they think I’m a slut? Do I care if they do?

My thoughts are silenced at the sight of his cock springing, already fully erect, from his unbuttoned jeans. This is what I’ve been wanting all night, and he knows it. When he brought me out here to this deserted corridor, told me to take off my dress and pushed me down on my knees, he was in no doubt that it was exactly what I wanted.

I lick my lips and part them eagerly, wordlessly inviting him to fuck my mouth. He takes his cock into his hand and holds it towards my waiting lips, offering it to me.

“Come and get it then, girl.”

I take him all the way into my mouth in one swift movement. It’s been a while since I sucked a cock, especially one as magnificent as this. But muscle memory is powerful and he moans loudly as his head hits the back of my throat. I slide my mouth up and down on him, sometimes deepthroating as far as I can go, sometimes pulling most of the way back and teasing the head of his shaft with my tongue.

I close my eyes and surrender to the taste of him, the salty pre-cum that begins to drip onto my tongue, the surprising softness of his rock-hard erection. Nothing matters except getting him off. I can tell when he’s getting close, because he grabs the back of my head to hold me in place. To hold is cock in the back of my throat. I gag, but he doesn’t care. Good. I don’t want him to care. I want to be a vessel for his cock, thoughtless and blank, naked before him for his use.

He gasps and then, with a long moan, releases down my throat. I revel in the taste of hot, sticky, salty come. When he eventually releases me, satisfied, I pull back and  some of it drips from my mouth and down my chin. I catch it with a finger and suck the finger clean, needing to taste every drop of him.

He buttons his jeans and  leaves me there on the floor, patterned carpet burning my bare knees, my cunt and inner thighs slick with my arousal. And I am satiated.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday plus other fun perks every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image is by Zen Nudist AKA Kilted Wookie, and was first published here.

 

Masturbation Monday: “Words Words Words”

A woman's breast just out of the water in a bubble bath with erotic words written on it.There aren’t many rules in our dynamic. My Sir is pretty laid back and isn’t really interested in micromanaging me or placing so many restrictions upon me that I’m bound to trip over one or another. One of the rules I do have to follow, though, is this: I’m not allowed to talk negatively about myself.

I’m so sick of this fucking thesis. I’ve been battling it for weeks and every time I think I’ve beaten it into some form of shape, I find something else wrong with it that needs fixing. I sigh and shut my laptop with a click. Put my head in my hands on the desk. Across the room, Sir spins around in his chair to look at me.

“You okay, Kitten?”

“I can’t do this!” I blurt out. “Just… I can’t. I’m too fucking stupid to do this. Why did I think I could?” Fuck. It takes me a second to realise I’ve broken the rule.

“Kitten…” his voice has a note of warning in it. I almost no longer care.

“What? It’s true”.

He pushes back from the desk and stands. “Come upstairs with me. Now”. Shit. I follow him meekly. In the bedroom, he tells me to take off my clothes and lie face up on the bed. My mind starts to race as I strip off. What’s he going to do? I was expecting possibly a spanking, but he clearly has something else in mind. That’s when I notice he’s got his favourite fountain pen in his hand.

He straddles me on the bed, his knees either side of my thighs. He’s still fully dressed. He pops the cap off the pen.

“Keep still,” he tells me.

“Sir?”

“I’m sick of you putting yourself down. Obviously punishing you hasn’t worked, so we’re going to try something else. Don’t move. If you squirm and make me mess up, I will punish you”.

The pen makes contact with my stomach first, just below my belly button. It tickles. I squeak but manage not to move. He’s writing something. I can’t tell what. Higher up my stomach, he writes something else. Then he leans over and adorns each of my breasts with yet more words. Down both my arms, along my collarbone, along the tops of my thighs.

He shifts position and uses one of his legs to make me spread mine. I resist the temptation to grind my cunt into his knee. His hand so close to my cunt that it brushes against the outer lips, I can feel myself growing wet. He writes something on my inner thigh. And just like that, this tiny bit of non-stimulation is all I get and he’s pushed my legs back together and is writing something on my lower abdomen. The whole thing probably takes less than five minutes, though it feels like much longer. He sits back and replaces the pen cap.

“Now go and look in the mirror”.

I hop up and cross over to the full-length mirror in the wardrobe door. For the first time, I see the words he’s written all over my body in his beautiful handwriting.

Beautiful. Capable and competent. Imperfect perfection. Talented. Kind. Funny. Sexy. Cute. Gorgeous. Smart. I feel tears starting to prickle in my eyes.

I part my legs to see what he wrote on my inner thigh, close to my cunt. The word is backwards in the reflection but there is no mistaking what it says, his favourite of all the words he uses about me: MINE. The first tear spills over.

He comes over and brushes the tear from my cheek. “Don’t cry, Kitten. You’re going to stand there for fifteen minutes and feast your eyes upon your gorgeous body with the way I see you written all over it. Then I’m going to bend you over and fuck you while you read them all back to me”.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week. Featured image is the utterly gorgeous Livvy and was first published as “Erotica“.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday plus other fun perks every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

 

Masturbation Monday: The Wedding

[For today’s Masturbation Monday, I was given the prompt “ex’s wedding.” Okay then! The set up is kind of long, but I hope the sexy pay-off is worth it.]

A room and table setting for wedding reception. For a Masturbation Monday post about an ex's weddingI didn’t want to go to this fucking wedding. This is kind of out of character for me, as normally I love weddings. I’m usually the first one to cry at the speeches and the last one still on the dance-floor at the end of the night. But who the fuck wants to see their ex get married? And most especially who wants to see the ex who cheated on them get married to a 5’11” blonde marathon runner?

As well as my ex, though, Sam is also the son of my parents’ oldest friends. And it’s not like I still have feelings for him. (She says, trying to convince herself). We were over years ago. So here I am, uncomfortable in my too-tight green dress, bored out of my mind, and taking full advantage of the open bar.

I’ve been glancing over at her all day. Pixie-cut dark hair, curves to die for, the swish of that floaty emerald dress every time she moves… I don’t know who she is but she’s definitely my type. She’s sitting on her own right now, nursing a glass of champagne and with a forced smile on her face as she watches the dancing. Yep. Time to make a move.

“Hi, I’m Rob. What’s your name?” She jumps as though startled from a reverie. Close up, I can appreciate the soft hazel of her eyes. She smiles. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!”

Well, hello! Even in my funk, I can see that this man is attractive. The grey suit looks good on him and contrasts nicely with the artfully unshaven face and dark ponytail.

“Hi Rob. I’m Sophie”.

Without being invited, he plonks himself down in the seat next to me. “I fucking hate these things, don’t you?” he asks.

“Normally I love weddings, but…” I trail off. Reign it in, Soph! I sip from my champagne. I must have drunk a hundred quid’s worth of the stuff today already, fucking hell.

“How do you know the happy couple?” he asks. God, this is such cliched wedding talk it’s not even funny. And there was me thinking he might be coming over to hit on me.

“Sam and I used to go out,” I find myself saying.

“No kidding. Ex’s wedding? That’s rough.”

I shrug. “Eh, it’s no big deal, really. Our parents are friends. We grew up together. Went out from when we were fifteen until we were twenty-two. He cheated on me. I don’t blame him. We weren’t right for each other in the long run”.

She looks surprised at herself, as if she didn’t mean to blurt out the whole story. I feel for her, of course. I know something of how she feels. Caitlyn invited me to her wedding two years ago, and I tore the invitation into a dozen pieces before I’d allowed myself to even consider going. No point torturing yourself, after all.

I watch Sophie sip her champagne. Her hands – I always have a thing for hands – are beautiful. Long fingers and perfect skin contrasts with the unmanicured nails. I allow myself, just for a moment, to think about how those fingers would feel wrapped around my cock.

Her eyes meet mine as she catches me looking. Apart from a thin rim of eyeliner, I notice she’s not wearing any makeup. There’s no doubt about it, this girl – this woman – is gorgeous.

She drains her glass and sets it down on the table. Fixes me with a penetrating stare. “Want to get out of here?” she asks.

“I… what?” He looks as though he’s not sure he has heard me correctly.

“You just said you hate weddings, and I’m sick of watching the man I always assumed I would marry arm-in-arm with Perfect Fucking Tiffany, telling everyone about their Perfect Fucking Honeymoon to the beautiful tropical islands of wherever. Why are we torturing ourselves? Want to go bang in my hotel room?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol giving me bravery, or maybe it’s the shitty day I’ve had. I don’t know and right now, I don’t care. All I know is that me and this beautiful man could have a much nicer time in the privacy of my Super Deluxe Plus room – a treat to myself in exchange for sitting through this stupid wedding.

Rob opens his mouth and then closes it again. He’s surprised. To tell you the truth, I’m surprised at myself. I watch his face and, in the five seconds it takes him to reply, convince myself that he’s going to laugh and brush me off.

“You’re sweet, but I’ve got a girlfriend”. “It’s a nice offer, but I prefer to move slowly”. “You’re attractive, but you’re not my type”.

Instead, he grins broadly at me and says, “okay!”

We sneak out of the ballroom like teenagers sneaking around behind their parents’ backs. Not that anyone is paying any attention to us at all. She takes my hand and leads me down the long corridor to the stairs, then up one floor, then along another corridor until we stop outside her room. Number 70.

“I wish it had been one number lower,” she says, with a mischievous raise of an eyebrow. She slips her key card in the lock, stands back to let me in, then clicks the door shut behind us. I flip the light on, and see she’s already fumbling with the zip on the back of that gorgeous dress. A second later, she drops it, steps out of it and kicks it to one side. And this woman I met not fifteen minutes ago is standing in front of me in just her cream lacy knickers – no bra. Fucking hell! However I thought tonight was going to go, this was not on the cards at all. 

“What do you want?” I ask her. She steps forward, reaches up her hands to loosen my tie – which she does clumsily, probably as a result of all the champagne – and presses her lips to mine. Inside the tight suit trousers my cock, already at half-mast, springs fully to life. I kiss her back, sliding one hand around to the small of her back to pull her closer, and using the other to unbutton my shirt.

“I want you to fuck me,” I tell him. “None of that go down on me for half an hour first because you feel like you have to stuff, I hate that. Just fuck me”. I successfully get the tie loose enough to pull it off over his head, and he slips out of his shirt too and tosses it aside. His chest is perfect: not too muscular, covered in dark hairs. I run my hand through it and then kiss him again.

I slide my hand down and unbutton his trousers. Slipping my fingers into them and under the waistband of his boxers, I can feel that his cock is fully hard already. I stroke it a few times as we make out, listening appreciatively to the way that he moans, adjusting the speed and pressure according to his reactions. Somehow, we move together until we’re by the big King bed, and he pushes me gently towards it. It’s not really a shove – I could easily keep my balance if I wanted to. But I let myself fall backwards onto the bed, wanting him on top of me, wanting him inside me.

In a second, he sheds the trousers and underwear and pounces on me again. He kisses me harder, and one hand moves between my legs and presses firmly against my cunt. The flimsy lace of my knickers is already soaking. He rubs my clit experimentally a few times. The sensation is nice, but I’ve never been much of a clitoral girl – I really just want things inside me. Fingers, toys, cocks. That’s how I get off.

“Put your fingers in me,” she moans. Well, okay then! I do love having sex with a woman who knows what she likes and can give clear instructions. I hook my fingers under the elastic of her knickers and she obligingly lifts her ass so I can peel them off. A shame, really, as she looked so pretty in them – but underneath, her cunt is even more beautiful. The curly wisps of black pubic hair are so inviting.

She parts her legs more, inviting me in. I thrust two fingers inside her, marveling at how wet and ready she already is. I slide them slowly in and out while she writhes beneath me, face and chest flushed, beads of sweat already appearing on her brow.

Finding her G-spot, I press my fingers against it. Gently at first – I’ve been with women who found hard thrusting painful. I rub it with my two fingers and watch her reaction.

“Harder…” she moans. I increase the speed and pressure, until I’m properly fucking her with my fingers. Her perfect fingers clutch a handful of the sheet and she throws her head back.

“Going to come…!”

I double down on my efforts. She lets out of half moan, half yelp of pleasure and I feel her cunt tense around my fingers, squeezing them. Her whole body relaxes as I slowly withdraw them. I notice there’s a wet spot on the sheet beneath her. So she’s a gusher.

“Oh, fuck yeah, that was good,” I murmur, catching my breath. I pull him in to kiss me. “Want to fuck me? I’m ready for your cock now”. The beautiful thing about being multi-orgasmic is that the first one just makes me hungry for more.

“Oh hell yes. Do you have a condom?” he asks. So responsible! I love it when they bring it up first and I don’t have to ask (/beg/plead/cajole) them to wrap it up.

“Nightstand. Top drawer.”

I hear the telltale rustling of a packet. A moment later, he’s positioned back between my legs, cock still fully hard and now coated in latex.

“You want this?” he asks, teasing my entrance. Oh yes, I fucking want this. In answer, I bring my hips up to meet him. In one thrust, he’s inside of me. I gasp at the exquisite pleasure, my cunt already sensitive from the orgasm just moments ago.

He fucks me perfectly. Long, slow thrusts at first, building up to hard and fast pounding. It takes less than a minute for me to come again, and then again, around his cock. He moans each time I come, and I wonder if the muscles of my cunt are squeezing him hard enough to add to his pleasure too. I hope so.

God, her cunt feels incredible. I’m not going to last long at this rate! I marvel at the ability of the vulva to produce orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. Is there a limit to how much she can come? I feel the trickle of fluid each time she does, and am sure the mattress beneath us is soaked by now.

As I feel her cunt spasm with the fifth (sixth? I’ve lost count) orgasm, I start to feel the telltale build up of pressure, my pleasure reaching towards its climax.

“You feel so fucking good,” I tell her. “I’m not going to be able to hold off much longer.”

“Come in me,” she tells me, a blissful smile on her face. Her short hair is now sticking to her face with sweat. 

That does it. The invitation, her eagerness for it, pushes me over the edge. I press my lips to hers again, kissing her hard as my own orgasm pulses through my whole body. Damn. I haven’t come this hard in a long time.

I love the moment where they come in me. Watching a man’s pleasure as he surrenders to it and loses control, knowing it’s me who has had that effect on him… it’s intoxicating.

I don’t love so much what usually comes next. The extricating of bodies, the quick dressing, the awkward goodbye at the door, the do I give him my number or will that seem too needy? calculation. I love casual sex, but sometimes I’d like to feel like the men I fuck care about me after they’ve come as well.

“Will you stay for a bit?” I ask Rob, aware that I now sound very different from the confident girl who invited him to – what was it? – bang in my hotel room an hour ago. “I wouldn’t mind the company”.

He rolls over and grins at me, as if he’d just been waiting for the invitation. “Want to cuddle and watch crap TV and order room service? I think we missed dessert and I could murder a massive slice of cheesecake right now.”

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday plus other fun perks every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image sourced through Pixabay.

 

Masturbation Monday: “Canvas”

A woman with a flower tattoo on her back facing away from the camera. For a Masturbation Monday story called CanvasShe was his canvas.

Anna lay, nude, face down on the massage-bed. The whir and buzz of the machinery had long ago lulled her into a meditative state. This, combined with the delicious pain down one side of her back and the occasional reassuring touches from her Master, made Anna feel as though she were floating. She was only dimly aware, on the edges of her consciousness, that she was so wet she was surely soaking the towels beneath her.

She had never wanted a tattoo before she met Cameron. Sure, she could admire the beauty and artistry when she saw them on other people, but the idea of getting one herself scared her. Not the pain, so much, but the permanence. Could etching something on her skin for life ever be a good idea? Cam had changed all that. Not just a tattooist but a true artist, he prided himself on creating beautiful, unique work for every client and giving them something they could look at and admire for years to come.

“I want you to tattoo me,” she told him on the eve of her fortieth birthday. “For my birthday.”

Cam had pursed his lips, fork hovering in mid air on the way to his mouth in surprise. “Are you sure?” he’d asked. She nodded emphatically. “Okay. What sort of tattoo do you want?”

“Something beautiful. Something us. I want it to mark me as yours.”

Cam had simply nodded, and they had gone on with their meal. This morning, she had come downstairs to find the massage bed laid out in the living room, and Cam setting up his equipment. He’d asked her if she was sure. She told him she had never been more sure of anything.

She wondered what he – her Dom, her Master, her Love – was putting on her body.

No names, she’d said emphatically. And nothing that I can’t show off in public if we go to the beach or the pool. Beyond those stipulations, she’d given him freedom – her body to use as his canvas.

The whirring slowed and stopped. Pausing from his work, Cam stroked a hand down the middle of Anna’s back, carefully avoiding his fresh handiwork. She drew in her breath.

“How are you doing, my love?” he asked her.

“I’m perfect,” she whispered back.

“There’s still an hour or two of work to finish it off. But you’re being such a good girl, you deserve a treat first.” His hand was rubbing her arse as he said these words. He delivered a sharp smack to each cheek, making her squeal in pleasurable pain. Then his fingers were sliding down past her arse, between her legs, pushing them slightly apart. She blushed furiously, thankful he could not see her face, knowing what he was going to find.

“You’re dripping,” he said, a note of surprise in his voice, as his fingers found the core of her arousal. “Why is that, slut?”

“I like the pain. And you putting your permanent mark on me. And…” she trailed off as one finger slid inside her cunt. He quickly found her G-spot and pressed against it firmly, while his thumb found her erect clitoris and started to circle it. Anna gasped and lifted her hips eagerly from the table to meet his fingers.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” he murmured, rubbing her clit a little more firmly. “Plenty of the women I tattoo get aroused during. And the men, too.” She moaned, this thought producing another flood of wetness in her cunt. “Only I don’t do this to them, of course. But I can always spot which ones are the masochists. The ones who get all gooey eyed and floaty like you were doing just now. And I know they’ll go home and wank off furiously when I’m done with them.”

She was humping his hand with abandon now. A second finger joined the first in her vagina, while his thumb continued its assault of her now very swollen clit.

“Sir, I’m close…” she moaned. Cam grinned, wondering for just a second whether he should stop and do the rest of the tattoo while she tried not to squirm with unfulfilled arousal. But she was such a good girl, and this was a special occasion.

“Come on then, girl,” he commanded, redoubling his efforts. Then he leaned forward and murmured into her ear, “come for me, my love.”

Anna’s whole body jerked as she came, gushing over Cam’s hand and soaking through the towels beneath her. The sound she made was half mewl, half growl. Then her Master was withdrawing his fingers from her, stroking her hair, telling her she was a good girl. Her cunt spasmed, sending aftershocks through her body. She could not remember the last time she had come so explosively and so quickly.

“Thank you, Sir,” she murmured.

She heard the buzz as Cam started up his tattoo machine again. “Lie still now, sweetheart, and let me finish decorating you.”

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday, every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image is by the gorgeous Marie Rebelle and was originally published as “Negative”.

 

Masturbation Monday: “Vanilla”

I don’t often write about vanilla sex. Let’s see how this goes…

A women wearing black knickers straddling a nude man, for a Masturbation Monday post about vanilla sexSometimes I don’t need pain. Sometimes I don’t need a hand on my throat, threats whispered in my ear, or to be called the kinds of horrible names that make me drip. I love all those things, of course. But sometimes, I don’t need an imbalance of power between us.

Sometimes all I want is your lips on mine. In these moments, all it takes to make me gasp and tremble is the softest stroke of a hand across the small of my back. All it takes to send me soaring is the grounding, anchoring reality of the feel of your skin, the smell of your body spray, the desire blossoming out from the point where our tongues meet and entwine.

I grind my cunt against your thigh, a gesture that says, I am yours. My hands circle your hips and pull you closer, a gesture that says, you are mine. When you push your cock inside of me, it’s because we have reached the silent understanding that we can no longer bear to have a breath of space between us. My body takes you in, warm, inviting, holding you tightly at the point where we meet. You swallow my gasp, which escapes unbidden as you touch that place deep inside me that needs you so much. I am undone. Lost. When I pull back from your lips long enough to look into your face, your eyes wear that expression, the one where you communicate your love without saying a word.

I kiss you as though I will drown. I kiss you as though we are the only two people in the world. Because for right now, we are. Here and now, you are everything. You fuck me as though making me come is the only thing that matters.

Sometimes, afterwards, I cry. Not because I am unhappy; no. But because this intimacy cracks me open, exposing every vulnerability and every place that is scared and small and hurts. Making love to you pulls me apart and puts me back together, a little more whole than before.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the link to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday, every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image sourced through Pixabay.

 

Masturbation Monday: “Take a Seat”

A "support me on Patreon" buttonI’m having a bit of a Patreon pledge drive at the moment because I could really use the support to help me keep doing this work. Click here or the badge to sign up & get exciting bonus content. 

I didn’t know what I was going to write for today’s Masturbation Monday and was pretty much all out of inspiration. I usually ignore the photo prompts and just write what I want. This week, though, I clicked over to the page to see what the image prompt was, and… well, look at it! My mind started to spin, and this is what it came up with…

A glass butt plug on a white chair.I try not to squirm too much in my seat. She hates when I do that – she interprets it as complaining, which I’m not allowed to do. Across the table from me, my Mistress calmly eats her salad, occasionally looking up from her plate to flash me that devilish smile. Her strawberry-blonde curls tumble to half way down her back and her breasts look fucking incredible in that black dress she knows I love and, undoubtedly, her favourite push-up bra beneath it. Her fifties have been kind to her – in the thirty years I’ve known her, she’s got more beautiful with every passing year.

As for me, I’m wearing my best suit – it is our anniversary, after all, and this restaurant is very expensive. I’m sure to anyone observing we just look like a normal, middle-aged couple out for a special dinner. What no-one else knows is that under my trousers, I’ve got a glass butt-plug nestled deep in my ass.

She bent me over our bed before we left, lubed up the plug and slid it into my ass, telling me that I was going to be a good boy and wear it for her all night – without giving the game away in public, of course. And so here I am, feeling it inside me with every movement and trying not to let my face betray our secret.

She pops a forkful of food into her mouth and her eyes lock with mine. Her eyes smoulder with lust and I just know she’s wet and not wearing knickers under that dress. Tormenting me is her biggest turn-on. My cock twitches, unable to get hard in its prison but straining at the metal walls nonetheless. My ass tightens around the hard glass of the plug, sending a rush of pleasure through me.

She swallows her mouthful and mouths a single word at me. Her favourite word. “Mine“.

I am hers, every inch of me from the greying hairs on my head to my plugged ass to my caged cock. I only hope she will let me eat her beautiful cunt when we get home, while I get no pleasure at all.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the badge to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

Image is by the fabulous Exposing 40 and was originally published as Take A Seat.

 

Masturbation Monday: “Through a Crack in the Door…”

The house is quiet. At first, I think there’s no-one home. He must have gone out to work. But then, at the end of the corridor, I notice the bedroom light on. The door is slightly ajar.

A picture of Edge Ecstatic, a naked white man damp from the shower, pictured from hips to shoulders.I shut the from door silently behind me, grinning to myself, knowing what my husband must be up to. I creep down the hall towards the bedroom.

Through the slightly open door, I have the perfect view of the bed – and the perfect view of him. He’s lying on his back in all his gorgeous, naked glory, eyes closed, right hand slowly stroking up and down his erect cock. I love watching him play with himself. I love the completely different way it lets me see his pleasure and his body. But somehow it’s even hotter when he doesn’t know I’m watching. It’s so natural. So… un-staged.

I watch his chest move up and down as his breathing quickens in time with the hand jerking his cock. A little gasp escapes from his lips. A drop of pre-come beads on the end of his shaft and slowly trickles out.

He’s close now. I can tell by the way his grip tightens, his hand moving faster and faster. I realise that I am holding my breath, and that my own cock is rock solid beneath my jeans. His hips are lifting up off the bed, thrusting his cock into his own hand the way he does into mine when I wank him off.

He groans loudly as he reaches his climax. Come splashes onto his stomach. I am overcome with the desire to crawl onto the bed beside him and lick it from his sweat-damp skin. Instead, I back away without making a sound, back down the hall towards the door. I wait a few seconds, then open the door and slam it loudly.

“Hi honey! Are you home?”

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday, every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image is of the gorgeous EdgeEcstatic.

Masturbation Monday: “Dining Alone”

Today’s Masturbation Monday comes from a prompt by Mr CK – “write about going to a restaurant and getting it on with the hot waitress.” Well okay then!

A woman sitting alone reading at a restaurant table. For a Masturbation Monday piece called "Dining Alone". I noticed her the moment I walked in. Long waves of red hair, barely contained by the sensible ponytail, curves filling the modest-yet-sexy knee length black dress, a smattering of freckles from the summer sun across the bridge of her nose, grey-green eyes. So my type it hurts.

So straight it hurts, I tell myself as she asks me where I’d like to sit and shows me to a quiet booth at the back of the restaurant. The girls you like always are. I’ve been on this business trip ten days and I’m sick of everything this boring little town has to offer – which isn’t much. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen since I stepped off the plane.

I order my glass of wine, my starter, my main course, and each time she comes to take an order or bring me something I try not to stare. The shape of her breasts in that dress – not to mention the fact that I haven’t had sex or even masturbated in weeks – has my cunt dripping into my knickers. I reach into my bag for my book, the book I’ve been secretly reading at night in my hotel room. Do I actually dare read it here, in public?

Fuck it, I think. No-one here is paying attention, and even if they do, they don’t know me.

Of course, the filth on the page just has me even wetter, reading about women doing filthy things to each other and imagining the beautiful waitress in those scenarios with me.

“What are you reading?” she asks, coming over to clear my starter plate away. I jump and look up guiltily, slamming the book shut and shoving it onto my lap under the table. To my disbelief, she reaches down and grabs it to take a look.

Best Lesbian Erotica,” she reads out loud, an eyebrow raised. Her gaze moves from the book cover to my now scarlet face. “Really now?”

“Research…” I stammer.

“Sure, babe.” She hands the book back to me. “More wine?”

“What? Oh. Uh. Yes. Please.”

She takes my glass and saunters away without another word. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was swinging her hips and ass deliberately to taunt me. Not knowing what else to do, I return to my book. When she brings my wine and, a few minutes later, my main course, I dare to flash what I hope is a flirtatious smile at her.

Judge me for reading porn in public, I dare you!

“Is everything okay?” she asks, appearing by my table again as I’m half way through my spaghetti alla carbonara. I nod, my mouth full. She pulls a pen out of her breast pocket, grabs the spare napkin from the unused place setting opposite me, scrawls a quick note and shoves it towards me. This all seems to happen in a single fluid movement, and she’s walking away again.

Shift finishes in twenty. When you see me go through the door in the far left corner, follow me – code is 1013. Don’t let my colleague see you. We won’t be disturbed. 

I nearly choke on my mouthful of spaghetti. Even as I’m telling myself that this is insane, I know that I will go. After all, when a beautiful woman summons you with such calm authority, what else can you do?

I keep my eyes on my food and occasionally glance at my watch as the ten minutes ticks down. At precisely one minute past ten, I watch out of the corner of my eye as she waves goodnight to her colleague and saunters to the back of the restaurant and out of sight.

Am I really going to do this? Do I dare? In a second, I decide. I throw down enough cash to cover my meal and a generous tip – a very generous tip – and head in the same direction, one eye on the other waitress, now the only person working. As she’s ringing up another customer, I seize my moment, punch in the code, and shut the “staff only” door behind me. I just have time to take note of that fact that we’re in a large and deserted commercial kitchen, all silver and chrome, when…

“I knew you’d come.”

She’s sitting on one of the shiny counter-tops, stockinged feet now free of her high-heeled shoes, sipping from a glass of what looks like whisky on the rocks.

“I don’t really know…”

I was going to say I don’t really know why I did, but she cuts me off. “Shush. You’ve been eye-fucking me since the moment you walked in. Lucky for you, I think you’re kinda cute too.” She hops down and comes towards me. She’s shorter than me without her tall shoes, but the confidence and power she exudes leaves me in no doubt who’s in charge.

My mind starts to race. Is she toying with me? Is this some kind of joke? What if someone walks in at any second? Then she presses her perfect, red, whisky-flavoured lips to mine, and I stop thinking about anything at all.

She pushes me back against the closed door, fingers twisting their way into my hair as we kiss. I think I moan, but the sound is swallowed by the kiss. I cannot remember the last time my cunt was so wet from nothing more than kissing and feeling someone’s body pressed up against mine.

She nudges my legs apart with her hand, then brings her leg between mine, thigh pressing against my cunt. Even through my tights and knickers, I’m sure she can feel the heat and wetness. Shameless, now, I grind against her, desperate for more stimulation. God, how long has it been? Can a few short weeks of no sex really make me into such a wanton slut?

I gasp when the leg is moved and replaced by her hand, the ends of long, elegant fingers dancing ever-so-softly against my cunt through the two thin layers of clothing. She’s teasing me, because she can see how much I want it.

“Please…” I whimper against her mouth.

“Is this what you want?” she asks, slipping her hand under the waistband of my tights and into my knickers, making contact with my desperate cunt at last. My gasp of pleasure is the answer she needs. When her fingers make contact with my clit and begin to circle it, I cannot help my moaning.

“You have to be quiet,” she says. “Can’t have you getting me caught and in trouble. If you make too much noise I’ll have to stop.” Her calm dominance and her talented fingers have me weak at the knees, gladly wanting to do anything she says, anything to please her. Another rush of wetness coats my already soaked panties.

I’ve always been loud in bed. It’s just the way I am. Back in my university days, my housemates hated it when I brought this girl or that boy home for a night of passion (which was often) because it meant none of them were getting any rest that night. But I believe this beautiful woman when she tells me that she will stop fingering me if I make too much noise, and all I want in the world right now is for her fingers to keep going, keep pushing me towards bliss.

Her rubbing has changed. Faster now, and harder, my own juices providing all the lubrication we need. I bury my face in her shoulder, in her hair, to hold back my sounds. My clit feels harder than I can ever remember it being, and I’m thrusting my hips, humping her hand with my cunt. I’m so close! For some reason it comes to me to ask her permission.

“Please can I come?” I whisper frantically.

“Just from this little bit of attention? God, you really were gagging for it, weren’t you?”

The flush of embarrassment nearly pushes me over the edge. “Oh, god, please…”

“You can come if you can do it quietly.”

My mouth opens into a scream but no sound comes out. Somehow, holding the sound in makes my orgasm even more intense and I come, harder than I have ever come before, in this stranger’s hand.

As I grab at the wall to steady myself, she places a small kiss upon my lips and then withdraws her hand from my knickers and shoves her sticky fingers into my mouth.

“Clean your mess up,” she orders. I suck the fingers clean, the musky smell and taste of my own cunt making me realise how much I want to taste hers.

“Can I…?” I ask, already crouching before her and starting to push her dress up.

“No. My colleague will be in here any minute and you need to be gone by then.” I swallow my disappointment as my hopes of getting to bury my face between her perfect legs are dashed. Then, perhaps inspired by her, I have a flash of daring.

“Quick. Give me your phone.” She does. I punch in the name of my hotel and my room number. “I’m here two more nights. Come and find me and I’ll return the favour.”

It’s not until she’s kissed me once more and then shoved me out of the back door and into the night that I realise I never caught her name.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the link to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday, every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image sourced through Pixabay.

Masturbation Monday: “Oral Service”

A white women's body, from the top of the chest down, sitting with one leg folded in and the other up and bent. She is wearing nothing but pink knickers. For a Masturbation Monday story called Oral Service

She’s a good girl. I tell her so often. It’s one of the many reasons I love her. She’s been serving me faithfully for years now, my girl, and it’s got so much better since we’ve both been self-employed and working from home.

Usually when we’re at home together, we work side by side in my home office. Well… I sit at the desk and she sits cross-legged on the floor by my side, laptop open in front of her. I like her to wear nothing but cute knickers and her collar. Sometimes not even that. She fetches me coffee when she takes a break from typing, knowing exactly how I like it – cream, no sugar unless I’m having a particularly stressful day, and served to me by a gorgeous kneeling service submissive. She glows with pride when I take the drink, take a sip, then stroke her hair and tell her she’s my good girl.

Sometimes, though, the service I require from her is more intimate than just fetching my drink. You see, I’m an erotica author by profession. I write about sex – hot, steamy, wild, kinky, queer sex – for seven or eight hours a day. And more often than not, I get really fucking turned on doing it.

“Girl.”

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Get to a good stopping place and tell me when you’re ready”. I am considerate of her work and always give her a reasonable time-frame to refocus her attention on serving me. A few minutes later, she tells me she’s ready.

“Good. Now come over here and get under the desk. This scene I’m writing has got me needing your lovely tongue”. I push my chair back to let her get into position under my desk. Then I move back towards her, flip my skirt up – I hardly ever wear knickers for exactly this reason – and offer my cunt to my eagerly waiting girl.

She runs the tip of her tongue against my labia, then pushes it into my cunt, tasting my excitement. Then she finds my clit and begins first circling it, then flicking it gently. I moan, my back arching, hands gripping the edge of the desk. Fuck, she’s good. She licks faster, lashing my sensitive clit with her tongue. She might be my submissive, but I am all hers when she pleasures me like this.

My legs are beginning to tremble as she brings me closer to orgasm. I know she feels it, because she clamps her mouth around my clit and sucks it hard. This always tips me over the edge. I reach under the desk and grasp a handful of her hair, using it to hold her pretty face in position as my cunt spasms and I come, hard, in her mouth.

As my orgasm subsides I release her and fall back in my chair, catching my breath.

She peeks out from under the desk and grins.

“Kiss?” she asks in that adorable voice that I can rarely say no to.

I lean down to kiss her, my girl. My good girl, still with the taste of my orgasm on her lips.

Masturbation Monday is created and run by Kayla Lords. This week’s photo is by the gorgeous and talented Marie Rebelle, who blogs at Rebel’s Notes. Click the logo to see what others are getting off to this week. If you enjoyed this piece, please consider supporting me on Patreon (where you’ll get #BonusSmut every Tuesday!) or buying me a coffee. 

Masturbation Monday: “Rope Space”

A black and white shot of a person's hands bound with rope behind their back.He pulls your hands behind your back.

I laze on the bed while he slowly ties you up. To start with, I ask you questions. Does this pinch? Does that hurt? How do your hands feel? Any numbness or tingling? It is my job – well, ours – to take care of you as you willingly make yourself helpless.

He wraps the rope under and then over your bust, framing your gorgeous breasts. I want to bite your cute little nipples, but I mustn’t get in the way as he turns you into a piece of human art.

“The thing I love the most about rope,” I tell you, “is the smell“. I grab a fresh coil of jute from the pile on the bed and hold it out for you to sniff. The sigh that escapes your lips tells me that you get it, too.

He pulls the wraps tighter, cinches them in place with a twist just under your arm.

Your breathing is a little faster. You’re no longer forming sentences. Your eyes have changed. I recognise this – this slipping away of coherent thought as you let yourself surrender. It’s happened to me, too. Hundreds of times, his hands and his ropes have reduced me to putty. And now it’s happening to you in front of me. But I’m not jealous, nor even envious. No. It is a profound privilege to watch my lover introduce you to this bliss I know so well.

He instructs you to kneel on the bed and pushes you down onto your front.

Rope circles your left ankle. I stroke your hair. Grasp a handful of it and tug. Tell you you’re a good girl and breathe in the scent of your arousal, which surely must be dripping onto the sheet beneath you by now.

He binds your leg in on itself. The right leg follows. I go to ask you if you’re still okay, but the little smile and half-closed eyes tells me all I need to know.

He pulls your legs up and fastens them together, then to the back of your chest harness. You whimper softly. I squeeze your hand, tell you again how good you are.

He moves back to admire his handiwork. You, transformed into art on our bed. You are beautifully helpless and helplessly beautiful. Our willing toy. And I know we have only just begun all the ways in which we will play with you before the night is over.

Today’s Masturbation Monday is a true story! All thanks go to Mr CK and the gorgeous girl who lived this with me and gave me all the rope-feelz I’ve been experiencing this week. Masturbation Monday is created and run by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what others are getting off to this week. If you enjoyed this piece, please consider supporting me on Patreon (where you’ll get #BonusSmut every Tuesday!) or buying me a coffee.