Watching girls masturbate is one of Mike’s favourite activities.
The first woman who brought herself to orgasm in front of me was my best friend’s girlfriend. We didn’t know it at the time, but this – the two of us, naked on my bed – would become a habit. But at this moment it was all fresh, and I shivered with excitement at the sight of her reclining on a large pillow against the wall.
“Will you touch yourself for me?” I asked.
Bea pinched her own nipples, fondling and teasing her breasts. “Are you just going to watch?” she asked, looking at my cock sticking out at her in the most provocative way. “If I’m going to give you a show, you need to give me one as well.”
“Sure…” I began.
“Sit down.” Bea’s hand trailed down from her small breasts to her navel. “But if you start stroking yourself, I stop.”
I took up position at the foot of the bed, facing her, our feet touching. She lifted one knee, resting it against the wall on one side of the bed, giving me the best look I had ever had at her pussy. Her labia were compact, only visible peeking out from between the thick outer lips when aroused. Later they would glisten, their colour a bright pink between the light-brown curls of her pubes. This evening, I recall with photographic detail, it had been a while since she’d done any downstairs styling, and she lovingly brushed the hair aside with her fingers, teasing herself and me before running the tip of one finger along her slit. I could smell her from across the bed, her own olfactory signature of arousal. I still miss that scent sometimes.
Bea was very slim; her entire body seemed to be designed lengthwise, her legs, arms and fingers all long and slender, almost fragile. She had a small, rounded bottom and a pair of perky, small breasts that curved upwards into a point where the nipples stuck out, hard, brown and tiny. Her index finger traced the edges of her sex for what seemed like a long, long time until she dipped it inside, quickly, just enough to coat it with lubrication up to the first knuckle. She circled the wet tip around her clit, not touching, just teasing herself – and me.
I think she may have forgotten I was there, that she was putting on a show. Her eyes closed, hand kneading one of her breasts, she fell into a rhythm of dip-circle, dip-circle, her finger entering progressively deeper with repetition, then more fingers joined in. The pace intensified. Her left hand joined the fun. She stuck two fingers into her mouth for licking, then she shoved them deep inside herself. I noticed them curling back and forth inside her. Meanwhile, the fingers of her right hand, now dripping wet, concentrated on her clitoral hood, rubbing harder, faster, occasionally giving a wet, soft slap on top of the clit.
Eyes still closed. “How… do… I look?” she mumbled, deep in concentration.
“Gorgeous,” I croaked, my throat dry with excitement, hands at my sides, shaking. I couldn’t help it. I shivered along with her. I wasn’t watching her fingers or her glistening sex any more – I was staring at her face.
“I’m going to fuck you later,” she mumbled, eyes closed.
She came. For a moment I felt like she wasn’t there – like she had folded into herself. Her limbs curled, she rolled on her side hiding her face in my pillow and screamed. No modest little whimper for her. This was a full-throated wail from the belly on up, and when she was done she lay very still, cupping herself with both hands as if protecting her oversensitive clit from the world and from me.
I kissed her arm, then her neck, not knowing that right at this moment an addiction was being born.
