Girl on the Net

Sometimes something is so fucking sexy it’s tricky to find the words to describe it. But I guess if what I do counts as a ‘job’, that’s what this job is about: finding the words to describe things that are so sexy they transcend language, making me want to curl up into a tiny, horny ball and just rub myself and wail happy things forever. So I’m going to have a go at putting into words the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me: the other day my partner let me watch him wank in the shower. I am now a broken, sated mess.

He’s already having a good dick day. One of those days where everything looks chunkier and a bit more swollen than usual, because we’ve been messing around since the moment we woke up and he’s held off from coming until the evening.

He’s not super-hard or anything, just a bit chubby. More importantly he’s casually gripping his cock while we sit at opposite ends of the sofa. It’s hard for me to keep my eyes off his hands, when he won’t keep his hands off his dick, so I stare.

And I stare.

And I stare.

Eventually I say ‘are you having a shower before we go out?’

‘Yep.’

‘Can I watch?’

‘You want to watch me shower?’

‘Yes. And maybe just kind of stare a little bit more while you soap up your dick and …’

‘…vigorously beat one out for your entertainment?’

‘Yes, exactly that.’

‘OK.’

We head to the bathroom and he turns on the shower. Waiting for the water to heat up, he stands naked in front of the sink and brushes his teeth. I watch his tumescent dick jiggling slightly as he works away at his mouth with an electric toothbrush. He can clearly feel my eyes on him, because it swells and grows even as I look. But I’m as quiet as I can possibly be, because I don’t want to breathe or move or speak or do anything to break the spell.

When he gets into the shower, I shut the bathroom door, put down the lid of the toilet and sit. He stands under the running water, closes his eyes, and runs wet hands all over his body.

He starts off showering as he normally would: get wet, soap up hands, wash face and neck and everything. I’m biting my lip and practically panting for him to get to the good part.

I’ve seen him shower before, of course. But never have I been promised a show if I keep watching till the end, so never have I been so utterly mesmerised by the sight of his glorious cock.

There’s water pouring down his body as he soaps himself up, and his dick is swollen and red and thick. He steps slightly forward in the shower, so the water runs down his back, and then he takes a handful of soap suds and starts to lather up his junk.

I want to lean forward to get closer, but I’m paralysed with a kind of breathless awe. And again there’s that worry that if I so much as breathe too loudly I might spoil it – make him nervous or self-conscious or any of those other things that humans feel when they know they’re being watched.

But holy FUCK am I desperate to touch myself.

He grips his dick with casual ease, and starts slowly lathering up. Paying just the right amount of too-much attention to squeezing tightly around the ridge at the head. Rubbing slightly, then squeezing harder, and then finally starting to really go for it: jerking so vigorously that water runs down his arm and splashes over the side of the bath.

And I. Am. Lost.

I am gone.

I am drowning in my own lust and I never want him to stop doing this. I love watching him wank anyway, of course, but this time is so much more than the porn-sessions we have or even the filthier fantasies I have about being used. I want to preserve this moment – this simple act of watching him wank in the shower – forever. Create a gif loop of him doing it that I can watch every time I close my eyes from now until the second that I die.

I am undone.

As I gawp open-mouthed at what seems like the sexiest show on Earth, I don’t even stop to wonder if there is any way it could get any hotter. But then it does.

Because just as he starts to flush red around the neck and chest, pursing his lips together in concentration, he turns slightly away from me and places one hand on the tile wall, just above his head. Let that sink in. Truly.

He wants to rub his dick even harder, so he braces himself against the wall.

He leans in to the wank.

And everything I’ve ever dreamed of is right here in front of me.

Dripping wet, hot from the shower and the exertion and with a slight frown of determination on his face, he braces himself against the wall with one hand and beats at his cock with the other.

The water splashes, the soap creates a thick white foam at the edges of his closed palm, droplets splashing off the head of his prick with each upstroke. His thighs are taut with the effort of remaining standing, and the muscles on his forearms are neatly defined too – showing that this is not just a show that he’s performing for me, he’s gripping as hard as he would when he is alone. He is pushing himself to come, and in that moment I have all but disappeared. Faded away into the background, until all he can sense is a cloud of steam, and the water in his own eyes, and the the throbbing pulse of his own cock as he jerks every last drop of pleasure from it.

Oh. My. God.

When he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, it was like I was being shaken out of a trance. I couldn’t really watch what he was doing as he stepped out and dried himself off – all I could see was the imprint of that image on my brain. Of him bracing against the wall with one hand, shoulders slightly hunched to really lean in to the wank, eyes closed and lips pursed and every fibre of his body straining towards climax.

Fuck. FUCK. FUUUUUUUCK.

I’m not doing this right. There’s something here I can’t quite capture, and I suspect that thing is just the simple fact that this show was so perfectly tailored to press my buttons that I could only fully explain it by downloading my entire mind and letting you try it on for size. All my kinks and desires, poured neatly into this one scene, acted out by someone whose body does it for me in a really specific way, wrapped up in the smell of his shower gel and the shape of his torso and oh my God the colour of his EYES when he looks at me in the afterglow and asks me ‘did you like that?’ The sound of wet flesh getting rubbed down and the memory of his arm as he leaned against the wall. Everything – EVERYTHING – about it was tailored so perfectly to the things that turn me on. The only possible way it could have been better would be if he finished by beckoning me closer, looking at me with heavy-lidded, just-about-to-cum eyes, then ordered me to kneel and open my mouth.

Except even then… then that would have changed everything. The dynamic would have switched to one in which it was all about me – or at least partly about me – and then I’d have missed the delight of holding my breath and staying as still as possible to avoid disturbing him. Nothing destroys a good performance quite like audience participation.

It happened without me, in front of me.

It was perfect.

And by the time he’d got dressed and ready to go for lunch I was so far down the rabbit-hole of lust I could barely see the rest of the day. Each time I looked at him I imagined him closing his eyes to let the hot water run over his face while he was wanking. When he put his hand over mine across a table in the pub that evening, I pictured his closed, soapy fist beating away at his dick. And when he lounged on the sofa with one arm above his head for comfort, I saw him leaning against the wall, hunched over his own dick, doing the sexiest thing I have ever seen him do.

That’s later, though. At this precise moment, seconds after he steps out of the shower, this feels like the absolute end of me. I will never be this horny again. When he’s dried off he strips me naked and stands me in front of the mirror in our bedroom, positioning himself behind me so he can watch my face in the glass, he puts one thick arm around my neck to hold me still, and uses the other to rub at the slit of my cunt. I close my eyes and lean back into him, dripping oceans onto his fingers which trickle down over his palm and to his wrist. And all I can see in my head is him, braced and wet and hard and focused and beautiful and vigorous and so full of lust and ardour. Wanking in the shower like not even I am watching.

I will masturbate over this for years – wait, DECADES. On my deathbed it will be the final image that I conjure in my mind, to comfort me on my way to the grave. It is the greatest, most perfect gift that he has ever given me.

And I cannot deal with it. At all.

This post is available as audio. Click ‘listen here’ at the start of the post, or check out the audio porn page for more sexy stories read aloud. 

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