Tim tugs his underwear down.

He reveals those strong thighs. They are tense and rock-solid like he’s either been for a workout or recently delivered a powerful fucking. Deliciously well-placed tattoos, one at his hip to emphasize the flat rigidity of his stomach. The other one on his pec that somehow draws bitable attention to his small, dark nipples. I’m undone already.  I catch a glimpse of the meat of his cock before he wraps himself in a towel. I find myself crossing my legs involuntarily. Jiggling my right thigh so the seam of my own jeans sends zinging thrills through my clit. His cock turns me on so much!

I have to tell myself to calm down.

 I know what’s coming next, and I don’t want to be distracted too soon: it’s time for the shower. He takes the towel off, and he’s already pretty hard by now which is a gift in and of itself. I adore getting to see him at every single stage of arousal. This one’s particularly satisfying: that semi-solid state when the blood starts pulsing into him. It isn’t yet filling his dick to the point of full erection. As he turns the water on he grips himself so casually it reminds me that for him this is such an everyday thing. I’m getting a privileged glimpse into what he does when he’s alone.  I remember that he gets to see and touch himself like this any time he likes. The pleasurable ache in my cunt has top notes of full-blown envy.

He pumps the soap a few times.

Frankly just the flex in his arms as he crushes the top of the dispenser is almost a sex act in itself. It’s like a little preview of the way his biceps will tense when he beats at his dick for me. Taking occasional glances in those beautiful big bathroom mirrors to admire himself and twitch his pecs, allowing the water to run in rivulets over his smooth, shining body, his expression is calm but with occasional flashes of playfulness. There’s still something of the performance about this, like a slight break in the fourth wall as he acknowledges that the cameras are there. A nod to the fact that soon I’ll be watching this, breathless and eager on the edge of my seat, and he understands that each and every detail will tattoo itself onto my brain.

Next, he soaps his dick.

 And once again I find that five words are simply not enough to really zoom in on the detail that has me wriggling in my chair. When we’re together, pre-fuck, and I grip him in my own palm for a warm-up, I do it very differently to how he does when he’s alone. I’ll hold it with reverence sometimes, or perhaps with enthusiasm or even hurried desperation, because to me grabbing a cock is a precious, treasured privilege. But when he does it? He handles his dick with the practiced, casual competence of someone who fully owns it. It’s something he touches every day, and something he’s been used to using—for practical reasons as well as just pleasure—for his entire adult life. He is not embarrassed or ashamed of his dick, but nor is he even really boastful about it. To him, it’s just a dick, and that makes every touch of it all the more precious to me.

 He begins to stroke himself. 

As a result, he lets out a couple of moans that send shudders of delight all the way from my clit up my spine. Adding in some panting sounds which tell me he’s enjoying himself. I know he’s been showing off to me this whole time, but it’s only at this point I start to really feel like a voyeur. As if I’m peeking in through the bathroom window without him knowing. It’s the abandon, I guess. When he starts to rub at his now-fully-solid prick, there’s a moment of letting go which I don’t think is feigned for the camera. He closes his eyes, grips himself harder, and allows the world to melt away. It’s as if the idea of performance has dropped right down his to-do list.  From now on he can focus almost entirely on what feels good in his hands.

I hope you loved Volume 1 of this story! Come back next week for Volume 2!  You can find more of my blogs here! And you can also listen to them here!

 
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