He tugs his underwear down revealing those strong thighs.

I have to tell myself to calm down.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 was already undone, catching a glimpse of the meat of his cock before he wrapped himself in a towel. I found myself crossing my legs involuntarily. Jiggling my right thigh so the seam of my own jeans sent zinging thrill to my clit. His thick dick turns me on so much!

 I know what’s coming next, and I don’t want to be distracted too soon: it’s time for the shower. He took the towel off, and was already pretty hard by which was a gift in and of itself. I adored getting to see him at every single stage of arousal. It was particularly satisfying: that semi-solid state when the blood starts pulsing into him. It wasn’t yet filling his dick to the point of full erection. As he turned the water on he gripped himself so casually it reminded me that for him it was such an everyday thing. I was getting a privileged glimpse into what he does when he’s alone.  I remembered that he gets to see and touch himself like that 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 crushed the top of the dispenser is almost a sex act in itself. It’s like a little preview of the way his biceps would tense when he beat 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 was calm with occasional flashes of playfulness. There was still something of the performance about this, like a slight break in the fourth wall as he acknowledges that the cameras were there. A nod to the fact that soon I would be watching this, breathless and eager on the edge of my seat, and he understood that each and every detail would tattoo itself onto my brain.

Next, he soaped his dick.

 I found that five words are 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 was something he had touched every day, and something had been used to using—for practical reasons as well as just pleasure—for his entire adult life.

 

He was not embarrassed or ashamed of his dick, but nor was 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 began 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 told me he was enjoying himself. I knew he was  showing off to me the whole time, but it was only at that point I started to really feel like a voyeur. As if I was peeking in through the bathroom window without him knowing. It was the abandon, I guess.  He closed his eyes, gripped himself harder, and allowed the world to melt away. It was as if the idea of performance has dropped right down his to-do list.  From then on he could focus almost entirely on what feels good in his hands.

  Please stay tuned for Volume 2 in the future! You can find more of my blogs here! And you can also listen to my sexy audios here!

 
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