If I was to ask you to describe a man that wanks a lot, what image immediately comes into your mind? I can only guess that the majority of you out there would stereotype that guy as a feeble, greasy, no personality, loner, not fashion conscious, long coats type of person. Correct? Your forgiven. Although I do not have any of the traits mentioned above, and cannot be stereotyped in that way, I would have a lot in common with that sad individual, as will become evident as you read on.
It all started when James, my college mate, got a job in a different state and had to move out of an apartment we had shared for 4 years. We were close, like brothers and kept no secrets from each other, especially when it came to the girlfriend department. Every detail no matter how sordid or kinky would have been discussed.
James girlfriend Beckey was the current love of his life. They had been going out solidly now for 6 months and she would stay most of the time in our apartment because of the freedom it gave her, compared to the dormitory she would have shared with a multitude of girls. Beckey was beautiful, long straight blond hair, big lips, incredible perky breasts and an overall body to die for. I never took too much notice of her in a sexual way, since she was taken by my best friend. It is an unwritten law that us men adhere to and on that basis, she just never crossed my mind. That is, up until now !!!!
On James leaving, an awful void was left in the house. You could hear a pin drop when I’d come home in the evening. It took me a couple of weeks to get used to my own space again. On one particular evening, when I was preparing myself a bite to eat in the kitchen, I noticed a black lacey g-string lying on the floor beside the doorway to the utility room. Beckey still used the house on occasions to wash her clothes and entertain the odd friend. This didn’t bother me in the slightest, because being on my own, for me, was like solitary confinement. Not sure why I did it, but before I threw it into the linen basket, I gave them a quick sniff. An unbelievable aroma, a concoction of Beckey’s pussy and sweet scented roses filled my nostrils, triggering my brain into overdrive. What surprised me more was the speed of my erection and not just any erection, but a raging hard-on that Viagra would have been proud of. Images of Beckey raced through my mind like never before, her innocent big blue eyes looking up at me, pleading with me, her tongue whipping the head of my penis and sending surges of electricity through my body with every lash. The feeling was so intense and so sudden and in order to relieve the tension that hit me like a steam train, I released my cock from the confines of my trousers and started to jerk off, there and then in the middle of the kitchen. Having taken just 10 strokes, and without even enough time to grab a tissue, I blasted 4 streams of cum 6 foot into mid air, hitting the counter top and almost landing on my dinner. My mind was racing, my lungs heaving, my face flushed, my body in shock. What had happened was a totally new experience, and one that I would not forget.
That night, I couldn’t resist the urge to bring Beckey’s g-string to bed with me. Setting up my laptop on the bed, I loaded pictures of Beckey that I had taken when we had all gone to Niagara Falls for Thanks Giving celebrations, propping up a couple of pillows and borrowed some of Beckeys hand cream I found in the bathroom, I began to stroke my cock. Getting over the initial shock of the coldness of the cream, I began to picture Beckeys mouth once again enveloping my helmet as the cream began to warm up. I then imagined my cock entering her tight pussy and feeling the moistness and warmness of her insides, squeezing all sides of my cock, pulling back and stretching the foreskin as it entered. With very little effort I was erect like never before. Taking Beckeys aromatic g-string, I placed it under my nose and inhaled deeply, once, twice, three times, causing my head to spin and become nauseous. With eyes leering longingly at the pictures as they popped up on the laptop, my hand still stroking up and down in synch with my breathing, all my senses were in overload. Been prepared this time round, I purposely shot my load into her panties. With one heave of cum, followed by another and yet another, I shot my load into my panty enclosed hand. The extent of cum was too much for the flimsy g-string to contain, causing some to spill out onto the back of my hand. Being a day of firsts, I lapped up the back of my hand, and tasted the largest amount of my own cum I had ever tasted before. Not that I would order it off a menu of a respectable restaurant, surprisingly however, the taste was not unpleasant and less salty that I had imagined. That final act of decadence was too much for one night and the emotions I was feeling, the intensity and speed at which things happened that day, knocked me for 10. Sleep engulfed me almost instantly that night until I awoke the next morning. An earthquake would not have made me stir.
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The following day was a normal, typical day and not much thought was given to the escapades of the previous day. That is, until I arrived back to my apartment. Heading straight to my bedroom to change my clothes, I noticed a different pair of panties this time lying outside the door of James old bedroom. These were similar in shape, but with a lace trim and red in colour. Beckey, like the last time, must have dropped them by mistake. Right on queue, my cock swelled instantly, hardened to the same rigidity as the previous day and picking them up was slightly awkward and uncomfortable when bending over to pick them up. The urge to jerk off, overcame me, so into the bedroom I ran, throwing off my clothes without any regard to where they landed, and proceeded to rub, sniff, feel beckeys undies and jerked myself to a shuddering and glorious climax.
Finding Beckeys panties I put down as an accident on her part. It’s not inconceivable to drop something so small and not notice it. As you read further however, this was far from the truth.
The next evening, while relaxing in front of the TV it became evident that Beckeys persona began to change considerably. She came in from college, said her usual hellos and after a few rumblings around in the kitchen/utility room, came over to me with, what I perceived to be a smile on her face. She then proceeded to askif I had seen 2 small items of clothing. Not sure how I prevented myself from chocking on a mouthful of coffee, I somehow uttered that I had no idea whatsoever. Not happy with my response and visibly annoyed with herself for having lost something, she held up a pair of the black lacey undies to show me what was missing. I shrugged my shoulders, portraying the idea that I was not interested. I immediately turned away, hiding my face that had now turned a deep shade of red. Out of the corner of my eye I couldn’t help but notice Beckey’s gaze burning a hole in the crotch area of my trousers where my cock was standing to attention, like an Appollo rocket on a launch pad. I strategically placed the mug of coffee on my crotch, hoping to cover up my erection. However, placing the mug in that position only highlighted my predicament even further. Beckey had noticed everything and was impressed by the size and how it snaked down my trouser leg.
About an hour later, Beckey walked into the sitting room and what met me almost caused my eyes to pop out of their sockets. Wearing a pair of lycra workout shorts, a cut-off t-shirt that was soaked with sweat, and a pair of the trendiest of aerobic footwear, I could see the curves of Beckeys body, and it was mind blowing.
The lycra was, of course, skintight and clung to every curve of her slim hips. I couldn’t help but stare at her toned thighs, lean bronzed legs, manicured toes . . . my eye detected a thin line of sweat that had collected between her thighs. The launch of the Apollo rocket was within seconds of blast off.
The t-shirt served double duty, showing off Beckey’s sexy navel, as well as revealing her other . . . assets. I couldn’t help but stare. I never saw her in that light before. I didn’t realize that I was looking intently at her tits until a slivery thread of saliva actually escaped my mouth, landing on my crotch area, simulating pre-cum emanating from the head of my penis. What an embarrassment if Beckey had noticed. Unknownst to myself, she noticed everything. The fish was hooked and it was now a matter of reeling it in, slow and steady.
“Ben,” she put her arm around me, enveloping me in her moist warmth, “I’m going to have a shower if that is ok?”. All I could muster was a mumble.
I could hear Beckey singing in the shower as I walked by the bathroom door. The clothes she wore were thrown on the ground on the landing. I couldn’t leave an opportunity like that pass and quickly picked up the items, sticking my tongue out to taste the saltiness of the wet patches. The aroma was intoxicating, filling my nostrils with her sweet smell. My mind was racing, my cock raging, heart pumping. Lasting only seconds, but so afraid of being caught, that moment was enough to almost cause me to explode without even stroking myself.
As I sat on the bed, I checked the mirror and there as an unsightly bulge in the front of my jeans. For a moment, I considered jerking off to get it down, but that seemed a touch distasteful at the moment and with Beckey next door, the risk of been of been heard was too high. Shrugging into a long, loose shirt, I shambled out of my room and headed for the kitchen, praying my erection would subside.
Not long afterwards, Beckey strolled into the kitchen, softly purring to herself and proceeded to make herself a coffee. She was wearing a tight white tank-top with spaghetti-thin straps that looked to be strained to about their limit. Her hair, still wet from her shower, fell down on either side of her breasts. I could clearly see her nipples harden and darken as the material dampened. With my attention somewhat diverted, I failed to see her cat-like smile.
“So how are things without James ?” Beckey inquired in her best “girly style ” voice.
“Uh, fine.” I replied. A little flushed, I tore my eyes away from Beckey’s cleavage and sat down at the kitchen table, eyes firmly fixed on the formica top, hiding yet another erection.
“That’s good. I surprisingly managing a lot better than I though.” she said, and went back to making coffee.
“Do you miss him?” I shakingly managed to say.
“Emmm ……… I suppose I do”. Her tone was submissive and she wasn’t quick enough to answer. Suddenly she reached over, giving me quite a view of the side of one large firm breast, and turned on the stereo which was on the kitchen shelf above my head. Cheesy dance music blared out from the speakers. Images of Beckey gyrating her body to the sounds, flashed through my head. The rhythm of the beat was in time with my heartbeat, pumping blood to all extremities of my body. It was hypnotic . .
“But life goes on. Mustn’t linger too much in the past, mustn’t we Ben”, she said teasingly and smirkingly.
I was taken aback by her abrupt words and her tone. Upto a week ago, you couldn’t keep them apart. Now she was acting as if James never even existed. Beckey kindly placed a sandwich in front of me, giving me a clear shot down the front of her shirt, into the cavernous cleavage contained therein.
“Ben, I really appreciate you letting me stay here as if it was my own place”, she said.
A long-nailed finger idly played with one of her stiff nipples clearly evident through the fabric of the shirt as she turned back to get her mug of coffee.
Aching with sexual frustration and tension, I stupidly and idiotically replied “I really love having you here with me Beckey, your fantastic”. My eyes were inadvertently drawn to the motions of her round little behind as it moved within the confines of a pair of extremely tight jeans, only tearing my eyes away after an awkward minute or two.
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The morning after, I awoke to the dull thump that I quickly learned to associate with Beckeys preference in music. Sitting up, I wearily rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the light fog that seemed to have settled there.
As was every morning these days, I found myself wearing nothing but a steel-hard cock, but didn’t take any special notice of it . . . I’d gone to bed early enough the previous night, having chatted to Beckey for an hour. She did a lot of talking, while I just sat there ogling, peering, glancing, leering. I tried to fight it, but it was so much easier that way. I had jerked myself off to 2 orgasms with ease before sleep enveloped me.
A dull throb of the music permeated the house like the beating of a huge heart, not easy to listen to so early in the morning, but certainly not unpleasant either.
I shrugged, and got dressed slowly. My erection, gently pushing down the left leg of my jeans, was fairly obvious, but this time around, hiding it didn’t seem quite so important. Something inside me was telling me that accidents and innocence do not go hand in hand with Beckey.
Walking into the living room with the shuffling gait of the newly-awakened, I was met with the sight of Beckey exercising to her music, blasting out of the entertainment centre. I stopped in my tracks at the sight of her. My cock, throbbing in time to the beat, straining eagerly against my pants leg.
“Shit!”. I realized I hadn’t put on any underwear this morning. How did I miss that?
Embarrassed but unable to move, I watched Beckeys lithe body, covered with a thin sheen of sweat, writhe and pulse to the music. It was more like a hedonistic tribal dance and not your traditional aerobics. Bending over, she looked at me between sculpted thighs, watching me stare as the thong of her leotard inched its way up the crack of her ass. She stayed that way for a moment, letting me get a good long look.
“Are you going to watch, or are you going to join in?” She asked mischievously.
“Emmm… n-no,” I stammered. “J-just passing through,”
“Are you sure?” Beckey straightened, and turned around. She saw my eyes dart to the pronounced swells of her generous tits. “Well?”
“No!” I said in a high pitch as I ran to the kitchen.
“Your loss,” she went back to her workout, pausing only to turn up the volume on the stereo.
Thinking back on this now, my refusal to join Beckey was my last ditched effort to control and restrain my emotions and needs. Unknownst to myself, Beckey at this stage had successfully stripped all that away.
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Later that evening as I lazed on the couch, Beckey walked into the room, asking if I could do her a favour.
I immediately sat bolt upright, suddenly very eager to help.
She was wearing a one piece tight grey dress made out of some kind of clingy material that revealed every single curve and hollow of her luscious body. In her arms she carried a laundry basket.
“I’ve got some errands to do this afternoon, and I was hoping if you could do the laundry for me. You will, won’t you?” She pouted.
I agreed without hesitation, and Beckeys face broke out in a sunny smile. She gave a little giggle of joy, causing the bodice of the dress to jiggle attractively. Thanking me, she turned and headed for the front door. Watching her ass all the way, I couldn’t help but notice the absence of a panty-line beneath the fabric.
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Laundry? Why the hell had I agreed to do the laundry, I wondered, dropping the basket onto the washing machine. It was a miracle that I did my own laundry, for Christ’s sake.
Scowling, I threw the lid of the washer open. To top it off, it wasn’t even my fucking dirty clothes. I couldn’t believe that Beckey had roped him into doing her washing.
“Of all the stupid, goddamn, fucking,” I turned to face the basket, “I can’t believe I have to paw through Beckeys dirty . . . fucking . . . laundry . . .”
Lying atop the pile was a scrap of pink silk. My voice faltered, then petered out.
Before I knew what I was doing, it was in my hands. “It” turned out to be a pair of string-bikini panties. Even though I was just holding it, I could detect a heady aroma coming from the silken goodies. My dick was hard instantly, and without thinking I had plunged his face into the cloth, deeply inhaling. Tasting.
I had to masturbate. Now.
But what about the laundry? A faint, yet commanding voice queried. She asked you to do the laundry. Do it, and then you can jerk off.
I was more than a little confused. Do the laundry? And THEN jerk? Where was this . . . I inhaled again. Blood rushed in my ears, and I could hear my own pulse, beating loudly. Beating rhythmically. An entrancing little tattoo.
LAUNDRY NOW !
Seldom had clothing been separated, pre-washed, washed, and dried in such a speedy fashion. Especially when a pair of panties covered the washer’s face.
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When Beckey returned that evening, she found her clothing washed, dried, and neatly stacked in a pile on her bed. My door was closed, locked, and she could detect the soft squeak of bedsprings as she walked quietly by.
“Almost . . .” she muttered to herself. Strutting out into the living room, Beckey turned on the stereo, and moved the volume knob up high.
Wearing a smile and swaying her hips in time to the music, she walked into her room to decide what to wear tomorrow. Something tasteful yet. . . trashy.
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The following morning, I awoke, not to the pleasant pulse that had filled his dreams the night before, but the sharp rap of knuckles on my bedroom door. Slowly, I opened my eyes.
Lying naked in my bed, I found himself in the same position that I recalled falling asleep in the previous night – one hand wrapped around my semen-covered cock and with Beckey’s panties covering my face. Groggily, I sat up, and the pink treasure fell to the floor.
With my hand still grasping my hard-on, I shuffled to the door, and turned the knob.
“Ben!” Beckey gasped, more in surprise than shock. She’d been expecting this, of course, but not quite today. She ran her eyes over my body, coming to rest upon my stiff cock. Things were progressing a little too quickly, but she saw no reason to take advantage of the situation.
“Er . . .” I responded intelligently. I was all confused, embarrassed and didn’t seem too sure as to what was happpening.
“Ben,” Beckey said again. “What on earth have you been doing!?”
“Um, er . . .” my mind rolled over; I knew something was happening. I just needed to be told what . . .
Beckey deliberately looked over my shoulder, into the room.
“And with my panties, too!” She looked into my unfocused eyes. “We simply can’t allow that if we are to be housemates! Follow me!” With that, Beckey grabbed hold of my erection and lead me into the living room.
“I’m really very flattered Ben,” she told me as we walked, her strong legs setting a pace my confused body couldn’t really keep up with. My feet tangled and I fell in a heap upon the carpeted floor, at Beckeys.
She tut-tutted.
“Really, Ben. Are you really too stupid to walk?” Before I could give anything more articulate than a moan for an answer, Beckey kept on going. “You must be, Ben, but then again, you were never as bright as James, were you? No, you weren’t. Poor stupid little Ben. But don’t worry, baby. Beckey is here. I’m always here. I can take care of you.” I curled up into the fetal position. “But I’m afraid that if I’m going to stay for good in this apartment, Ben, we’re going to have to institute a little discipline.” She prodded me with the toe of a high-heeled sandal.
“Now lie straight Ben, and look at me when I talk to you!”
I complied, rolling over onto my back, my hard-on pointing up towards the ceiling. It twitched as I took in Beckey.
Wrapped around her dainty feet were a pair of 5″-heeled black sandals, as well as a pair of black stockings that flowed up her long, long legs underneath a nearly indecently short skirt that, especially in my position, did nothing to hide the garters at the top. Her shirt was made from some kind of black, stretchy material that was almost as transparent as her stockings, and made no effort to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Poor little Ben,” Beckey cooed, and began rubbing the toe of her foot along the underside of my dick. I shuddered and writhed on the floor.
“It’s so hard for Beckey,” she continued, “would you like me to make it all better? Would you, Ben? Would you like for Beckey to do that?” I nodded weakly. “Of course you do, Ben. But housemates can’t do such things, Ben. Especially you !! They just can’t,” I groaned. “But I hate to see you in pain, Ben. If I wasn’t your housemate, then I could do something . . . if I were, say, your mistress, I could help you, Ben, but I can’t. I’m just your housemate.”
I mumbled something inarticulate, and thrust my pelvis into her silky toes.
“What was that, Ben? I’m afraid I can’t hear you.”
“Msssstrssss. . .” I half-groaned, half-hissed.
“Now, don’t say anything you don’t mean, Ben.” She increased the pressure on my dick. “Do you want me to do that for you, Ben? Do you want to give yourself to me, Ben, so I can help you?”
“Mis . . . mistress Beckey,” I said, now thrusting hard against Beckey’s foot.
“Good,” she cooed. “Now you may come, Ben.” With a piercing cry, I arched my back high, face contorted into a look halfway between excruciating pain and ecstasy. Semen spurted high into the air, landing in thick ropes on my stomach and Beckey’s stockinged foot.
She tut-tutted. “What a bad boy. Now clean up your mess, Ben. Use your tongue on both my stockings and shoes . . .” Without hesitation I gobbled up all my cum from her shoes and stockings, holding it in my mouth, swishing it around with my tongue, savoring the taste and smell. On opening my mouth to show Beckey all that I had gathered, I awaited her command to swallow. With a broad smile on Beckey’s face, and with my eagerness to comply with her commands, I downed the load in one gulp. Today was a new beginning and I couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow would bring.
The end
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