#MasturbationMonday Week 7 - Repeat Performance #erotic #excerpt
Masturbation Monday: Week 7
Welcome to week 7 of Masturbation Monday!
The Rules:Write a steamy hot post on your blog about masturbation or anything else that gets you and your readers turned on.
Thanks to Kayla's prompt this week, which will transition right into a continuation of last week's post. Though, this week from the male perspective. When we left off, our newly separated spouses, Miranda and Jordie had just experienced, a quick and unplanned romp. After which Jordie couldn't get away from his ex fast enough. But just before he leaves, Miranda throws down an invitational gauntlet that keeps Jordie on the edge of his seat, all work week long, in anticipation of the weekend.
Jordan drove cautiously up the winding mountain road towards the cabin. Anxiety mixed with unwelcome excitement had his stomach tied in knots and his cock at half mast in anticipation.
Would she be there?
Visions of his soon to be ex-wife, Miranda, swam in his memory. His traitorous dick lengthened almost painfully as he relived last weekends impromptu romp.
Did he want her to be there?
No, he didn't, but apparently his cock had other ideas. He palmed himself then pulled at the knee of his trousers trying to readjust for the sudden constrictiveness in his crotch.
"Fuckin' bitch. How dare she do this," he said aloud, disgusted that she could so easily wind him back up. They were over. Done. There was no going back. So why was he in such a hurry to return to the cottage?
Impulsively, he pulled over to the side of the road. He jammed the shifter into park and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. This was insane. Stupid. He'd regret this. But he couldn't get the image of Miranda slinking around in her tight little white panties, out of his head. She'd come to the cabin last weekend just to fuck. She knew he'd be there. She’d sought him out. He'd made her admit it. The moment, he’d seen her there, he’d doubted his sanity. She was a dream, a vision in his open dress shirt. Her tits on full display. A fucking temptress. She knew exactly what he liked and she’d only come there to torture him. And he was helpless to fight it. He’d approached her, expecting her to fight and spit at him, but instead, she’d melted at his touch.
Tentatively, at first, he’d kissed her shoulders, moving to her full responsive breasts. She’d been a mass of quivering need. He'd fingered her rather roughly, but she'd loved it. She’d wanted it, practically begged for it. And that was all he'd intended to give her. The same kind of tease she’d obviously planned for him. Until she'd admitted she'd not been with any other man, since they'd broken up. It had surprised him. And weakened him. She'd mounted him and again, he’d been too weak to deny her.
Then after she'd used him to slake her lust, the little bitch had even had the nerve to ask him if he'd be there the following weekend. As if inviting him for a repeat performance.
Fuck her. "The crazy slut wants me more now than she ever did when we were together." He’d practically had to make an appointment to schedule sex, she was always so busy and focused on work. Then when she was home, she was 'too tired'.
He should just turn around and drive back home. Leave the horny little bitch hanging. Make her drown in her own need, like she'd done to him the entire week. Wondering. Missing her. Drowning in memories.
But it was their encounter at the cabin that had him confused. It had been different. She'd needed him. In a way she never had when they were together.
"Vulnerable, that's what she'd been." Never a word he'd ever associated with his wife in the past. It was also something he didn't want to be on the other end of with her ever again. He'd been dealing with their break-up fairly well, he thought. The decision to split had been a mutual one. They were heading in different directions. Had grown apart. Her career was more important to her than their relationship. And he wanted more.
"Turn around and go home, Jordon." He looked up into the rear-view mirror and stared back at himself with steely determination. "You can find good pussy any where. Ya been there done that."
He manoeuvred a hasty u-turn and headed back towards town.
* * * *
Smoke billowed from the chimney, the earthy smell of burning wood filled the cool night air. She was here and he was an idiot for turning back around. His brain was clearly no longer involved in the decision making process here. But the thought didn't stop him from quietly entering the cabin, in an attempt to catch her off guard, yet again. It had proved beneficial last time.
After soundlessly closing the door, he turned and observed the living area. It was late. By now, she'd probably assumed he wasn't going to show.
He tip-toed past the half wall and glanced into the kitchenette. There were dirty dishes and an open bottle of red wine on the counter, but no sign of Randa.
A small moan from the bed room had him straining to hear more. Visions of what she might be doing to elicit such a throaty sound had him hurrying in that direction.
Surreptitiously, he peeked around the doorjamb into the bedroom.
His heart stuttered, his breath caught and his cock surged.
She was fully involved in a scene he had no part of. What did she need with him? She was doing fine, all on her own. His lovely ex was sprawled out on their bed, naked except for those damned white underwear. What was it about a woman in plain panties that turned him on? Whatever...it worked for him, always had. And no one wore 'em like, Miranda. She had one hand inside the little scrap of material, while the other cupped and massaged one full delicious breast. The tip of his middle finger tingled in memory of what it felt like to round that velvet clit.
Watching her masturbate was another one of his naughty pleasures. Although he’d rarely been given the chance. Did she know he was here? Watching. Was she putting on a show?
Her lips parted and she moaned again, a long deep, keening sound. He had to bite his lip to keep from responding. Reaching down he undid his jeans, his cock already reaching out of the waistband. He flicked his thumb over his slit, spreading the pre-cum around the tip before fisting his throbbing thickness, firmly. Slowly, he pumped his dick, up and down, fascinated by his wife’s every raw but sensual gesture.
All of a sudden, her back arched, curving off the bed, her nice round bum pressing into the mattress. The sound of her panting, filled the tiny room. The hand between her legs began a rapid rotation. Her stomach undulated. She was so close.
"Oh, Jordie, I wish you were here. Wish this..." she grabbed at her cunt and squeezed her tit, "...was you. Ahhh..."
She squirmed restlessly.
Gritting his teeth, he tugged his dick faster.
"Fuck!" Miranda screamed. The curse made him freeze in mid-stroke. It wasn't a climax-induced expletive. He was all too familiar with those.
"Nooo..." she cried, letting go of her boob and yanking her hand from working her clit. She slammed both fists against the mattress and brought her knees up.
A sob sent a jolt through him, as he watched her turn over onto her stomach, her lovely bottom his focus now.
But as she wept into the multi-coloured quilt, he let go of his dick and lowered his hands to his sides. His shoulders sagged as he stared at her, at a loss. He'd never seen her like this. Even the night they'd decided to end things, she'd only shed a couple of tears. Whereas he’d been wrecked but he hadn’t let her know it.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she muffled into the bed-cover. "I didn't know it would be this hard. If you were here...fuck, Jordan... I'd..." Her voice faded.
She'd what? She'd what!
He was torn. In his mind, he knew it would be in his best interests to back away, quietly let himself out the way he'd come in. She'd be none the wiser. Drive back to town and forget everything, including last weekend. They were over. It's what they both wanted.
But the same compulsion that drove him to turn back around towards the cabin prodded him now. With purpose he stepped into the room. His pants still undone, his cock partially exposed. He didn’t care.
"What would you do, Miranda," he demanded.
She gasped, sat up and spun in his direction. By the true surprise on her tear-streaked face, he was certain, she hadn’t known he was there. This wasn’t just a show. Blinking, she stared at him, her mouth hanging open. "Jordie," she said shakily, straightening her back, raising her pert tits. “How long have…”
"If I was here you would what?" he demanded, angrily.
"I...you...oh..." Her eyes rounded as the realization of how long he'd been standing there finally dawned on her.
Patience gone, he neared the bed and grabbed the back of her head, gripping her long dark hair roughly. Her shocked gaze shot to his. He stared at her, fuming. She was tearing him in two. He hated her for it.
"What would you do?” He jerked her head back. “Make it up to me?" he yelled, suggestively looking between her and his cock.
Her dark eyes lit and she scurried to the end of the bed, her bare tits bouncing in her haste. It was when she hesitated that he knew he had her right where he wanted her. For once, he had all the power. Was it his anger she was responding to? He’d been pissed last time too.
"Suck it, Randa. Suck my cock." He gripped his shaft and aimed it for her full lips. Her gaze left his, landing on his straining dick. She licked her lips then opened them, ready to accept him. Without thought, he thrust his hips, driving his cock into the warm wet recesses of her talented mouth. He kept hold of the back of her head, controlling the tempo, fucking her mouth, bumping the back of her throat with every lunge. He didn’t care if he hurt her, he didn’t care if she choked.
It was beyond fucking amazing, looking down on her dark head, bobbing, her cheeks hollowing as she drew back on him. Her eyes rolled and fluttered. He'd seen that look before, enjoyed those sounds. She was getting off on this. It wasn't a chore.
"Stop!" He pulled her hair, dislodging her.
She stared up at him, her gaze darting uncertainly, her lovely lips shiny and swollen from his rough use. He fisted his other hand to keep from reaching out and smoothing her lower lip. No, he was certain, any sign of weakness or empathy would shatter whatever precedent he’d set here.
In an attempt to break his hold, she shook her head side to side. But he held firm, even gripping her hair close to her scalp, where he knew it would hurt. She opened her mouth, silently offering to take him back in.
He stifled a chuckle. Had he just unravelled the secret to keeping his wife interested? He gave her hair another vicious pull then dropped her carelessly.
As much as it killed him, he stepped away from her and with major discomfort and some difficulty, he tucked his aching cock back into his pants and attempted to zip up. It was a lost cause. He pulled his shirt over to cover himself.
"No...please..." she knelt on the end of the bed and reached for him, her long fingers grasping, her expression begging for him to return. "Let me finish. I'll make it good."
With more willpower than he knew he possessed, he sidestepped her and walked to the bedroom door. At the threshold, he turned back. The look of bewilderment and perhaps even a hint humiliation, marred her generally flawless and regal features. The usual arrogant self-assuredness, she wore like a badge of honour, fell away. It was what had attracted him to her in the first place and what ultimately drove a wedge between them. For once she needed direction.
The image she made, legs folded underneath her, her breasts, rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath, her nipples hard, her skin flushed, her hair a tangled mess from his misuse—it was something he would never forget.
"Next weekend," he snapped the order, "You'll be here." He pointed down at the floor where he stood.
He didn't wait for a response to his statement but turned and strode to the exit.
Jordan made sure to slam the door on his way out.
Back on the road driving home, he couldn't help but grin to himself. He had the most empowering feeling coursing through him. He even resisted the urge to jerk off and find that much needed release. No, he would use that craving to pad his resolve. Their relationship had just shifted. To what and where it might go—he didn't know? For now, it didn't matter. What he was certain of—beyond a shadow of a doubt—next weekend, Miranda would be there, waiting for him.
©H K Carlton 2014
I hope you enjoyed the continuation of last week's post, The Weekend, I think I'll call it. Don't forget to checkout the other M-M authors and bloggers over from the linky list over at Masturbation Monday Central.
Happy M-Monday!
Welcome to week 7 of Masturbation Monday!
The Rules:Write a steamy hot post on your blog about masturbation or anything else that gets you and your readers turned on.
Thanks to Kayla's prompt this week, which will transition right into a continuation of last week's post. Though, this week from the male perspective. When we left off, our newly separated spouses, Miranda and Jordie had just experienced, a quick and unplanned romp. After which Jordie couldn't get away from his ex fast enough. But just before he leaves, Miranda throws down an invitational gauntlet that keeps Jordie on the edge of his seat, all work week long, in anticipation of the weekend.
Jordan drove cautiously up the winding mountain road towards the cabin. Anxiety mixed with unwelcome excitement had his stomach tied in knots and his cock at half mast in anticipation.
Would she be there?
Visions of his soon to be ex-wife, Miranda, swam in his memory. His traitorous dick lengthened almost painfully as he relived last weekends impromptu romp.
Did he want her to be there?
No, he didn't, but apparently his cock had other ideas. He palmed himself then pulled at the knee of his trousers trying to readjust for the sudden constrictiveness in his crotch.
"Fuckin' bitch. How dare she do this," he said aloud, disgusted that she could so easily wind him back up. They were over. Done. There was no going back. So why was he in such a hurry to return to the cottage?
Impulsively, he pulled over to the side of the road. He jammed the shifter into park and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. This was insane. Stupid. He'd regret this. But he couldn't get the image of Miranda slinking around in her tight little white panties, out of his head. She'd come to the cabin last weekend just to fuck. She knew he'd be there. She’d sought him out. He'd made her admit it. The moment, he’d seen her there, he’d doubted his sanity. She was a dream, a vision in his open dress shirt. Her tits on full display. A fucking temptress. She knew exactly what he liked and she’d only come there to torture him. And he was helpless to fight it. He’d approached her, expecting her to fight and spit at him, but instead, she’d melted at his touch.
Tentatively, at first, he’d kissed her shoulders, moving to her full responsive breasts. She’d been a mass of quivering need. He'd fingered her rather roughly, but she'd loved it. She’d wanted it, practically begged for it. And that was all he'd intended to give her. The same kind of tease she’d obviously planned for him. Until she'd admitted she'd not been with any other man, since they'd broken up. It had surprised him. And weakened him. She'd mounted him and again, he’d been too weak to deny her. Then after she'd used him to slake her lust, the little bitch had even had the nerve to ask him if he'd be there the following weekend. As if inviting him for a repeat performance.
Fuck her. "The crazy slut wants me more now than she ever did when we were together." He’d practically had to make an appointment to schedule sex, she was always so busy and focused on work. Then when she was home, she was 'too tired'.
He should just turn around and drive back home. Leave the horny little bitch hanging. Make her drown in her own need, like she'd done to him the entire week. Wondering. Missing her. Drowning in memories.
But it was their encounter at the cabin that had him confused. It had been different. She'd needed him. In a way she never had when they were together.
"Vulnerable, that's what she'd been." Never a word he'd ever associated with his wife in the past. It was also something he didn't want to be on the other end of with her ever again. He'd been dealing with their break-up fairly well, he thought. The decision to split had been a mutual one. They were heading in different directions. Had grown apart. Her career was more important to her than their relationship. And he wanted more.
"Turn around and go home, Jordon." He looked up into the rear-view mirror and stared back at himself with steely determination. "You can find good pussy any where. Ya been there done that."
He manoeuvred a hasty u-turn and headed back towards town.
* * * *
Smoke billowed from the chimney, the earthy smell of burning wood filled the cool night air. She was here and he was an idiot for turning back around. His brain was clearly no longer involved in the decision making process here. But the thought didn't stop him from quietly entering the cabin, in an attempt to catch her off guard, yet again. It had proved beneficial last time.
After soundlessly closing the door, he turned and observed the living area. It was late. By now, she'd probably assumed he wasn't going to show.
He tip-toed past the half wall and glanced into the kitchenette. There were dirty dishes and an open bottle of red wine on the counter, but no sign of Randa.
A small moan from the bed room had him straining to hear more. Visions of what she might be doing to elicit such a throaty sound had him hurrying in that direction.
Surreptitiously, he peeked around the doorjamb into the bedroom.
His heart stuttered, his breath caught and his cock surged.
She was fully involved in a scene he had no part of. What did she need with him? She was doing fine, all on her own. His lovely ex was sprawled out on their bed, naked except for those damned white underwear. What was it about a woman in plain panties that turned him on? Whatever...it worked for him, always had. And no one wore 'em like, Miranda. She had one hand inside the little scrap of material, while the other cupped and massaged one full delicious breast. The tip of his middle finger tingled in memory of what it felt like to round that velvet clit.
Watching her masturbate was another one of his naughty pleasures. Although he’d rarely been given the chance. Did she know he was here? Watching. Was she putting on a show?
Her lips parted and she moaned again, a long deep, keening sound. He had to bite his lip to keep from responding. Reaching down he undid his jeans, his cock already reaching out of the waistband. He flicked his thumb over his slit, spreading the pre-cum around the tip before fisting his throbbing thickness, firmly. Slowly, he pumped his dick, up and down, fascinated by his wife’s every raw but sensual gesture.
All of a sudden, her back arched, curving off the bed, her nice round bum pressing into the mattress. The sound of her panting, filled the tiny room. The hand between her legs began a rapid rotation. Her stomach undulated. She was so close.
"Oh, Jordie, I wish you were here. Wish this..." she grabbed at her cunt and squeezed her tit, "...was you. Ahhh..."
She squirmed restlessly.
Gritting his teeth, he tugged his dick faster.
"Fuck!" Miranda screamed. The curse made him freeze in mid-stroke. It wasn't a climax-induced expletive. He was all too familiar with those.
"Nooo..." she cried, letting go of her boob and yanking her hand from working her clit. She slammed both fists against the mattress and brought her knees up.
A sob sent a jolt through him, as he watched her turn over onto her stomach, her lovely bottom his focus now.
But as she wept into the multi-coloured quilt, he let go of his dick and lowered his hands to his sides. His shoulders sagged as he stared at her, at a loss. He'd never seen her like this. Even the night they'd decided to end things, she'd only shed a couple of tears. Whereas he’d been wrecked but he hadn’t let her know it.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she muffled into the bed-cover. "I didn't know it would be this hard. If you were here...fuck, Jordan... I'd..." Her voice faded.
She'd what? She'd what!
He was torn. In his mind, he knew it would be in his best interests to back away, quietly let himself out the way he'd come in. She'd be none the wiser. Drive back to town and forget everything, including last weekend. They were over. It's what they both wanted.
But the same compulsion that drove him to turn back around towards the cabin prodded him now. With purpose he stepped into the room. His pants still undone, his cock partially exposed. He didn’t care.
"What would you do, Miranda," he demanded.
She gasped, sat up and spun in his direction. By the true surprise on her tear-streaked face, he was certain, she hadn’t known he was there. This wasn’t just a show. Blinking, she stared at him, her mouth hanging open. "Jordie," she said shakily, straightening her back, raising her pert tits. “How long have…”
"If I was here you would what?" he demanded, angrily.
"I...you...oh..." Her eyes rounded as the realization of how long he'd been standing there finally dawned on her.
Patience gone, he neared the bed and grabbed the back of her head, gripping her long dark hair roughly. Her shocked gaze shot to his. He stared at her, fuming. She was tearing him in two. He hated her for it.
"What would you do?” He jerked her head back. “Make it up to me?" he yelled, suggestively looking between her and his cock.
Her dark eyes lit and she scurried to the end of the bed, her bare tits bouncing in her haste. It was when she hesitated that he knew he had her right where he wanted her. For once, he had all the power. Was it his anger she was responding to? He’d been pissed last time too.
"Suck it, Randa. Suck my cock." He gripped his shaft and aimed it for her full lips. Her gaze left his, landing on his straining dick. She licked her lips then opened them, ready to accept him. Without thought, he thrust his hips, driving his cock into the warm wet recesses of her talented mouth. He kept hold of the back of her head, controlling the tempo, fucking her mouth, bumping the back of her throat with every lunge. He didn’t care if he hurt her, he didn’t care if she choked.
It was beyond fucking amazing, looking down on her dark head, bobbing, her cheeks hollowing as she drew back on him. Her eyes rolled and fluttered. He'd seen that look before, enjoyed those sounds. She was getting off on this. It wasn't a chore.
"Stop!" He pulled her hair, dislodging her.
She stared up at him, her gaze darting uncertainly, her lovely lips shiny and swollen from his rough use. He fisted his other hand to keep from reaching out and smoothing her lower lip. No, he was certain, any sign of weakness or empathy would shatter whatever precedent he’d set here.
In an attempt to break his hold, she shook her head side to side. But he held firm, even gripping her hair close to her scalp, where he knew it would hurt. She opened her mouth, silently offering to take him back in.
He stifled a chuckle. Had he just unravelled the secret to keeping his wife interested? He gave her hair another vicious pull then dropped her carelessly.
As much as it killed him, he stepped away from her and with major discomfort and some difficulty, he tucked his aching cock back into his pants and attempted to zip up. It was a lost cause. He pulled his shirt over to cover himself.
"No...please..." she knelt on the end of the bed and reached for him, her long fingers grasping, her expression begging for him to return. "Let me finish. I'll make it good."
With more willpower than he knew he possessed, he sidestepped her and walked to the bedroom door. At the threshold, he turned back. The look of bewilderment and perhaps even a hint humiliation, marred her generally flawless and regal features. The usual arrogant self-assuredness, she wore like a badge of honour, fell away. It was what had attracted him to her in the first place and what ultimately drove a wedge between them. For once she needed direction.
The image she made, legs folded underneath her, her breasts, rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath, her nipples hard, her skin flushed, her hair a tangled mess from his misuse—it was something he would never forget.
"Next weekend," he snapped the order, "You'll be here." He pointed down at the floor where he stood.
He didn't wait for a response to his statement but turned and strode to the exit.
Jordan made sure to slam the door on his way out.
Back on the road driving home, he couldn't help but grin to himself. He had the most empowering feeling coursing through him. He even resisted the urge to jerk off and find that much needed release. No, he would use that craving to pad his resolve. Their relationship had just shifted. To what and where it might go—he didn't know? For now, it didn't matter. What he was certain of—beyond a shadow of a doubt—next weekend, Miranda would be there, waiting for him.
©H K Carlton 2014
I hope you enjoyed the continuation of last week's post, The Weekend, I think I'll call it. Don't forget to checkout the other M-M authors and bloggers over from the linky list over at Masturbation Monday Central.
Happy M-Monday!
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