A Masturbation Fantasy Gone Too Far

I Couldn’t Help Myself

My masturbation fantasy starts the same way every time, me on the couch, wrapped in one of his old flannel shirts, no panties, legs spread just wide enough to tease myself. I close my eyes and picture him…my boyfriend’s stepdad. Obviously, I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it.

I let one finger circle my clit slowly, softly, dragging it down until it grazes my entrance, then back up again. The first moan slips out of me before I even realize it. My nipples are hard under the shirt, brushing against the fabric with every deep breath. I let my other hand roams my chest, pinching, squeezing, tugging at the peaks while my hips start to grind up toward my hand.

My masturbation fantasy takes over my entire body.

I’m thinking about his voice, deep, rough, always a little amused when he looks at me. I think about his hands, big and strong, gripping the steering wheel or the back of my boyfriend’s chair at dinner. I imagine them on me, pulling me apart, forcing me open.

I’m dripping now, fingers coated and sliding in easily as I pump them deep and curl them up. My back arches. I bite my lip to keep from being too loud. I don’t know for sure if he’s even home tonight, but that’s what makes my masturbation fantasy hotter. Then I hear something.

The soft creak of the hallway floor. I freeze panting, still slick and throbbing. I glance toward the shadowed doorway and see him. His hand is already inside his jeans, stroking. He’s been watching. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there, but the look on his face tells me it’s long enough.

“You like putting on a show, don’t you?” he growls. Masturbation fantasy turns into a filthy standoff. Neither of us moves. Then I rise to my knees, slowly peel off his shirt, and toss it aside. “Only if you’re going to participate.”

He doesn’t need more of an invitation.

His cock is thick and hard as he steps closer, shoving his pants down, gripping himself as he watches me touch my clit again.

He pulls me to the edge of the couch, fingers grabbing my jaw as he kisses me—deep, messy, hungry. Then he drops to his knees and buries his face between my thighs. His tongue is relentless, swirling over my clit, dipping inside me, dragging out moans I can’t hold back. I ride his mouth, clutching his hair, grinding against his tongue until I come hard—shaking, gasping, begging for more.

Then he’s on top of me, sliding inside in one hard, wet thrust.

Masturbation fantasy explodes into raw, desperate fucking. He pounds into me, hand on my throat, our bodies slick with sweat. I claw at his back, wrap my legs around his waist, and meet every thrust with a cry. My second orgasm crashes over me as he groans into my neck and finishes deep inside.

We’re both still catching our breath when the front door opens. This time, there’s no mistaking the voice. It’s my boyfriend.

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