Let me start out by saying, it’s SO not fair for you to drive me this crazy during work. I only talked to you for a few minutes on my lunch break, and you managed to get me so worked up that I started fondling myself through my jeans. Anyone could have walked in at that moment. There would have been no question of what I was doing — my right hand working the mouse (god, even that sounds sexual) while my left was in my lap gently kneading my erection, working it through the fly of my boxers so there was only one layer of clothing between …
But no one did see me. And I signed off the computer because my lunch break was almost over, and you probably went back to your day (hopefully thinking of me), and I was ready to let my erection subside and go back to work. But then I walked past the men’s room door, and your words were still in my mind, and my body seemed to switch to automatic and I stepped inside, locking the door behind me.
It’s actually pretty large for a men’s toilet, but it’s typical of a wood shop area. There’s a sink and a toilet and a urinal all in a row along the wall. It’s close, not enough ventilation; I can hear myself breathe in here. But it’s also very private, and that’s what I need right now.
Lid up on the toilet, and I undo my belt. As my jeans drop, there’s a metallic noise as my belt buckle hits the floor. The noise is echoed, as şanlıurfa escort is my breathing, in that way that only public bathrooms seem to manipulate sound.
The seat here is just right, too — not too hard, not too skinny (I am a big boy). I sit down. I’m slid forward to the front of it, hunkered over a little bit, and though I’m not touching myself yet my cock is fully hard and pointing forward. My shirt is pulled up — I need to feel a little more naked, I think is why. And I do run my hand over my belly as I’m working my way down. It’s rough from work, but the touch can turn so careful, so gentle.
And I take my cock into that hand. God, that first touch! I almost call your name out loud, but I murmur it under my breath in time. That touch is so good, so sweet, so fucking absolutely right that it feels like it must be yours. I curl my fingers around myself and take one or two experimental strokes.
It’s going to be one of those times when I could come almost immediately, where I have to find ways to slow myself down. This is what you do to me, your words and your pictures and my dream of your voice. You make it so hard not to go off like a firecracker the minute I’m lit.
But I pull back, I play a little more. My hand moves down to cup my balls, fondle them. My other hand slides up my stomach to my gaziantep sarışın escort chest, ruffling the hair there, and I close my eyes and it is you. I’m so into the fantasy of you, my lips are formed in a kiss. My hand below grabs cock, balls and all, and gently shakes them together for a feeling of soft flesh against flesh … and I wish all the harder for your body to be rubbing against.
When I’m imagining your body, your touch, my skin feels so different … my cock feels like an altogether new thing. I’ve gone back to holding it in my fist now, as my desire has subsided enough that I can touch. And while my hand is not moving much, I’m gently rocking my hips back and forth, fucking it, feeling my foreskin close over the head and then be pulled back again, closed and pulled back, sliding again and again. I make a small noise deep in my throat.
For a minute, voices are close out in the hallway, and I stop, frozen in this pose, not wanting anything to give my actions away. But the people walk past, and what their intrusion on my pleasure has given me is a sense of urgency.
Now I’m leaning back a bit so my cock points up in a diagonal, and I begin to stroke in earnest. My hand closes tighter, and I bend down a bit back toward the earth, the pressures driving me crazier, like being squeezed şehitkamil escort inside you. But I’ve stopped moving my hips; I’m no longer fucking, it’s more like I’m being fucked, like my cock is a stationary point now being used to get my whole body off. It’s my hand that is fucking, my fingers that are moving deftly with such an intimate knowledge of just what touches in what order will get me off. God, my hand is you closed around me, with my eyes clenched shut I can see your wicked smile as you raise and lower above me …
And so much quicker than I expect it starts rising in me, I begin to shake, my hand moving in fits and starts as it tries to keep the feeling rising and rising, without yet going too far. The whole toilet is rocking, I’m jacking off with such syncopated fury. I’m speaking again now, trying to keep it quiet, but saying yes, god, oh please, let me come for you …
I barely move back in time on the seat so I won’t make a mess, and I lean forward so I can press my cock WAY down before god, it rises through me like a swarm of symphonic notes, like laughter, like a shout and god I am coming, my cock is goddamn-spurting and my whole body is shaking and for a few moments there is nothing else in the universe but the shattering sensation as I come, even my hand and my cock have vanished, the only thing I can feel in existence is this and it is good.
I sit there, panting, and slowly the world comes back into focus. I give myself one or two final squeezes as I stand up; one luminous drip falls to the floor before I can catch it with a sheet of tissue. And as I put my clothes back in order and try to compose myself, I realize there never really was any choice. I had to come for you. No matter where I was.