This is a true story that I’m almost ashamed to tell, but it gives an insight as to how powerful my exhibitionist urges can get.
Too many years ago, on a warm sunny afternoon during school holidays, I lay naked on my bed with my eyes closed, gently masturbating while listening to music through headphones. A splash of sunlight fell through the window to warm my slender frame, and I felt completely at peace. I had the house to myself, nothing that needed doing, and nowhere to be. I’d been edging myself back and forth towards orgasm for a long time, totally immersed in teenage sexual ecstasy. While one hand kept my cock stimulated in time with the music, the other explored my body. I gently pinched my nipples, stroked my belly, squeezed my balls. I allowed a finger to explore my anus, but didn’t insert it yet, as I wasn’t quite ready to cum.
I move around a lot when masturbating; my legs and back tense in rhythm with my hand. I spread my limbs wide, touching myself with no inhibitions. There’s an extremely visible demonstration of sexual energy!
As I edged towards orgasm again, I knew this was going to be the one to let happen. It started across the surface of my skin, a tingle spreading down from my head and up from my feet towards my cock. I spread my legs wide and pushed a couple of fingers into myself.
My orgasm ripped through me, squirting my first jet of cum all the way over my body to splash my face. I opened my eyes to watch myself, and looked straight into the eyes of a window cleaner!
My bedroom wasn’t on the ground floor, so it hadn’t seemed necessary to close the curtains. My music had prevented me from hearing his ladder, so now a window cleaner was laughing so hard at me, he had tears running down his face. He could barely stay on his ladder, such was his mirth. While I frantically scrambled to find something to cover myself, my cock continued to squirt cum everywhere. He laughed even harder. I was so embarrassed, I could almost cry. Eventually, I got my bedsheet around myself and sat on my bed, mortified.
He waved goodbye with a smile, then climbed back down his ladder. A moment later, he knocked on the front door. With horror, I realised that he needed paying for his work. I was going to have to face him! I shuffled downstairs still wrapped in my bedsheet, grabbed the window money from the mantlepiece and opened the front door barely wide enough to thrust the cash through at him. With a giggle he said “Don’t worry kid, we all do it”, and left.
I returned to my bedroom, changed into my dressing gown, and tidied up. My ruined orgasm had left me blue-balled, and I was still in mild shock. I sat contemplating the events of the afternoon and although I still felt embarrassed, the experience was undeniably erotic. The cogs of my imagination began to turn as I masturbated again, dreaming of the possibilities.
I had often fantasised about being caught masturbating, but doing so needed some kind of alibi. I didn’t want anyone to know I was being deliberately caught, but it seemed impossible to stage a convincing accident – until that afternoon. My headphones had totally covered the sound of the window cleaner working, and I had been taken completely by surprise. The experience of getting caught had happened perfectly; the rush of shame and humiliation, combined with the thrill of an orgasm with an audience left my head spinning. I replayed the memory over and over, masturbating until I was sore and could cum no more.
The following week, I decided to get deliberately caught while making it appear accidental. Shortly before the window cleaner was due, I stripped, lay on the bed, wore my headphones, and started masturbating, bringing myself to a nice rock hard erection, but without trying to cum. This time, I neglected to play any music; I wanted to know when he was coming!
Part of me was nervous that he’d realise that this “accident” was being staged, but the thrill of anticipation overcame those nerves. He was late, and I started to worry that he didn’t want to clean our windows anymore. Maintaining a balance between staying hard and cumming was just becoming tricky, when I was startled by a ladder bumping against my windowsill. My heart pounded hard in my chest as I lay on my bed pretending my eyes were closed, cock in hand, silent headphones providing an excuse for not hearing him.
He took a long time to clean my windows, but he wasn’t laughing this time. Through the tiny slit in my eyelids, I could tell he was watching me. I tried, but couldn’t time my orgasm without making it obvious that I knew of his presence, so I lay there sprawled naked across my bed while a man at least four times my age watched me masturbate.
Eventually, he climbed down his ladder to do the rest of the house. I didn’t have to face him that day; Mum was home to pay him downstairs. I finished my session while dreaming about making this experience more personal.
That weekend, two of my aunts, Clarice and Grace, were due to visit. The routine was always the same. I was normally upstairs playing with my computer. They’d come in, say “Hi” to my Mum, spend a few minutes chatting, then pop upstairs to say hello to me. This predictability provided the perfect opportunity.
I prepared for their visit by rearranging my room so that my bed was clearly visible from the door, and so I would be able to discreetly see it through slitted eyelids. Instead of just wearing silent headphones, I hid a little microphone by my bedroom door. I could hear the microphone through the headphones and record it too. I stripped, daydreamed and masturbated a while to get nice and horny.
The front door knocked and I pressed record. Suddenly I became so nervous, my erection faded. Unwilling to abandon the set-up and wait another week, I pulled my duvet up, just leaving my top half bare. My idea was that if I couldn’t actually get caught, I could at least project the illusion of being caught. I could hear family greetings from downstairs while the protection of the duvet provided enough reassurance to allow my hardon to return.
My heart thumped hard as two pairs of footsteps climbed the stairs. I lowered the duvet just enough for the head of my cock to be almost visible, and angled my head to discreetly see the door through almost-closed eyes.
“Tap-tap”. I ignored the door, nudged my duvet down an inch and tightened my grip on my rapidly hardening cock.
“Tap-tap-tap”. With a deep breath, I pushed my duvet down to my thighs. I was exposed. My masturbation sped up. I was enjoying this!
“Tap-tap-tap”. Oops, almost came. I didn’t want to spoil this before it had begun, so I slowed my hand down a bit. I kicked the duvet off, so I was now completely naked, masturbating at a steady pace.
“Shall I open it?” whispered Clarice to Grace, her voice barely audible through the headphones.
My door slid open a tiny amount, rustling across the carpet. There was a faint gasp and it closed again.
“He’s playing with himself!” whispered Clarice. “He’s got his headphones on.”
After a long pause, Grace replied almost silently “Let’s see.”
My door opened again, much wider this time. Through my eyelashes, I could just make out my two aunts standing in my doorway for a very long moment. I started to cum and my door was quickly closed.
“His Mum’s going to wonder why he’s not coming downstairs. What shall we tell her?” asked Grace as I listened intently while my orgasm pulsed through my body.
“Tell her he’s having a nap. He probably will in a minute anyway.” laughed Clarice quietly.
They went downstairs and I lay on my bed for a while, shaken and ashamed of myself for flashing family members. I already knew the stunt was likely to be repeated in the future though; the thrill of being “caught” masturbating was just too exciting to ignore. When I eventually went downstairs to meet everyone, it was hard to pretend that I didn’t know what they’d seen. They wore the strangest smiles and were obviously finding it difficult to make conversation with me. Even years on, I suspect they recall that day occasionally.
The recording of my aunts catching me in the act became my favorite soundtrack. I listened to it over and over, masturbating to the sound of being caught masturbating, timing my orgasm to the moment the door opened wide. Alternative scenarious flooded my imagination, and I craved the rush of getting caught again.
I got “caught” by the window cleaner a few more times, but the thrill of that had started to fade. I tried to turn up the heat a little by masturbating with my eyes open, but he wouldn’t look at me on those occasions. I wanted to do something really personal, something extreme…
My poor Mum was not impressed!
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/4548gp/wearing_my_headphones