So I’m leaning back into the couch, my legs spread apart, my erection straining against the nylon shell. The upside down V of the underside of the head of my cock was clearly outlined thru the material, the shaft just as much. Below, the sheath of nylon formed a tent over the space between the sides of my balls and the shaft, but my testicles themselves were tightly wrapped in the blue material.
As she let her fingers dance over my shorts, I felt myself at the verge of orgasm, just the lightest touch would probably send me over the edge. Would she, or wouldn’t she? Last time, she was very decisive in teasing but going no further. This time, would she take things one more step?
I wanted her to make contact, to trace her fingertip up the underside of my shaft. Just the slightest bit of pressure, in my mind, that’s all I asked. I was sure that I could clench and force my erection against her fingers, and that action would be too much for her to resist. But she kept avoiding the ridge itself.
So it was up to me. As she ran her fingers up and around the head, I clenched, forcing my cock to thrust out a bit. I hoped my action would be enough that the knob would make contact with her fingertips before she realized what had happened. I could claim that it was involuntary, she’d never know.
Not fast enough, not fast enough, by the time my cock straightened out a bit more, her fingertips were already sliding down the other side of the shaft. But, my actions did result in a drop of pre-cum leaking through the material. That was new, and she couldn’t not notice. What would she do in response?
She cooed in delight.
I suddenly remembered the precarious position we were in. I listened for the sounds of raking outside, if they stopped, was my wife just taking a break, or was she headed toward the door? If the latter, there’d only be 15 seconds or so before she’d be in the doorway to the living room, and we’d better have adjusted our positions before then.
Yes, the raking was continuing outside. I could keep trying to get my companion on the couch to touch me.
She reversed direction, and started tracing her fingertips up the side of the shaft again, and this time, as I anticipated her hand tracing the upside down U around my knob, I clenched again, this time as hard as I could, hoping that the stiffening of my shaft would cause the knob to brush against her fingertips, or, better, the palm of her hand.
But, alas, she knew the move was coming, and moved her hand away just in time.
As her fingertips moved down the other side of my shaft, though, another drop of pre-cum, this time bigger than the last, leaked through the material.
She cooed in delight again, this time her eyes meeting mine, acknowledging complicity in our inappropriate behavior. If my wife walked in at that moment, we’d both be equally guilty.
I wanted to come so badly, I knew that if she gripped my shaft with her hand, I would start ejaculating immediately. I didn’t even need her to pull my shorts off, to expose my rigid cock, I just wanted to come, to relieve the pressure that had built up over the last 20 minutes. And the last few days, thinking back to the back rub turned naughty.
Her fingertips by now had made it down to the bottom of the shaft, to the tent of material stretching from the cylinder to the side of my testicle. I was expecting her to reverse direction again, but she surprised me.
She let her fingertip continue moving down, around the sphere, then underneath, over to the other one, and started back up. But then she stopped. She wasn’t going to slide her hand up along the shaft again.
Instead, she started tickling the underside of my left ball, so lightly I wasn’t even sure that she was touching me, it might have been the pressure of the air. But, no, she was actually touching me.
I felt my cock throb all of its own volition, I had no control of it now. I wondered if I’d start ejaculation without any direct touch, if I was that excited by now.
She watched intently as my cock surged, over and over, wondering if I was indeed climaxing, but without the telltale mess at the tip. She realized that I was leaking more drops of pre-cum, and that if I had indeed been ejaculating, she’d have been seeing a significantly bigger mess.
I was in agony. She continued tickling the underside of my balls, one, then the other, back and forth, lightly rubbing her fingertip against me. I’d been hard, almost painfully hard, for close to a half hour, and, more importantly, my back yard was just not that big. My wife was bound to finish raking and come inside any time now. Either she was going to catch us or we would compose ourselves in time, but I’d end up with a pair of blue balls the size of avocados. I was getting very frustrated at her lack of response to my obvious desire for an orgasm. How much longer could she tease?
And then it happened, the move I’d been waiting for. Well, not THE move, but one nearly as good.
These nylon shorts consisted of two parts, the outer nylon shell, and an inside liner, made of stretchy polyester. The liner supposedly acted as a support mechanism, making the use of a sport brief unnecessary, but I’d never felt it provided enough support, to say nothing of modesty. I’d seen guys occasionally just wearing the shorts without any type of underwear, and they were showing off a lot more detail than I would be comfortable with.
As was evidenced by the contours and ridges visible now.
She moved her fingertips down to the edge of the outer shell, and taking it in between her thumb and forefinger, pulled it up, exposing the liner underneath.
As snug as the shell was, the liner displayed even more detail, and here she was displaying my balls encased in the tightest of super thin cotton polyester. Virtually no detail was left to the imagination.
There wasn’t a lot of room between the shell and the liner, there wasn’t very far that she could tug it up. She kept pulling, so I lifted off the couch to provide some slack from underneath. With that extra material now available, she pulled the shell all the way aside, revealing both my balls, the shaft, and the knob, in full display, indeed, as if the material had been painted on.
She took a deep breath, truly, I might as well have been naked at this point.
I knew she’d touch me now, she couldn’t help but want to touch my stiff, throbbing shaft, to hear me moan as I started cumming. She just HAD to want that to happen.
I closed my eyes, and waited for her fingertips to make contact. Or, dare I be bold, and dream of her taking me in her hand and stroking me? Or would she go all the way, and pull my cock out of the stretchy liner? Who knows what would happen then? It wouldn’t take more than a few seconds if she chose to lean over and take me in her mouth. Who knew what she was thinking?
I opened my eyes again, and there was a large dark wet spot in the liner, at the tip of my erection. The dark spot was VERY visible. The male equivalent of a woman wearing a white wet tshirt without a bra, right? It would have taken her about two squeezes to make me cum, you know? At that point I realize that if my wife came in, there’d be no hiding what was going on, and I was so scared of getting caught, and not sure that we wanted to cross the line to orgasm.
What if I started to ejaculate just as we heard the back door? She’d be in the living room door before I was done filling my shorts with cum, and there’d be no way I’d hide that.
I needed to make this happen now, there wasn’t any more time to waste.
I said I think I need to take a shower. Then I paused to see what she would do. I was hoping that she’d say “This will take just a second” and then yank me a few times to make me cum, but she didn’t take my hint. Was she thinking about whether she wanted to? Or was she thinking that I wasn’t going to let her go further? But time was a wasting.
I stood up and faced her, the shell of my shorts still pulled aside, the skin tight liner outlining my erection less than a foot from her face, hoping she’d reach for me. But nothing. I was beyond frustrated, and a little angry at her continued teasing. It wasn’t really very nice at this point.
I bent over to pick up my shoes, walked the few steps to the landing where the stairs went up, and turned to face her. By now the shell had fallen back over the liner, but my erection was still very evident through the thin nylon, my t-shirt having been caught at the waistband.
Facing her, from ten feet away, I hooked my thumb in the waistband in the back, and tugged my shorts down to my ankles. Bending down to pick them up, my t-shirt dropped down, so that when I stood back up, my erection was hidden underneath, but now released from the confines of my shorts, stuck out at a 30 degree angel under my t-shirt, and I suspected that from her angle, she could probably see my balls and perhaps a bit of the shaft. Good for her, to be able to see a hint of what she could have had up close.
I turned sideways, aware that the silhouette was even better from this angle, and as I walked up the stairs, leaving her to let herself out, I suspected that she could now see all the goods.
As I turned the shower on, I harbored one last fantasy that she would appear at the door, unable to leave until she had helped me to orgasm, but no such luck.
Our next meeting, however, turned out differently. To be continued….
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/bvgx5i/the_wife_was_20_feet_away_when_our_houseguest
Definitely can’t wait for the next one
Damn that was as much as a tease as that chick was a tease to you.
Nice tease, well written.
Too much bullshit about the mechanics of 1980s running shorts.
Brilliant storytelling, my good sir!