My morning routine [MF]

My morning routine begins with watching the man in the flat across from mine masturbate. I look down from my window into his living room and he enters, usually in a band t-shirt and black boxers, chestnut hair mussed and tangled from sleep, one elegant hand stroking over his jawline. He sits at a desk and flips open his laptop.

During the pandemic he repainted, the walls turning from a deep burnished orange to pale white, like a reverse of the transition to autumn. He took down the curtains to paint, and I suppose the old colour simply doesn’t match the new. My apartment block is on a hill up from his, my flat a little elevated compared to his, and from my bedroom I can see him easily, though I suppose others can as well.

His chair is plain wood, without padding, and as he sits, he shifts his hips up to tug the boxers down. They pool around his feet and he kicks them into a corner. His hands dance rapidly over the keyboard and then he starts clicking away. I can see him in profile, and I always wonder at what he is looking.

His right hand begins to stroke between his legs. They are corded with muscle; he clearly runs which I can tell both from their development and also because I have seen him pull on running gear some days, and stretching after. I run too, and a number of times I’ve attempted to head out when he does so I can meet him. Never with success, though.

The head of his cock begins to appear above the flesh of his thighs as it swells. He is uncircumcised and I watch as the motion of his hand causes his foreskin to glide back and forth over his swelling glans. Within no more than a couple of minutes he is fully erect.

I wonder how big his cock is. It is hard to judge. A good few inches are visible above his leg – enough that he can get a whole hand on it with shaft to spare. But he sits with the leg distant from me sprawled straight out and the one nearest me bent at a right angle, foot flat on the floor, so it acts as a barrier. His cock disappears into the shadowed juncture of his thigh and I am left to wonder about its measurements.

It sits plumply in his hand, and he works his hand back and forth over it more and more frantically. I am sitting on my bed, peeking through the curtains at him. I usually sleep naked, and I am naked now, and my hands are cupping the lips of my pussy, playing with my clit, stroking my labia, spreading me so I can scoop a finger inside and graze it over and over my g-spot.

When he is close to coming, his hips begin to thrust at the air. The first few times, I didn’t know what to expect, and I would be surprised at the sprayed burst of white that he would usually manage to catch in a tissue. Once, he came faster than he expected and the come slicked his hand and he held his hand flat and left the room to wash it off and I wished I had been there to lick it out of his palm. Now, I know the routine, and I manage to time my own orgasm with his.

I am more varied than him. Sometimes I use only my hands. Sometimes I fuck myself hard with one of my dildos. Sometimes I let my vibrator do all the work. Today I use my fingers. There are three of them in my pussy, fucking myself. I oscillate them as they enter me and withdraw, caressing the parts of me that draw the most pleasure. My other hand gropes my breasts, cupping the heavy undersides and squeezing in, playing with the nipples, which have swelled to hard points.

My orgasm shatters over me like glass, just as he spills his seed.

Today he stands and stretches. He turns towards his window, and his arms rise above his head, triceps and biceps swelling out firmly. His thick dick dangles down between his legs heavily, softening and slick with come.

I kneel on my bed, I open my curtains. I am naked, and I curl my left arm around my torso, under my breasts, lifting them as in presentation. My nipples are still hard. Our eyes meet and I smile welcomingly. I stretch my free hand in his direction. I gesture for him to join me.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/i59r2l/my_morning_routine_mf