So it had come to this; He was knelt down, torso forwards, with old, worn carpet burning his stocking covered knees. As spit danced in mid-air from the corners of his gagged mouth, it teased his chest, threatening to run down to his cock. He’d asked himself before how decadent one could be whilst wanking off, and finally he had found a level of shame, and arousal that was perfect for the task at hand. Transparent latex gloves clung to his arms like heavy gauntlets, the feeling of heavy rubber intoxicating to him as his left thumb, and forefinger massaged the head of his cock. Looking backwards into a large, and albeit conveniently placed mirror, he glimpsed at his arsehole. It was surrounded by hair, glistening with lube, and twitching with anticipation. Whilst he wanted to remain modest, he couldn’t help but focus on how delicious it looked.
Inhaling deeply his nostrils filled with the dense scent of sweat, intertwined with the distinctive musk of spread thighs. He teased his tight rear with a rubber clad finger, knowing that he would not be satiated until he’d been completely stretched. A conveniently prepared friend lay in wait below his hungry arse, thick, and anatomically perfect, with a significant girth. Slowly he rocked backwards, the smooth head slid into him, and with a muffled groan he took the entire shaft, until he could feel the rubberised balls of his companion tickling at his gooch.
Biting down hard on the gag, he slid a gloved hand repeatedly up and down his cock, incensed by the smell of pre-cum as it dribbled from the tip. He’d do anything to have the dominating hands of a woman on his shoulders right now, demeaning him, stretching his pink little arse wide and fucking it as deeply as she could. In lieu of that however, bouncing on his favourite dildo would have to do. Feeling his pace increase, and the deep ecstasy building in his prostate, his strokes became more, and more meaningful, almost desperate in their intent.
A knock at the door.
Fuck.
He was supposed to be going to the shop with his housemate.
“Sorry mate, give me 5 minutes, and I’ll be down!” he shrieked, the hope of any orgasm shattered.
Whilst SSRI’s had done wonderful things for his mental health, Sam couldn’t cum for shit. Not unless the timings had been worked out, the event planned, and a significant amount of mindfulness placed on the matter at hand. This often resulted in an extravagant masturbatory experience that employed a number of ‘tools’ to assist in the endeavour that was having an orgasm. At first, content with a small butt-plug, Sam’s taste had developed over the years, and his passions had become increasingly more niche. One-on-one sessions often inhibited the length to which he could explore these interests, however he had managed to somewhat include them in his practice, but still the thought of involving one, two, or twelve other people continually stayed at the forefront of his desires.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/gzusfa/keep_the_curtains_open_part_1