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This exhibitionist is captured by his dream girl.
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"I masturbate a lot."

"I want to watch."

*

The day turned out to be nothing like I would have expected. I was never supposed to have met her, let alone talk to her. But we talked. Candidly. Some would say that such openness in a conversation will only occur between people who know each other inside and out. The intimate relationship that spins from a life-long partnership. But it does not work like that, not at all. On the contrary, it was the anonymity that made us bold. Made me bold. Had me throw myself into an intimate discussion; totally frank, completely honest. I do not think that I had ever before used the word 'masturbate' in a conversation with a woman. In any conversation. But to tell her about my daily routines did not bother me at all. And her question -- her request -- did not appear strange or unnatural but quite appropriate. Right there, right then, I never once reflected upon the alternative: to say no.

"Come to my studio!"

A night's sleep and time to think during a long walk through town did have a somewhat sobering effect on me though. I cannot honestly say that I did not invent a hundred reasons to not show up at her studio that morning; asked myself a hundred times what the hell I was doing. After all, accepting an invitation to masturbate in front of a complete stranger, most people would agree, is not the normal thing to do. Friends, family, loved ones -- what would they think if they would ever find out? Would I live to experience the shame or would I end up on the wrong side of an ice-pick before the day was over? I had to suppress a certain anxiety over her possible coming out a man-hating, serial killer.

I had a hundred reasons to just turn around and skip the whole thing. Only one reason not to: I wanted to follow this through. I was desperate to see where it would take me. Notwithstanding my desperation, I could, however, not really see the reason for my eagerness.

Attraction? Sure. Are there such things as soul mates? This was as close as I had ever come to meeting one. The night before, I had felt that I knew her inside and out and that she knew me. We seemed to be able to anticipate each others' thoughts yet constantly surprise each other. The stimulation I had felt was immense.

And I did like the way she looked although life had not blessed her with either feminine curves or a typically pretty face. But she was athletic and it added nicely to her slightly aggressive nature and boyish charm. I could not decide if I thought that she had picked her name, Robin, to fit her appearance or if she over the years had adopted features that would fit the androgynous name. Childishly, I tried to calculate the odds of scoring with her. I mused myself with the notion that 'half way in' could never be a more appropriate expression if one party was already naked, aroused and working a rigid erection.

Curiosity? I was still curious about her. Despite our open-heart conversation the night before I sensed that there were areas that I she hid from me. I had learnt the name of her first boyfriend as well as girlfriend, her preferred positions and places for sex, and I knew that she had made an abortion at the age of sixteen. But there was more -- must be more -- to her than had met my eye.

And yes. I was curious as to my own fascination of the idea -- to masturbate in front of her. The thought had never, ever, occurred to me. Yet, now it was magnetic. I had to follow this through.

"Good morning. You are late. I didn't think you'd come."

"I can leave if you want me too."

"Why did you come then?"

"I want to."

"Do you really know what it is that you want?"

"I do know that I want to masturbate in front of you. I don't know what I want after that or where it will bring the two of us, but I do want to do this."

"If I tell you that it won't bring us anywhere -- that we'll probably never see each other again -- will you change your mind?"

Suddenly I felt cold. My limbs felt like if they were drained of blood. Despite the chill, I felt sweat break through on my back and under my arms. Could it be that this was a prank? Would the guys break out from inside the studio and mock me now?

If it was instinct or lust I do not know but the uneasiness lasted for only a second.

"No, I won't change my mind."

She immediately became relaxed, the way I remembered from the day before. The realization that she had perhaps been even more nervous about this than me comforted me a bit and at a hearty "C'mon in" I briskly walked in through the open door. I was starting to feel the return of the almost magic connection that I had felt with her the previous evening.

Although I never had visited a professional photo studio before, Robin's place looked pretty much like I would have expected: sort of hair stylist meets computer freak meets rock star. Mirrors, stylist's chairs, fashion magazines, computer equipment and lights -- lights of all colors and shapes. It was a mess, but a classy mess that seemed to be designed to perfection. A quick check-up on the internet had informed me that Robin and her colleague Richard ran a posh agency that made company executives look good in their annual reports and magazines. It had surprised me a little -- it was not quite the kind of customers that I would have expected -- and it had impressed me a lot. Nevertheless, I had found no evidence of nude photography, let alone erotic pictures. I still was not sure if that was a surprise or not.

"My partner isn't here. We work a lot in the field."

She opened a door at the end of the studio leading to an adjacent room.

"Welcome to the Atelier du Soleil!"

"Elvis fan, huh?"

She looked a bit puzzled for a brief moment but it did not take long before she laughed.

"Sun Studios? Damn it, I've never thought of it! It was just a name I saw in a magazine when I was a kid and it has stuck with me over the years. When I finally set up my own workroom with not so much as a single window, I thought I had the perfect name. Any lights in here must be brought by the artist so my not so humble me decided that I'm the sun and this is my atelier."

When she turned on the lights to the Sun Studios, a sudden sensation of emptiness startled me. The light was dim, but the simple furnishing of the small room was clear enough: a black leather divan housing a couple of pillows standing against one of the walls and an office chair against the opposite wall, right beside another door that was closed. Remembering what I was about to do quickly shifted the way I felt though, and a bit to my surprise the sterile appearance of the room woke feelings of arousal.

"Here!"

She handed me a white hotel-style robe and guided me towards the divan.

"I don't want you to catch a cold -- it'll take a couple of minutes before I've rigged the gear. Just take off your clothes and sit down." She pointed at the closed door. "There's the bathroom if you need to freshen up or... something."

"Rig the gear...?"

She just smiled mischievously and walked out to the main studio. Once again I felt a bit uneasy. Considering her profession, the gear could only mean cameras (any alternative seemed even more frightening) and I was not quite sure that I would be prepared for that. But half-undressed, I decided that I had already made up my mind. When she returned, pushing a cart loaded with several video cameras, lights and other equipment I could not recognize, I sat undressed on the divan with the robe in my knee.

"Don't get up, sweetheart; I'll have the setup ready in no time."

She was right. Soon enough she had mounted one video camera on the right side of the couch and another one to the left in front of it. Lights were rigged on either side of the divan as well as behind each camera. One last handycam was in her hand as she sat down on the chair by the wall. All three cameras showed red lights, indicating that they were running.

"Tell me", she said, "why did you agree to masturbate in front of me?"

I had almost expected her to order me to get rid of the robe and get down to business. The question surprised me but was a bit of a relief. The rigging of the high-tech equipment had not made me either bold or brave -- and I felt that I would look neither if I took away the robe from my lap.

"Are you an exhibitionist by nature?"

"Actually, I don't think I've even undressed before a woman before... I mean on purpose, just for the show. I've always felt rather uneasy when I'm naked."

"You shouldn't, you're quite handsome."

It was amazing how she had changed. The aggressiveness in her voice had totally vanished and been replaced by a soothing calmness. With just a slight note of erotic anticipation.

"Thank you."

"No, I really mean it... but back to the question: Why are you here?"

"You excite me."

It was true. She did. A few words had once again changed my anxiety into lewd heat. I continued:

"Last night, I felt that we really connected. After just a couple of hours, I felt like we'd known each other for ages. We had discussed virtually every subject that I used to consider private and it felt amazingly, totally right. When you said that you wanted to watch me, you sounded so damned sincere and I believed that it wasn't only appropriate, but almost necessary..."

She interrupted me. "Watch what?"

I smiled. "You said that you wanted to watch me masturbate. And I want you to."

Blood was again rushing to my groins. "Quite honestly, I've become obsessed by the thought of you watching me touch myself"

I noticed the hint of a smile behind the handycam as I let the robe drop to the floor and stretched out casually on the divan. Pretended casual, that is. I was extremely aware of my nakedness but amused rather than ashamed. Involuntarily, my half erect penis twitched every now and then almost as if it greeted all the new blood that rushed in. Every time it twitched, she responded: with a twitch herself, by pausing her breathing for a second, by wetting her lips. It almost drove me crazy. I was exorbitantly horny. Within soon, I was totally erect and my cock was pulsing with each heartbeat.

"Well I am watching."

Disguised as a matter of fact, the orders could not have been more direct and my right hand responded immediately. I felt it move tentatively along my leg, over my thigh towards my groins. As if it was out of my control, my hand tickled me, teased me. Fingertips running over my skin. Sac contracting when caressed. Penis twitching from the sensation of first touch. Excitement. Heat.

The out of body experience faded away and I slowly regained control. I grabbed my stiff cock and leaned back on the couch, eyes closed. My hand loosely closed around the shaft, I pulled the skin slowly. Up, until only the slightest part of my palm was still embracing the limb. Then down, even slower, clearing my penis gland from the foreskin, sensing how it grew, imagining how its smooth surface must shine in the lights from the cameras. I smiled. Procedure repeated. Hand moving up and down. Slowly, salaciously, elaborative

The world outside ceased to exist. I was totally and solely focused on myself: my ever heavier breathing; my free hand's exploration of my hair, my face, my chest, my thighs; the rhythmical movements of my hand (the grip was getting firmer); most of all the electric sensation of my vibrating erection. Meditation cannot get deeper.

I heard her move; rise from the chair. Without interrupting my jerking, I opened my eyes and found that she had come a little closer. The handycam was pointed directly at my crotch. The red light indicating that the camera was running.

I felt content. The feeling perplexed me. I was definitely aroused and excited to the point of madness. But it was not like I was driven wild, out of control. I was content, amused, pleasured by her attention. I looked at her. Slowed down the movements of my hand even further. Wanted to show her every detail of my manhood; what it looked like; how it responded to the touch. I wanted to tease her -- deep down I still fantasized about how our bodies would entwine in an inciting embrace.

For a moment she turned away the camera and her eyes met mine. I froze. My hand fast around my cock; its head glistening from the lubrication of seeping secretion. Seconds felt like minutes. Her cheeks blushed. I felt her heatedness -- it added to my own. I began stroking again. Felt her eyes caress my body; grip my sensitive member; assuming the stroking. I lifted my upper body slightly, resting on my free arm and spread my legs slightly. Opened myself to her. Indulged in her involvement. Careful long strokes. Stretching my rigid cock; twisting and turning it.

She gasped when I suddenly let go of the grip and the penis flung back and smacked against my stomach. I repositioned on the couch, slided a bit higher on the pillow and sat a bit straighter. Better view. Of her. Of my sex. Of the masturbation.

I squeezed my shaft. Pumped it. Watched it produce even more of the clear secretion. Ran my finger through it and smeared it over the purple head. I felt the intensity in her look behind the camera. Unaware of her action, she wet her lips with her tongue when I licked my fingertip clear of the substance.

Faster now. My arousal was getting increasingly physical. My hand was working faster. Up. Down. She appreciated the build-up and moved closer. I could hear her breathing -- strained, heated -- almost feel its warmth against my skin.

Eyes closed again. When did I close them? Increasingly feverish pounding. Other hand fondling my scrotum; forcing my balls against the strokes, inducing shocks of pleasure to radiate from my groins.

Must not let go. Want to look at her. So easy to get carried away; to get inward-looking; to focus on the crude jacking off.

Muscles tensing and tingling: Harbinger of climax. Reached: Point of no return.

I see only her face -- aroused, anticipating. Feel only my climax.

Holds breath. Moment of silence. Then: Eruption.

Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened -- first in silence, gasping; shortly moaning. Only then, after having savored her reaction, I lost myself in my orgasm. A violent, breathtaking orgasm that shot through my entire body. I was shaking uncontrollably. The force of my ejaculation startled me. Load after load of warm semen shot over my stomach and chest. It was as if it would never end, as if I would never calm down. Finally the tempest calmed down. The intensive orgasm started to fade away although leaving reverberations of spasms in its trace. I was exhausted. My body glistened from sweat and cum. I was breathing again.

Our eyes met. We smiled. She had edged very close on her knees, catching every little bit of my lecherous exercise on camera. She rose to her feet. I was lying, panting. She leaned down and drew a finger through the mess on my chest. She smiled.

"You better clean up."

My head was spinning. I could not get a grip of my emotions. I believe that I stayed for a little while; I think that we had a cup of coffee. Maybe we talked. But I doubt it. I was out of words. I was overwhelmed by the experience. Maybe I just dressed and walked home.

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3 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousover 8 years ago

I felt this.

Sensualist2Sensualist2about 15 years ago
Utterly fascinating

Good writing, fine emotional tension. good ending.

CAP811CAP811about 15 years ago
okay

I didn't care much for the plot, but the writing is good. Some well-turned phrases.

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