Felicia's Rules

Mark looked on the verge of fainting. "Yes," he said hoarsely.

"I thought it might," I winked. With his approval, I began to do some stretches – graceful yoga-like postures – literally bending over backwards to please him. I listened with glee to his every gasp and moan as I moved seamlessly from one sensuous pose to another, stretching out my long nude body. "Have you always wanted to see me like this?" I asked, mid-pose. "Imagined what I might look like under my clothes? Undressed me with your eyes? Pictured me naked? I won't be offended if you say yes."

"Yes," he croaked.

"I love having you see me. Having all your attention focused on me and nothing else. It makes me feel beautiful."

"You are," declared Mark, hyperventilating. "More beautiful than I ever imagined."

I wanted to cry at that moment, throw my arms around him, and kiss him all over for saying those things I'd always wanted to hear. Instead, all I could do was watch him back – stare at the rigid shape in Mark's boxers as he pumped it. I know I should have averted my eyes because before I knew it, and completely against my will, I was horribly turned on at the sight.

"Take it out," I whispered, completely forgetting that it was not my place to give orders.

Mark looked at me, surprised. "Would that turn you on?" he teased, cleverly turning the tables on me. "To see me rub it in front of you? To stare at its hardness? Would that excite you, Felicia?"

"Yes," I confessed, unspeakably embarrassed. "I want to see you."

Mark pulled his hand out and tugged down his boxer-briefs. As the elastic waistband passed over that hard shape, his boner sprang out with a force that made me whimper. I stared at it, transfixed. The shaft looked solid as a rock and longer than I expected.

"See how hard you've made me?" he panted. I was flattered beyond words. Mark made a tight fist around the shaft, then stroked up and down its considerable length. From the rhythm of his breathing, I could tell every stroke was sending a wave of pleasure coursing up his spine. Having me watch only seemed to arouse him more, forcing him to loosen his grip several times just to keep from erupting. His hands glided like pistons up and down his pole with an almost hypnotic rhythm. Soon, I was shamelessly kneeling in front of him for a closer look, to satiate my girlish curiosity.

"I always wondered," I said slowly, "whether you played with yourself... and how often."

Mark slowed his rubbing down to a leisurely stroke and looked at me. "Often I come home late and you've already gone to bed. I see you lying there, so peaceful. I love watching you sleep – the slow rise and fall of your chest as you breathe, the way your skin shines in the moonlight. And then... it happens."

"I... I don't know what you mean."

He looked down at his own pulsing hard-on. "I lay down beside you... and do this." Mark's confession floored me. I pictured myself asleep in bed, completely oblivious as Mark lay beside me, stark naked, rubbing his aching erection as quietly as possible.

"How... how often would this happen?" I asked, wide-eyed.

"Some weeks, when we hardly saw each other... pretty often."

"Oh... my God." Though I'd always been drawn to Mark's quiet strength, he never seemed to have much in the way of hot, sexual energy like other guys. But now it was clear he did have a libido, a raging one at that – one so strong that just seeing me asleep in my sheets and silk was enough to drive him to distraction. "I had no idea. I just wish you had woken me up so that I might help you relieve yourself. Or at least watch."

He shook his head. "I was always afraid you'd wake up, catch me doing it, and be shocked."

"Well, perhaps I would have been," I admitted. "But not in a bad way! Knowing you masturbate so much is kind of a turn-on actually."

Mark smiled and stroked himself with renewed vigour. He spread his muscular legs a bit, as if to grant me an even better view than I already had. I watched hungrily for a while longer, until both his face and his boner had turned deep red and he appeared on the verge of insanity. "Any more orders?" I finally asked, seriously doubting whether Mark was in any condition to form a coherent sentence. I had to repeat the question again before he heard me. With superhuman effort, Mark let go of his quivering staff and composed himself.

"Go over to the bed," he begged. "Lie down... spread your legs... touch yourself."

Even after everything I'd already done, this request greatly unnerved me. I went to the bed, lay on my back, and very reluctantly splayed my legs like he wanted. I felt tawdry assuming such a position but forced myself to keep it after an appreciative groan from Mark. I touched my crotch lightly with one hand, keeping the other free to caress my breasts.

Now, I am a girl who seldom masturbates. But I must confess that at that moment, I was certainly feeling the need! The act of shedding my clothes, of being watched, and of selflessly giving pleasure to another person were bigger turn-ons than I'd ever imagined. I touched myself lightly, fearing that anything stronger might quickly send me over the edge. But even those gentle touches were enough to make me whimper. My shame and self-consciousness returned in a flash. Up to now, I had kept my own passions tightly controlled. To lose that control in front of Mark, be seen in the throes of orgasm, was too embarrassing to contemplate. I was determined not to let it happen.

Somehow, Mark could sense my reticence. "Harder," he demanded. "Do it harder." I was reluctant. "I said harder," he repeated sternly. "And faster. Are you refusing my order?"

"No. But I —"

"Then do as I say." He spoke with uncharacteristic authority. I felt compelled to obey.

I rubbed a bit more vigorously. "Oh!" I cried, taking my hand away.

"Who told you to stop?" he scolded. "Keep going."

I gripped myself firmly and felt a corresponding spasm of pleasure coursing up my spine. I bit my lip in a pitiful effort to keep from crying out. Mark sensed I was still holding back.

"Let yourself go," he said. "Let it out."

My defenses collapsed. I could hold back no longer. To even try would be futile, like standing before a tidal wave, hoping to hold back the water. All I could do was let it wash over me like a kind of insanity. I felt dizzy, feverish, as beads of sweat formed on my trembling body. A loud moan escaped my lips... then another and another, each more shrill than the last. I forgot where I was, even who I was. Every part of me from head to toe now quivered with torrid energy. My game, for all intents and purposes, was now over. I could no longer think straight, nor did I care. My rational mind was gone, replaced by a seething, desperate hunger. Little micro-gasms tore through me, heralding the approach of a big one still waiting in the wings. My hands wandered over my body with reckless abandon as though guided by minds of their own.

As all this was going on, I happened by accident to look back at a large mirror on the wall. The image it now reflected practically drove me insane – a beautiful girl, naked and writhing on the bed, groping herself furiously. I could scarcely believe that person with the flushed face and trembling limbs was me! Her eyes and mouth were wide open, staring back at me like a woman possessed... or some wild animal in heat. And watching her in the darkness was her handsome admirer. His aching erection stood in plain view, pointing at the ceiling like a pillar of strength. It was beautiful in a way, a symbol of his desire for her which he held fast with both hands, pumping up and down with expert control.

Seeing this image drove me over the edge. "Oh, God, not yet!" I pleaded with myself. But my responses were beyond my control. I felt the space between my legs begin to convulse – the epicentre of a powerful quake radiating spasms of ecstasy throughout my body. "I'm coming!" I cried, shaking as though having a seizure. Mark nearly fell out of his chair as my arched back, heaving rib cage, and badly trembling thighs made for a very erotic display. It was the most explosive orgasm my young body had ever felt, so long and torrid it caused hot tears to flow down my face and a trickle of drool down my chin. My forehead crinkled in its withering heat while I screamed in a voice unrecognizable as my own. Searing heat engulfed my body as delirium engulfed my soul.

At long last, the waves began to subside. My screaming voice fell back to a whimper and my gyrating limbs grew still. Reason and sanity slowly returned, like waking up from a feverish dream. My body felt as though it had just run a marathon. Drenched in sweat, I collapsed back down and lay there, both astounded at how incredible it felt and humbled by the realization that Mark had somehow outlasted me.

But it would not be by much. My orgasmic performance, it seemed, had driven him over the edge as well. His rod began to convulse in his hands. "God, I'm coming!" he howled. I gawked as the first hot sprays came shooting out of him like a geyser.

"Don't waste it!" I cried. "Stick it in me!"

Mark stood and ran to the bed – quite a sight in itself – while I opened my legs to let him in. He maneuvered into position, making a mess of my inner thighs as he did so, then thrust inside.

"Ohhhhh!" we cried in unison. I felt Mark's body shudder against mine. I wrapped my arms and legs around him as, on and on, he shook and groaned. I wondered whether it was normal for a man to last so long – it was like he hadn't come in a month! I basked in the feeling of warmth it created inside me, imagining how incredible he must be feeling at that moment. Finally, he was spent and lay gently down on top of me. To my delight, he stayed hard for a minute or two afterward, creating a pleasant feeling of fullness inside me. We were one.

"I love you," Mark whispered, raising his weary head to look at me. I felt a tear run down my cheek which he wiped away with his hand.

"I loveyou," I whispered back. I held his head lovingly to my bosom, letting the sound of my heartbeat lull him to sleep. And we lay in each other's arms until the sun came up.

*****

The following weekend, Steph and I biked down to the small municipal beach not far from my place. We lay on our stomachs with our tops undone as I told her everything that had happened in meticulous detail – or at least everything I could without getting too graphic.

"You see?" she laughed triumphantly when I was done. "What did I tell you? I'm glad it worked out so well for you guys." I smiled thankfully. "And you tell it so well. I got wet just listening to it."

"Oh, too much information!" I cringed.

Steph laughed at my disgust. "You know... you used to write great stories in high school, remember? So why don't you write about this?"

"Yeah, right." Steph looked at me squarely. "Wait, you're serious?" I shook my head uncomfortably. "Oh, I don't know. It's too personal. And who would even read it besides pervs like you?"

Steph rolled her eyes. "All right, it was just a suggestion. And what do I know about making suggestions, right?" She yawned and put her head back down. "Should've known you could never do something that daring. It was a bad idea. Forget I said anything."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

*****

Later that evening, I sat at my computer and began to type: "Sometimes the most personal journeys of one's life begin in the unlikeliest of places." Not a bad beginning, I thought...