The Naughty Spot

I lay sleeping, dozing really, next to Whitman in our heavenly king-size hotel bed. We’d just returned from visiting a strip club, where we’d spent the past couple of hours ogling pretty young things. I’d also inadvertently purchased something between a lap dance and a body shot (more on that later) which probably looked pretty hot. We were naked, cuddling, watching a movie on the laptop. Well, HE was watching…

Whitman was wide awake, a little hyper, and a lot horny.  I, on the other hand, was feeling like I’d quit drinking way too long ago, had too much insanely good dinner, and quite crampy. (Can you believe it? The Sex Fairy called a time out for PMS?!)

As I dozed, Whitman slipped off to the bathroom, and then I heard him come out into the dark room and walk to the desk. I opened my eyes, but didn’t move. He never looked at me, just proceeded to open the laptop and settle in to the desk chair, working his cock with his right hand, intently watching the screen, and just as intently working the mouse with his left hand. (Yes! Left-handed! Very impressive, isn’t it?!)

I wanted to move enough to touch myself as I watched, but I didn’t want to remind him that I was there. I also REALLY fantasized about sliding from under the duvet and crawling on my hands and knees from the big fluffy bed to the hard cold floor under the desk, just to make my mouth available. Just in case. Just in case Whitman wanted to fuck my mouth, or cum in my mouth…I wanted to be there for him. In the end, though, my inner voyeur won out. (I didn’t even know I HAD an inner voyeur!!)

Yes, I  thought of participating, or verbally encouraging him, but I was mostly fascinated. I love to watch Whitman touch himself, and I’ve seen it before, but he’s always known I was watching. This was different. It was a totally private moment, but there I was…part of it. It was quick and dirty. Whitman is an expert ‘take-your-time’ masturbator, but he was a man on a mission this time. He stroked, his eyes darting rapidly across the screen, his left hand changing the view. I could see his orgasm building on his face, in his eyes, and in the way he moved. The tension built as he stroked faster, slower, faster, and finally he stood up and I recognized immediately his preferred orgasm stance.

I smiled to myself and I DID touch myself then. I was too late to cum with him, but I grinned as I watched his final strokes from my dark hideout. I was in awe of the silence (he’s usually got a beastly sounding orgasm, which I LOVE) and the efficiency of his action. He cleaned up, and as he closed the laptop, I spoke through my smile.

“That was hot.”