Self Pleasure

Nar­ra­tion By D pho­tographed by Thursday’s Child

I love to watch you touch yourself.

Your hand on your cock — there’s a surety that I never match. Your move­ments so delib­er­ate, so mea­sured. You know exactly what you like, exactly how to touch your­self, how hard, how fast. Watch­ing you plea­sure your­self is watch­ing per­fec­tion — not an excess move­ment, no wasted energy. There’s an effi­ciency to your plea­sure that I love to watch.

I love to watch you plea­sure your­self. The expres­sion on your face — I’m never sure whether it’s plea­sure or pain, but you never hes­i­tate, never pause in your pur­suit of orgasm. Your entire body arches off the bed, your teeth clench as surely as the mus­cles inside you must.

You squeeze rhyth­mi­cally, the plank of your stom­ach betray­ing the move­ment inside you. There’s some­thing so deca­dent about a man enjoy­ing his plea­sure to the fullest. To watch a man fill him­self, to watch him push the plug in deeper, seat­ing it per­fectly, to see his eyes roll back and naked plea­sure sweep across his features.

Moments like this, a nun or a child would surely think you were in pain –the way your body arcs up off the bed, the gri­mace as you clench your teeth, the quick­ened breath quickly spin­ning out of con­trol. I can tell you’re close — I know the motions of your body and whether you’re inside me or besides me, the sign are unmis­tak­able to one who knows.

I focus on the engorged shaft, the plum head so plump with blood that its pur­ple and trem­bles beneath my gaze. Your fist moves faster, so fast that I won­der that it doesn’t hurt, but you’re beyond that point of plea­sure and pain. Your move­ments grow wilder, unfo­cused. They almost seem to slow. Your entire body seems to con­tract, ris­ing off the bed, your fist pumps, and it’s like slow motion. Once, twice, then the explo­sion I’ve been wait­ing for. White cream every­where, the first spurts go wild, and the lat­ter are more mea­sured, push­ing out of your cock with the motion of your fist. I can never resist the evi­dence of your plea­sure — I always want to touch it, to taste it. It’s part of my desire to be part of your plea­sure, even when you plea­sure yourself.