Old Faithful

Buildup: The reason I had been able to catch up on last month’s sex life was that I had been sent to a week-long seminar out of town. Of course, writing about the sex I was no longer having is a recipe for blue balls, and an undercurrent of unfulfilled horniness ran throughout my business sessions during the day, and my dreams at night. To make matters worse, B and I never seemed to be able to sync up our schedules to talk on the phone, and when we could, never had a decent mobile phone signal. To make matters more intense, I decided that I wasn’t going to come unless and until B was directly involved (as opposed to merely being the object of a solo masturbatory fantasy.) On my last night of the trip, I had visions of doing some kind of joint cam show. I set up my laptop and webcam at the edge of the tub in the hotel bathroom and waited, absent-mindedly stroking myself.

And waited.

And waited.

His Turn: While I waited for B to log on, my mind (and hands) kept drifting back to our last time together in our tub — in particular, the “continuous handjob” that B gave me during foreplay. I poured some of the hotel’s shower gel onto my hands for lubrication, and tried the same trick — bringing my hand on a downstroke from tip to base, then following with the other hand in the same motion. Without B’s words of encouragement, though, I was having a hard time staying hard. (A soft time?)

And when B finally logged on, a) she was fully clothed at our home computer, and b) the connection kept dropping. Undaunted, I told her to turn the camera off on her side to conserve bandwidth, and I offered to forge onward. I started describing for her the scene I was playing in my mind. I kept listening for her to pick up the theme and talk me through it, but her head was not in the same place and she wasn’t as ready to go as I was ready to finish.

They say a stiff prick has no conscience, and I guess that’s true even for self-control. If B wasn’t going to do the coaxing, she could still be involved as a voyeur. Instead of thinking about B at the other end of the line, I closed my eyes and remembered B at the other end of the tub. Suddenly, my dick swelled and I realized I was moments from coming. Down, down, down, down, my soapy hands came over my engorged cock, and then — a geyser.

The first spurt was hot and clear, and shot nearly four feet into the air. The next spurt of white spunk also fired a foot or two into the air, followed by three or four more spurts exploding and receding over my hands and into the bath water. B couldn’t help but laugh out loud. I just kept saying, “Oh, wow” — even as horny as I had been, I had no idea how much pressure had built up.

Now B wants to nickname me Old Faithful.

Cam Girl

Buildup: Several days into my business trip, I found myself endlessly replaying the visuals from our night in front of the bathroom mirror in my head — I went to sleep with a raging hard-on, but not before leaving B a desperately horny email begging her to call for some phone sex if she was feeling the same way.

I wasn’t there when she called, but her voicemail said that she had been prepared to do a webcam striptease. (We tried that once before with mixed results — I kept pushing for on-screen vibe action, instead of being happy with the bouncing boobs on my computer screen. This time I vowed to appreciate whatever B had to offer.) I whipped off my bathrobe and IM’ed back, hoping I would catch B at the computer and in the mood.

His Turn: I got a window on our bedroom with a minimum of technical difficulties, and in no time B had already peeled down to a pink bra and matching lace boyshorts. There was no shyness or reticence in her voice — she was there to get me off, and I was going to let her. B did a few dance moves and reached behind to remove her bra, then lay back at the edge of our bed like the morning of the very first entry of this diary. I took my turgid cock in hand and began stroking as B pulled a pillow under her head to watch me.

“I wish you could touch me,” she said, as she wriggled out of her panties and spread her legs wide to give me a view of her landing strip. She wasn’t touching herself, but she squeezed her legs together, crossing them back and forth to provide friction on her button. I watched, and remembered all of the times I had taken her in that position, creating my own friction with my hands. I had given up replying and coaxing her, instead pumping my shaft violently.

“If you were here now, I’d put my legs up over your shoulders,” she sighed.

Five nights of semen burst into a hotel towel.

Solo Flight

Timing didn’t work out for real sex this time, so I need to work out a template for masturbation (outside the context of me finishing off B or vice versa.) One wonderful thing about the midlife uptick in our sex life (14 months and counting…) is that I almost never have to jerk off anymore.

Buildup: In between parties, B was changing from an outfit with a silky wrap blouse that showed off her chest to one that would accentuate her curves all over. She settled on a white blouse cut deep but narrow, with laces tied under each breast to the hem of the blouse, and slipped on a pair of black stretch lace tanga panties. Her hair was blown out and she had just a little bit of makeup on and she looked hot. I told her so. Unfortunately, we had guests downstairs who would hear if we were to have a quickie.

As she tried on different pants to wear, I would check to see how they fit her ass. B has lost some weight recently, so some slacks hung off her butt. Nonetheless, I’d give her cheeks a caress each time. In between pairs, she was walking around the bedroom in the white blouse and black panties while I lay on the bed and admired her. I asked her to come over and kiss me — she leaned down with an open mouth and placed her hand on my pants as I reached over and stroked her through the lace of her panties. She continued to try on outfits and I continued to ask for kisses.

Finally I asked B to try on some shoes with heels while still only in the blouse and panties. I followed her into the bathroom and pressed my hard member into her rear as she put on the rest of her makeup. The bent-over-in-front-of-the-mirror scenario still hasn’t been fulfilled, so I bent her over (both of us dressed) to remind her.

B was dressed and ready to go downstairs — I had to stay behind until my hard-on subsided.

Fantasy: Bending B over with those panties was an too powerful an image — and we were both likely to be too full and drunk by the end of the evening for me to act on it. I crept back to the bathroom and unzipped my pants and took off my watch. I was surprised how hard and heavy my cock was in my hand. I began to stroke it as I visualized this scene:

B in the same outfit in front of the mirror, but me fully nude with the lights dimmed. I kneel behind her to kiss and lick the back of her thighs, while I roughly massage her pussy lips through her panties. I return to standing by kissing my way up her back, while my stiff cock rides up between her thighs. B squeezes her thighs together to hold me, then turns her head back to kiss me as I run my hands up her sides and cup her breasts in my hands.

I reach down to slide my hand under her panties and dip my finger into her already-wet slit. We continue to kiss as I circle her clit with one hand and her nipples with the other. B breaks the kiss and says, “Now.” I step back and help her step out of her panties — the heels stay on. As before, I bend her over the granite countertop and position myself at her opening. B backs into me, but I tease her lips with my head before plunging in.

With the heels, she is positioned just right and I pound into her violently, holding her hips. B leans forward with her hands on the counter, her eyes half-closed as she watches herself, her breath coming in gasps every time I thrust.

Release: That’s all it took — I came into the toilet and cleaned myself up. B came upstairs to ask what was taking so long. She looked at me and said, “You didn’t!” I simply shrugged.

“You should have said something,” she said. “I would’ve helped with that!”