There is another pause. Longer. You contemplate the scene – and this time I don’t look up. Until I hear your feet move on the tiles. And step over the doorsill. And you repeat – much more deliberately, enunciating each word clearly, almost as I you’re listening to the words yourself this time, as you say them. Hands still on your hips, looking down on me now.
“You were smoking, getting nicely stoned, and then jerking off, over my picture, weren’t you, Mr Jenkin?!”
At my name, I look up now – useless denial springing to my lips, I look, almost pleadingly –
“No – I wasn’t, no, no – no – I was… I was just…”
And this time, its my turn to trail off, realising that no denial, no excuse will hold a moment’s examination. As my voice falters, my gaze inadvertently drops, ashamedly, from your face – almost pleading – yet unconsciously taking in your body – your rounded breasts in your bikini top, fuller than 3 years ago. That same bikini top. The sunlight streaming from behind you – your slim waist outlined. Long legs. And in that moment, you suddenly realize, as you follow my gaze, as my lip flickers nervously over my lip, that you have me at a disadvantage.
“No – I was…” I repeat – blushing, all over again as I meet your eyes. I’m vaguely aware that your expression has changed. Subtle… – too subtle – almost expressionless, in fact. Somehow contemplative, yet mostly inscrutable, I’m unable to read it.
“Yes, Mr Jenkins? What were you doing…? You were saying…?”, one eyebrow – arched – imperiously, as you wait for my answer
My gaze drops again. “I was…”
“You were jerking off, weren’t you, Mr Jenkin? You were jerking off over my picture – and over that magazine!”
Silence this time.
“Admit it. Go on -…” – in a suddenly cajoling, almost conspiratorial tone “…its OK, really”
I look up – some faint hope of avoiding any further embarrassment – and realize that you’ve stepped closer, silent on the tiles in bare feet. And bending forward, you stoop to pick up the picture, and look from it, to my face, and then… – down to the tented-t-shirt in my lap. I swallow – looking down – and feel my head swim a little…
“Show me”
I look back up – No! – face burning again, unable to look away from your face, shaking my head in disbelief. Your sweet cajoling smile replaced now by a teasing, knowing grin.
“Go on – show me. Show me what you were doing… with this!” and suddenly stepping forward, one hand held out, the picture turned towards me, making me start, making me lean back, as you push it towards my face –
– and not seeing your other darting hand – snaking out – snatching – … the t-shirt suddenly gone. Cool air on my nakedness, as I look down at my achingly hard, my still-oh-so-so-achingly-throbbing-swollen-hard erection.
“Mmmm – …. I see….
“…yes – … I seeeee…” – one hand on your hip – your head cocked to one side – as you study my cock – and a long pause – before you speak again. Again, in that strange tone – ..
“Show me, you bad man, Mr Jenkin. Show me how you were going to…
“…to stroke it … –
“…to stroke your big, hard cock”
Suddenly galvanized – my words tumbling out…
“No! Don’t be ridiculous – I wasn’t – well – maybe –I mean… but I can’t – I mean – I won’t. I .. – look, just listen to me! There’s no way in the world I’m going to sit here, and let you watch, or make fun of me, or – or – or …with you – watching me, just because you’ve –you’ve wandered in and seen me… seen me -… well… well… you…”
And it’s the eyebrow again that gives it away, as you let my little rant gather its head of steam, and run on and on, and then trail off… into my silence.
“Yes, you will, Mr Jenkin”
– in that same meticulous, studied tone –
“Yes you wil. Because if you don’t… – if you won’t,,, I’ll show this to my father. This picture that you’ve printed. I’ll tell him that you were jerking off over it, and he’ll tell the police. And yes, I know, its not that it’s illegal or anything, I know, oh I agree – … but think of it. Everyone in the street knowing. Your wife not letting you visit the girls ever again. Maybe even losing your job… you can’t be school principal, can you, if you’re caught jerking off over a picture of a previous student , surely?”
“So yes, Mr Jenkin – … I think you WILL show me…”
“Now”
Protesting. Almost pleading, close to begging. “But… but…”
“Now”
And in my desparate not-knowing-what else-to-do-moment, you stepping forward – eyes twinkling in your delight, knowing that you’ll win – your hand gently pushes me back – and then teasingly, trailing your fingers down my chest, as I sink backwards, stroking lower, closer, flickeringly please-yes-yes-so-close-but-not-quite-touching-my-cock. Drawing a gasp – that shiver of intense-tense-no-yes-no-oh-please-please-no-please-yes-but-yes sensation shooting through my drug-sensitised nerves.
“See? You want to really, don’t you… You want to stroke it for me. For me to watch… – “Here … ”
– and lifiting my right hand – to my crotch
“…take your big, hard cock in your hand, just like you had it before. There …”
“Now – stroke it for me…”
And even as I look up at you, in front of me – half in a trance – … my body takes over, the familiar feel, my hand, almost disembodied, in its automatic response, moving, barely at all, but rhythmic, squeezingly – slowly – … up and down. Up and down. My last shreds of resistance…
“No – I can’t.. I mustn’t… I .. –I… – can’t.. – shouldn’t…”
And your voice – again, teasing – at times, close to purring too, slowly urging me on…
“Stroke it for me, Mr Jenkin. That’s it… Mmm – nice and slow. Your big, hard cock…Mmmm. Yes – that IS nice… Stroke it up and down, just like you want to…”
“Now tell me – you WERE jerking off over my picture, weren’t you?”
“Yes – …yes – I…” gaspingly… – my hand still moving, gentle, slow tugs, eyes half- closed, not knowing where to look, oh-so-turned-on yet oh-so… so… yes… yes…
“…and what were you thinking about, as you lay there, that big hard, beautiful cock in your hand…?”
Your voice close – whisperingly close now – as you reach – … and suddenly you’ve got the magazine in your hands too – scooping it from the floor… open – flicking the pages, taking in the tacky, posed, yet reliably erotic pictures… finding the previously open page…
“Ahh – …nice. She’s pretty… she looks more than just a little bit like…well, –me, doesn’t she…? Nice breasts… – bigger than mine….Mmmm – Mr Jenkin… Were you letting yourself imagine me, naked, like that, were you? My picture in one hand, this magazine in the other? Imagining me, naked, naked and horny, like that, Hmmm? You were, weren’t you. Naughty Mr Jenkin… naughty – caught, stroking just like that…
“I don’t know if I can – if… – if I can – do this…” –
panting. My head shaking. Opening my eyes – looking up – and realizing you’re squatting – magazine open on the floor in front of you. Watching my hand on my cock. Eyes shining. Licking your lips…
“Here. Does it help if… – if I kneel, just like that…? Hmmm…?”
Entranced, I feeze – and watch, as, so saying, you kneel – …not looking away from my face, as you do. A half-smile – knowingly playing across your face, as you lick your lips again. And you flick your hear back off your shoulders. Glancing away from my face only to check the magazine in your hand – leaning back, your buttocks resting on your heels, and then slowly easing your thighs apart. Wider. And wider. Watching my expression again – open-mouthed, yet again – putty in your hands – as you do. Watching, as I swallow. Mouth again suddenly dry, feeling my cock tense… my hand twitching – almost moving of its own accord, feeling the rhythm of my racing heart… burning tension, deep in the bottom of my gut, and deep up inside the base of my cock…