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My hands tighten into fists again, trying desperately not to touch myself. I watch as she disappears beneath the water, a brief reprieve, although my cock is still throbbing just as insistently. And then she reappears, dark hair clinging to the back of her neck, bright sunlit water beading over her skin. When she starts to step out of the pool with that bikini sticking to her like a second skin and the water dripping off onto the deck, I lose what is quickly becoming an endless battle with myself.
I don’t even bother undoing my belt. I drag my zipper down with one pull, hard enough I almost think I might have broken it, palming my cock out of my trousers feverishly and letting out a hiss of pleasure when my hand wraps around my hot, aching length. I run my fingers over my dripping cockhead, spreading the pre-cum down the shaft, ignoring every guilty, shouting thought in my head as I watch Gianna out on the pool deck, lounging back in one of the chairs in full view of my office window.
She’s not doing this on purpose. She can’t be.It’s a coincidence that she’s lying exactly where I can glimpse between her thighs, where I can see the shadow of what might be the dark curls just beneath the red fabric—because surely a girl as innocent as she is wouldn’t think to shave. She might, if her husband asked her to, but—
My cock throbs dangerously in my fist, imagining requesting that of her, asking that she shave herself bare for me, insisting that she let me see.Have you been a good girl? Did you shave your pussy for me the way I asked you to? Lift up your skirt, sweetheart, let me see. Let mefeel—
I suck in a breath at the thought of sliding a hand up her skirt, beneath her panties, stroking bare, soft flesh. Outside, her legs spread the slightest bit wider, her back arching a little as she squirms with pleasure on the chair, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her skin. And when she rolls over, the perfect shape of her ass directly in front of my gaze, enough pre-cum spills out of the tip of my cock that I almost think I’ve come without realizing it.
The view is exactly what I would see if I fucked her from behind. I could slip that tiny bit of fabric to one side, nudge my cockhead against her wet entrance, push myself into her—so tight and wet and hot that no other pussy would ever feel as good, ever again. She’d never need to worry that I would stray from her bed, not if I could have her. Not if she was mine.
I close my eyes for the briefest moment, imagining gripping her ass as I thrust into her, sliding my fingers between her cheeks, teasing the tight hole there, just above where I’d fill her up. I could teach her to take me there eventually, too—to let me fuck her ass while I filled her with my fingers, rubbed her clit, and made her come for me like that, too. Every part of her is innocent, untouched, but by the time I finished—
My eyes snap open, the fantasy so far gone that I feel that hot flood of shame again, even as my hand still twists and strokes over my cock, my balls tight, so close to the edge. I almost don’t want to come yet—it feels so fucking good, stroking myself like this, imagining things that IknowI’ll regret as soon as the orgasm ebbs, that will make me hate myself a little more for losing control. For now, all I feel is pleasure, my fingers rubbing over my straining length, and Gianna—
Fuck.I realize, somewhere in the lust-fogged recesses of my mind, that she’s no longer out by the pool. She’s not on the lounge chair any longer, at least. She could be swimming; she might have gone underwater while I had my eyes closed—but I feel as ifI’mthe one underwater, the thoughts, and their potential ramifications slow to make their way through my mind as my hand still feverishly works my cock, too far gone to stop. I can’t stop now. I lean my head back against the chair, eyes closing again, hips thrusting upwards, fucking my hand the way I want to fuck her, bouncing on my lap, her head back against my shoulder, her pretty thighs splayed wide so I could stroke her clit while I fuck her. I’m lost, far beyond anything that isn’t the hot, throbbing pleasure in my cock. When the orgasm comes at last, spilling over my hand in a thick, spurting mess that I forget to catch with tissues before it can ruin my suit, it’s all I can do not to groan loudly enough that anyone nearby will hear and know exactly what it is that I’ve been doing.
I can’t remember the last time I came this hard, touching myself. My cock is still stiff, throbbing against my palm, and I keep stroking, my length slick with my own cum as I imagine fucking it into Gianna, deep and hard, driving my cum into her until there’s no chance that at least some of it wouldn’t take root.
I feel that first flicker of guilt, the ember flaring to life, but the pleasure is still there, and I’m not ready to let go of it yet.
All I want, in that moment, is her.
Gianna
Ican’t believe what I’m seeing.
I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop—or spy, or whatever this is. But the sight in front of me, Alessio in his office, his hand around his cock—
I’ve never seen anything like it, and I can’t stop watching.
I had planned on going back up to my room. But I’d had to walk past Alessio’s new office to do that, and when I did—
The sounds were strange. Like the proverbial cat, I’d been curious, and I’d crept up to the door that I don’t think he knew was cracked—that hedefinitelymust not have known was cracked, considering what I saw when I peeked inside. I almost scurried away the moment I realized what it was that I was seeing, until I realized that he was far too focused on himself to notice me in the doorframe, watching wide-eyed, my heart pounding. I should have left—but I wanted to see.
And now I can’t tear my eyes away.
I’ve never seen a man touch himself before. I’ve never seen aman—not like this, not in even the slightest state of undress. I’ve never watched porn or looked up pictures. I don’t think it’s ever hit me, until this exact moment, just how entirely innocent of all of this I really am. Until I see Alessio in his leather desk chair, legs spread and his zipper down, his hard cock gripped in his fist as he strokes it. And thelookon his face—
Does it really feel that good?His lips are parted—god, he has a beautiful mouth, full and soft, the kind of lips I think I’d like to kiss—his breath coming in short gasps as his hand slides over himself, his head tipped back, eyes closed. I can see his flexed muscles in his forearm, the tension in his thighs, and his hand—
He has lovely hands, long-fingered and broad, veined along the back, and seeing him gripping his cock makes me feel faintly breathless. I can’t take my eyes off ofthat, either. I’ve tried to picture what one might look like, before—and I wasn’t too far off the mark—but the reality is both better and more frightening all at once. If all men are made like this, I don’t know how any man could fit inside of me. He’slong, the tip of it just below where I think his navel must be, and thick. His hand fits around himself nicely, but would mine? Would my fingers touch, if I gripped him the way he’s gripping himself right now? I’m not sure, but the thought of touching him like that—of kneeling between his legs right now, my hand pumping his cock instead of his own, makes me feel dizzy with a sudden rush of sensation that I’ve never felt before and certainly don’t understand.
I don’t understand anything that I’m feeling, not really. I feel hot, flushed for reasons that have nothing to do with having been laying in the sun outside, and I feel an odd tingling between my thighs, a sort of buzzing heat that also feels entirely unfamiliar. When I squeeze my thighs together reflexively, a reaction to the strange, building pressure between them, I feel—wet?
My gaze flicks back to Alessio, his head still tipped back against his chair, his hand sliding over his glistening cock—glistening withwhat, I’m not sure. I feel that throbbing ache between my legs again, and I can’t help but wonder if it would feel that good if I touchedmyselfthere.
I shouldn’t, I know that. Especially not here, in the hallway, peering into Alessio’s office and spying on him. He’d be furious if he realized I was here watching. He’d be even angrier, I think, if he caught me touching myself the same way, watching him. I’ve never done this—never had even the slightest inclination to—but I know enough to know it’s meant to be private. That I shouldn’t be seeing what I am.
I could go back upstairs and try it.But something in me rebels at the thought. I feel as if something is waking up in me, something thrilling and new, and I want to see what happens at the end of this. I want to see what comes of what Alessio is doing, what thepointof it all is.
Maybe it will give me some sort of answer as to what it is that men want.
Without fully deciding to commit to it, my hand slips underneath the sarong I threw on over my swimsuit, pushing aside the chiffon to brush against the edge of my bikini bottoms. I feel something pulse between my thighs again at the brush of my fingers over the material. I bite my lip, summoning the courage to slip them underneath. The soft hair between my legs is damp—but of course, it is, I think frantically, trying to make some sense of what’s happening to me at this moment. I was swimming just a few minutes ago—but this feels different.
Alessio’s hand twists around his cock, his palm squeezing over the tip for a moment, and I see thick fluid pearling there, sticky against his fingers.I wonder what he tastes like,I think, unbidden, and then my face flames at the realization of what just went through my mind.
I feel that pulse between my thighs again, that steadily building pressure, and I close my eyes for just the briefest of seconds as I slip my fingers between flesh that feels more swollen and tender than usual, searching out where it is that I need touch, friction—
