We are delighted to welcome Ella Scandal back to our blog with a delicious bit of fiction for Wankuary!
***
Toby is working out. Right here in the front room. His yoga mat is on the carpet, his dumbbells are in his hands, and his eyes are fixed on the trainer on the TV screen. I know this DVD as well as I know my favourite movie, I’ve seen it almost as many times. Going by the current segment, he’s been at it for almost an hour but he’s showing no signs of slowing down. Total powerhouse.
As usual, my arrival doesn’t warrant even a two-minute break. He just grunts and half raises a weight in my direction as I skirt his mat and slither onto the sofa. It’s been a while since I just sat and watched him. Usually, I’m up too. Lighter weights, heavier breathing, but giving it as much effort as he does.
As I watch Toby curl a weight toward his shoulder, a memory flashes in my mind. Last time we did this session together it went, quite literally, with a bang. The scents and sounds in the close room make the moving images in my head seem all the more real. The smell of old leather, the tang of a glucose drink, the hint of fresh sweat. Fast paced music, gruff trainer yelling encouragement, Toby’s grunts of exertion.
I was just about to eat lunch, but my appetite has forsaken me. Well, the appetite for food has. Now I’m hungry for something else altogether. I’m not going to tell Toby, though. I’ll let him figure it out for himself.
Shifting around on the sofa, trying not to make too much noise, I reach for my zipper. The metal stings my cold fingers, but I manage to get it all the way down. Already, my cock is uncoiling behind the navy-blue cotton of my boxers. It’s so warm down there. I run my hand over the semi-hard lump behind the fabric, straightening it out, massaging it, making it grow.
Any other day I’d watch it harden, watch the tip push, lift, then peek out over my waistband. But today my eyes are all over Toby. When I’m turned on, I seem to develop a kind of hyper-focus, and I see so much more than I usually would. Bluish veins bulging in Toby’s biceps. Sinews straining in his neck. Sweat running down the side of his face and his knuckles turning white.
Fuck, I wish he would turn around and notice what I’m doing. I know that he would abandon his training if he caught sight of me rubbing my hard cock through my boxers. I tug on it, squeeze it, instinctively know that the tight stroke has forced a few drops of precum out of my slit. Another stroke and I’ll probably feel it. Toby loves precum, almost as much as he loves full on spunk. He likes to smooth it over his lips, coat the inside of his mouth with it using his tongue.
With a bit of shoving and jiggling, I get my hand fully down my pants. I was right, plenty of precum that’s now streaked up my forearm. Shivers make me shrink away from my own hand when my fingertips skim over my balls. I tickle them, move them around, give them a little squeeze. A few sharp pulls on the pubic hair that covers them makes the base of my cock pulse and my arsehole twitch.
It’s a sensation that reminds me of how it feels to have Toby slap my balls. Arousal fucks with the chemical balance in my brain, making something that should cause me untold pain bring me closer and closer to euphoria. He hurts me, tortures me, and I fucking love it.
So much so, I forget that I’m supposed to be having a stealth wank. I lift my bulk from the sofa, yank my jeans and shorts to my feet then throw myself back down. The leather creaks, the crap on the table beside it rattles, but I don’t care anymore.
I see Toby glance over at me, do a double take, then match the rhythm of his lifts to the music again. He’s smiling, though. A filthy little smile that turns my insides to liquid and my cock to iron. I close my eyes, knowing that he’s going to keep stealing peeks, that if he manages to hold out until I shoot my load, I’ll be the receptacle for all of his pent-up frustration later on. My arse aches just thinking about it.
Breathing is becoming a struggle. I’m gagging on my own gasps, choking on my own cries. My shoulder is burning, my wrist is aching, my cheeks are clammy with tears. Toby loves that I cry when we fuck and I’m sure he’s gone quiet because he’s watching me.
I can feel it. Everything is tight, I feel like a coiled spring that needs to be released. I do need it, I want it, I’m shaking with it. Even if I wanted to hold it back now I couldn’t, it’s going to come spilling out of me, covering my hand, my wrist, my belly.
It’s pulsing from deep inside me, my body is wracked with ecstatic sobs. I know I’ve come on the sofa, on the floor. Somehow, I’ve even managed to jizz in my own face and hair, too. I’m covered in it and I can’t stop myself from sighing in contentment and sinking further into sticky leather.
Toby is laughing quietly. Smiling, I open my eyes, expecting to see him standing on his mat, watching me. But he isn’t. He’s right beside the sofa, shaking the last few drips of come from his cock. Ah. So that’s how I got spunk in my hair.
Thoughts, imaginings and opinions, straight from the slightly skewed mind of Ella Scandal
