Netflix & Chill #MasturbationMonday


It wasn’t supposed to go this far.

She’d realized her mistake as soon as she made it. Maybe even as she was making it. When he’d texted, “Can I come over?” she’d responded, “Sure :)”– smiley face, not a winky face. Friendly, but not too suggestive. She’d been putting out that vibe for weeks now, hoping that it might draw him in closer. It had been her goal to let him know that she was interested while making it clear that she was, above all else, a good girl.

But good girls didn’t text their best friends’ fathers, and the definitely didn’t hang out with them casually, one on one, watching Battlestar Gallactica together on Netflix and drinking beers . She’d known it was wrong before his hand had wandered to rest on her inner thigh. After…

After, she was too turned on to care.

His fingers traced the ragged hem of her jean shorts, stroking the smooth tanned skin that it bordered. She knew that she should have swatted his hand away, gone on playing their little cat and mouse game. It had happened before, a brief touch here, a flash of skin there, but they’d always kept each other in check up to that point. It would only take a little slap of her hand against his and a dismissive giggle to end it, but as his fingers tickled beneath the hem of her cutoffs, she realized that she didn’t want it to end. She’d known for a while now that all of the flirtations, the teasing Snapchats, the heated texting would all come to a head. She just hadn’t expected it to be just then. But if her heart wasn’t ready to consummate their little affair, her body didn’t give a shit. Just at the slightest brushing of his fingers against her skin she could feel her pussy grow hot and wet in anticipation.

She could only imagine what it would feel like to have those fingers farther north, or even better, to feel him move inside of her.

A moan escaped her lips, involuntary but not exactly unwelcome. She didn’t have the words to tell him how good it felt, how bad she wanted more, more, more– but that tiny little exhale of pleasure that slipped through her strawberry lipgloss pout was enough to make it clear. She could tell by the way he looked at her. His dark eyes were brimming with something, a brooding stir of desire and shame that she knew all too well. Would he be brave enough to face it, she wondered? Her clit twitched, aching with need. If he wasn’t, she wouldn’t be able to stand it.

She moaned again and he licked his lips, hungry for her. His hands were on her hips then, pulling him to her, and her heart soared.

How far they had come. Ten years ago, she’d just been the mouthy, mousy neighbor girl from across the road and he’d been the handsome father of the only girl in her class who would talk to her. He’d made her pancakes and smoothies for breakfast on the mornings she would sleep over at their house, flipping each flapjack up in the air until it was spinning high overhead. She’d fallen in love with his smile, his early morning stubble and the Navy anchor tattoo on his left bicep a thousand times before he had so much as looked at her– but there he was, his cock hard beneath her as she straddled him, his lips just inches away from a kiss that had been building in her imagination for the better part of a decade.

“Are you sure you want this?” His voice was rough, like he was straining to force himself to ask for consent.

She answered by forcing her lips against his. She didn’t have words anymore. If she had opened her mouth, it would have sounded like so much begging: Want. Need. Please, please, please.

He tasted like Guinness, bitter coffee grounds and dark chocolate. His stubble tickled her chin, her cheeks, but his lips were warm and smooth and inviting. His mouth felt like home to her, and she wanted it. God, she wanted it on every inch of her body, every secret place. She imagined those lips on the softest places of her body: the crook of her elbows, behind her ears, at the hollow of her collarbone, at the place where her leg met her sex.

She kissed him like she would never kiss him again. As far as she knew, she wouldn’t be able to. Men like him didn’t fall for girls like her. She might have gotten tits and an ass since high school graduation, but when she was around him she felt as lovesick as the schoolgirl who had shown up on his doorstep when she was ten years old, wanting to know if his daughter could come out and play. And at the same time, as he worked his hands against her new found curves like he wanted to imprint on his memory their exact feel, their exact shape, she felt all woman, awakened and alive beneath his touch.

“Turn over,” he said, wrestling his lips away. When she didn’t respond quickly enough, he moved her himself, flipping her over on his lap so she was facing away from him. With one hand, he found her hair and twisted it around his palm. With the other, he reached around her waist and stroked the seam of her shorts, a layer of denim and a layer of lace away from touching the warm wetness of her cunt…

“Tell me you want it,” he growled. His teeth scraped against her neck as he pulled her head to the side. She was utterly in his control now, without any means of escape, and she loved it. She needed. She wanted. He filled her up so full of longing, it seemed almost unfair that he was forcing her to ask for it, beg for it, part her lips and let it out.

“Please,” she whimpered.

There was a long suspended moment where she was certain that he was going to deny her. That he was going to push her off of his lap, put on his shoes and head for the door.

But just as she was certain that it was over, he unbuttoned her shorts with an effortless flick of his fingers.

He undressed her faster than she could have undressed herself. Beneath his touch, her clothes disappeared, flung across the room far away from their position on the couch. Shirtless, pantless and, with only a quick wiggle of her ass on her own part, panty-less, she sat on his lap and felt the hard length of his cock against her ass as he touched her. His fingers traced up one thigh, down the other, and then they brought her what she had wanted for so bad, for so long. His fingertips moved against her clit, rubbing and rolling it beneath them as she whimpered and sighed. They stroked her labia, dipping down to fill her like she had always dreamed of. And in due time, he ravished her in ways that she never could have dreamed– bringing her to orgasm over and over again with only his hands, his lips at her neck and his fingers dripping. Her body convulsed against his in pleasure, toes curling as they hooked around his ankles, nipples hard and aching, mouth open in passion and desperation as every nerve ending in her body was repeatedly and relentlessly overwhelmed.

He sucked his fingers into his mouth when he was done with her. She collapsed against him– it was either that or falling straight onto the floor. Her legs felt like the bones had come out of them. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop her knees from trembling.

He kissed her as the credits rolled and Netflix suggested that they watch the next episode. But as he gently removed her from his lap, she knew that their time was up– he had to go.

“We should… do that again sometime,” she said. Her voice sounded so small, so timid, but so utterly hopeful. She stared up at him, biting her lip as he rose.

“I’m not sure I could handle it if we didn’t,” he replied. There was a grin on his face wider than she’d ever seen it before.

And even as he walked out of the door, she couldn’t help but feel smugly satisfied at the way his jeans strained against the pressure of the big, stiff erection they concealed as he went.

If you liked that, then you’ll love Kayla Lords‘ Masturbation Monday, where getting off is only a right-click away. Masturbation is good for you– so this week, don’t settle for doing it alone. This is week 60 for the rest of the MM crowd and week #2 for me. For the love of god, comment if you liked this and read all of the other sexy posts this week– there are LOADs.
xoxo Zelda