Masturbating For Women - Sex Stories

Masturbating For Women

... on the settee and the atmosphere was mellowing nicely. We discussed dating sites and what a lot of strange people they attracted, the women suspicious and easily alarmed (my point of view) and the men crude and over-eager (hers). This led naturally to some touching and a kiss, congratulating ourselves on having reached this point without online help.

I wanted to tell her about the woman who liked to watch a man doing the blue vein shuffle, but I didn't know how she would react. As the evening wore on, and with some very teenage feeling up and giggling between two mature people, I decided to go for it.

"There was this woman," I said, "a down-to-earth character, not much education, divorced a long time ago, and she said she liked to watch a man masturbate while she played with herself."

"Nowshe's not one of your wary ones," Wilma said. "Knows what she wants and doesn't mind talking about it."

"How about you?" I ventured.

"How about me what?"

"Do you like to watch a man doing that?"

"Well, no one has ever suggested it," she said, a little flustered but pushing herself through the embarrassment barrier. She left the subject hanging in the air, waiting for me to do something with it. I pulled her to me and kissed her deeply, taking her hand and putting it on my crotch. Then I unzipped my jeans and pushed her fingers into the hot, expectant jungle.

"Would you like to watch me masturbate?" I asked softly.

"I think you know the answer to that," she ...

... whispered back, then gave it a few seconds before adding, "Perhaps we should be naked."

My right hand, which had been up to no good inside her shirt, shot around to her bra clasp and undid it with a degree of skill I thought I had lost forever through lack of practice. Wilma wrenched the shirt off and dispensed with the bra with a flourish that shook her liberated breasts. She was enjoying herself and I was proud that she felt safe enough to do so. Her marriage had been short and then came her extended life of bookishness and, I assumed, abstinence. Yet apparently she was a red-blooded woman who believed in her right to enjoy sex in whatever slightly kinky form it might take.

Topless, she walked into the kitchen and came back with a roll of good, thick kitchen towel. She switched on a lamp and turned off the main light and then, secure in the near-darkness, we both undressed. She tore off two sheets of paper towel and folded them so there was a double thickness. Handing them to me, she sat back to enjoy the show. I leaned down to her lap and kissed her pubic hair and the mound beneath it. She smelled wonderful: clean but natural, and I made a mental note to give her a thorough licking later.

Wilma pushed me away playfully and said, "Okay, you're on."

Relieved that my erection was still pluckily standing and hadn't got stage fright, I took my cock in my right hand, as I had done so many thousands of times, and began to masturbate.

"You use the tips of your fingers and ...