Richard asked how people can sense if you are a masturbator. This was my answer:
My wife knows, her friends know. (they talk, you understand.) When we watch tv or a movie; if there is a joke or even just the word “masturbate”, others may laugh or just enjoy the scene, but I am always too quiet or look away. I get physically agitated in the rare scenes if someone is masturbating on screen. It’s obvious that I am uncomfortable. People act embarrassed for me when they pick up on it. Everyone seems to know by now that I masturbate. They seem to sense that I can’t control it. (Poor guy)
My wife sent me to her friend Mary’s house to fix the washer. Mary was folding her laundry, including a load of bras and panties. I’m sorry, I spent a little too long looking at them as she folded them. Mary smirked, then looked into my eyes and asked how much longer I’d be working on her washer; but her expression told me she knew this simple thing would make me need to masturbate. She started stacking the panties in her basket, but she was teasing me with them, not putting a stack of them in at a time but placing each one in the basket and looking back at me as I watched.
She had a teasing, questioning look as each one of them went into the basket; as if to ask “Is this the pair, you pathetic masturbator?” I sort of gulped and paid extra attention to the lime green bikini briefs she put into the basket, then I hurried to put her washer back together.
She nodded, then took the basket and left for a few minutes to put them away. When she came back she just stood in the doorway of the laundry room in a slouch, with her hip jutting out.
“Your hands are dirty,” she accused. “You better go in the bathroom and clean up.” Her voice had that “You loser, … you masturbating loser.” tone to it.
“Thanks for fixing my little friend,” she said, a bit more nicely, as she led me to her washroom. She indicated for me to go into the washroom.
“I’m glad to get him back,” she said softly, suggestively … derisively. “I like to ride a corner of him in the spin cycle.”
Oh yes, she knew it would give me an immediate hard-on, and shame me at the same time!
“Take your time,” she said in her snarky tone as she pulled the door shut.
As she closed the door, I saw the lime green panties lying on the closed seat of the toilet. Of course she knew, she knew what I was going to do. (what I HAD to do!) She had set it up. It was some kind of taunting payment for me fixing her washer, I guess. She knew I would masturbate.
I barely got seated on the toilet with my pants down before my cock was in my hands and drooling precum. Jesus, … jesus … the silky feel of those panties wrapped around my aching penis made me so ready! I had to! I had to masturbate! I couldn’t help it now. Shamefully, I jacked and jacked and in only a couple of minutes I came into those silky green panties. I was quietly groaning and whining, hoping Mary wasn’t there on the other side of the door smirking and listening as I orgasmed. I spread my legs wide and leaned back against the cool tank of the toilet as I came. The cum just pulsed and pulsed into the folds of her panties. After a while when I was finished, I put them in the hamper, sad to find that there were no soiled ones in there. (she’d just done the laundry, remember stupid?)
When I finally came out, Mary wasn’t by the door as I had feared. She was on her cell, as she sat on the couch.
“… thought he was going to faint when I told him I rode the corner of the washer! Yes!” she was laughing. “Hmm? Oh yeah, he’s in there right now, still ‘going to town’ … Oh, it’s okay, – I’ll just wash ‘em again in the next load. … Oh, here he is now. …. yes. … of course he did … okay I’ll send him right home. Bye.” She was giggling as she hung up. She looked straight into my eyes with an expression that told me she knew I had just masturbated. She wanted me to know it.
“You wife says to send you right home.” Mary smirked. “Thanks for fixing the washer.” (‘you pathetic, masturbating addict’ must have been in her mind as she said it.)
My wife knows, her friends know. (they talk, you understand.) When we watch tv or a movie; if there is a joke or even just the word “masturbate”, others may laugh or just enjoy the scene, but I am always too quiet or look away. I get physically agitated in the rare scenes if someone is masturbating on screen. It’s obvious that I am uncomfortable. People act embarrassed for me when they pick up on it. Everyone seems to know by now that I masturbate. They seem to sense that I can’t control it. (Poor guy)
My wife sent me to her friend Mary’s house to fix the washer. Mary was folding her laundry, including a load of bras and panties. I’m sorry, I spent a little too long looking at them as she folded them. Mary smirked, then looked into my eyes and asked how much longer I’d be working on her washer; but her expression told me she knew this simple thing would make me need to masturbate. She started stacking the panties in her basket, but she was teasing me with them, not putting a stack of them in at a time but placing each one in the basket and looking back at me as I watched.
She had a teasing, questioning look as each one of them went into the basket; as if to ask “Is this the pair, you pathetic masturbator?” I sort of gulped and paid extra attention to the lime green bikini briefs she put into the basket, then I hurried to put her washer back together.
She nodded, then took the basket and left for a few minutes to put them away. When she came back she just stood in the doorway of the laundry room in a slouch, with her hip jutting out.
“Your hands are dirty,” she accused. “You better go in the bathroom and clean up.” Her voice had that “You loser, … you masturbating loser.” tone to it.
“Thanks for fixing my little friend,” she said, a bit more nicely, as she led me to her washroom. She indicated for me to go into the washroom.
“I’m glad to get him back,” she said softly, suggestively … derisively. “I like to ride a corner of him in the spin cycle.”
Oh yes, she knew it would give me an immediate hard-on, and shame me at the same time!
“Take your time,” she said in her snarky tone as she pulled the door shut.
As she closed the door, I saw the lime green panties lying on the closed seat of the toilet. Of course she knew, she knew what I was going to do. (what I HAD to do!) She had set it up. It was some kind of taunting payment for me fixing her washer, I guess. She knew I would masturbate.
I barely got seated on the toilet with my pants down before my cock was in my hands and drooling precum. Jesus, … jesus … the silky feel of those panties wrapped around my aching penis made me so ready! I had to! I had to masturbate! I couldn’t help it now. Shamefully, I jacked and jacked and in only a couple of minutes I came into those silky green panties. I was quietly groaning and whining, hoping Mary wasn’t there on the other side of the door smirking and listening as I orgasmed. I spread my legs wide and leaned back against the cool tank of the toilet as I came. The cum just pulsed and pulsed into the folds of her panties. After a while when I was finished, I put them in the hamper, sad to find that there were no soiled ones in there. (she’d just done the laundry, remember stupid?)
When I finally came out, Mary wasn’t by the door as I had feared. She was on her cell, as she sat on the couch.
“… thought he was going to faint when I told him I rode the corner of the washer! Yes!” she was laughing. “Hmm? Oh yeah, he’s in there right now, still ‘going to town’ … Oh, it’s okay, – I’ll just wash ‘em again in the next load. … Oh, here he is now. …. yes. … of course he did … okay I’ll send him right home. Bye.” She was giggling as she hung up. She looked straight into my eyes with an expression that told me she knew I had just masturbated. She wanted me to know it.
“You wife says to send you right home.” Mary smirked. “Thanks for fixing the washer.” (‘you pathetic, masturbating addict’ must have been in her mind as she said it.)
My cock was still dripping in my pants as I left.