The Test

I consider myself to be one lucky girl!

My parents are wonderful people who did everything they could to raise their kids to engage the world in an energetic, self-confident way. My brother and I didn't know it at the time, but both my parents went the extra mile to be sure we lived in an environment that cultivated our self-esteem. Not the "every kid gets a prize" mentality that too often exists today, but an atmosphere of high expectations and the support and love necessary to reach them. In the final analysis, my parent's strategy worked pretty well. I ended up sailing through college and law school and was just named the youngest female partner in our firm.

Fortunately, my luck wasn't limited to academic pursuits. Let's just say attracting guys has never been one of my problems. My looks work well in the courtroom or the bed room. In addition, I watch my diet and work out at least five times a week so my body is lean and athletic. The only thing I'd change is my breasts. It took until my twenties to realize there would be no growing out of my barely A sized cups. On the plus side, my nipples are deliciously sensitive and I've discovered to my amazement that lots of guys actually prefer bodies like mine. In fact, that's what brings me to the start of my story.

I work near the top of a tall building so end up spending my share of time in an elevator. Mostly I just zone out during these rides, but I began to notice a very attractive guy (with no wedding ring) checking me out. At first I chalked it up to my imagination (and possibly a bit of wishful thinking) but after a few encounters I was convinced he was stealing glances at my subtle curves.

Luck was with me one Friday afternoon when my anonymous admirer and I found ourselves alone in the elevator. I didn't have any plans and decided to take a chance.

"Excuse me. I may be way off base here, but have I been picking up some kind of vibes from you?"

Turns out he had an incredibly engaging smile.

"It's that obvious, huh?"

By the time we got to the lobby we'd exchanged names and occupations (he's a financial adviser) and decided to have a drink.

One drink led to another and then another until we found ourselves in a quiet booth over dinner and a bottle of wine. I really liked this guy. He was happily divorced with no kids, had a great sense of humor, and shared my views on politics, religion and movies. The more we talked, the hornier I got. A relationship with a guy in my building could be risky, but I decided to take a chance and invited him to my condo. Not surprisingly, he took the bait and we walked the four blocks together.

We were well into another bottle of wine and had split a joint when we found ourselves engaged in a sensuous kiss. Our tongues explored each other as my body melted into his. His hand found its way to one of my breasts and caressed it longingly. I don't wear a bra (why would I?) and we both felt my nipple respond. Unbeknownst to him, so did the inner recesses of my body. He gazed directly into my eyes, undid the buttons and very slowly opened my blouse. He wore an adoring expression as he made love to my contours with his eyes.

Shifting his stare back to me he said, "Your breasts are exquisite. I've been yearning to see them since the first time I saw you. My obsession got even worse when you showed up one day without your jacket and I realized you don't wear a bra. You have no idea how much you turn me on."

"Something told me you were a tiny tit man," I said with a smile. "Do you really like them?"

"'Like' doesn't do it justice. I have an absolute infatuation with small breasts; especially very small ones like yours. There's something viscerally compelling that I can't put my finger on. Maybe it's got something to do with innocence or vulnerability. Whatever it is, nothing in a woman excites me more. And everything about yours are unbelievable – fashion model size and shape, irresistible firmness and perfect nipples. I could savor them forever."

The gentle caresses resumed as he kissed my nipples and fondled them with his tongue. The idea of being so thoroughly appreciated for the only part of my body I'm ashamed of was profoundly touching.

"Why don't we move to the bedroom?" I suggested.

After leisurely undressing one another, we found ourselves in a slow, tantalizing embrace. He was taking his time and I relished the feelings of warmth and sexual energy. He continued to make love to my breasts with his soft touch and sensuous mouth. I'd never felt so cherished. After just the right amount of time, his caresses wandered down my flat stomach just to the edge of my neatly trimmed sparse pubes.

I thought about simply letting him make love to me, but I'd made a deal with myself that I just couldn't break.

I took a deep breath and said, "I love what we're doing, but I need to tell you something before we go any farther."

"OK."

He probably thought I was HIV positive or something, but fortunately that wasn't it.

"I've had some really bad experiences with insensitive jerks that were only interested in a quick fuck and then couldn't wait to escape. Times like those make me feel used, angry and turned off. I finally figured out a way to avoid such experiences and made a promise to myself always use it with a new guy. It's sort of a litmus test."

Understandably, he was looking at me with a puzzled expression.

"The promise I made to myself was that I wouldn't have sex unless the guy's first willing to masturbate to orgasm while I watch. The kind of guy who'll expose himself in such a personal, vulnerable way almost assuredly has the sensitivity and self-confidence I'm looking for in a partner. Besides, some guys actually find it more erotic than regular sex – especially if they haven't done it in front of anyone before."

"Don't you think I've got the qualities you're looking for?"

"Please don't be offended. I really think you do. It's just that I made this promise and if I broke it I'd never trust myself again. But, there's more. When I say I'll be watching, I mean I'll be REALLY watching. Some guys just go through the motions so they can get laid. I need guys who appreciate why I need them to confront the shame and embarrassment that goes with admitting to me that they still masturbate.

"So how do you tell if the guy's just faking?"

"I watch and evaluate every minute detail – even things he has no control over. I watch what part of his body he touches first, how long it takes him to get aroused and the quality of his erection. I blatantly judge its size and shape. I like to think about what he's thinking as he presents it to me. I carefully observe the technique he uses to stimulate himself. Not only how he touches his penis, but whether he includes other parts of his body like his nipples, testes, scrotum or anus. I look to see whether precum appears and whether he interacts with it. I try to tell when the very first stage of his orgasm begins and I monitor its progress. I observe his breathing, perspiration and heartbeat.

I imagine what he's fantasizing about as his body gets hotter. I watch to see if he pauses to delay his orgasm, and I count the number of times if he does. I try to pinpoint the exact moment he decides to go over the edge and when he actually reaches that point by the intensity of his stroking and the retraction of his testicles. And of course, I focus laser attention on his ejaculation. I count the number of emissions and note the forcefulness with which they emerge. I notice how long he continues his stroking after no more semen comes out. I assess the detailed properties of his ejaculate – the volume, consistency, color and smell. I try to imagine how he feels about himself just afterwards – pride, shame, embarrassment or perhaps satisfaction. I watch how he cleans up his mess; and most importantly, I judge his demeanor to me knowing that I've been watching his performance so intently."

"So how many times have you delivered that little speech?"

I couldn't tell if he was pissed, excited or just curious.

"Oh, a few I guess," trying to be ambiguous.

"And what kind of response do you usually get?"

"It varies. Some guys look at me like I'm demented and head for the hills. Some guys are disgusted and also make a quick getaway. As I've said, some guys try to beat the system by faking it, and they can be pretty nasty when I reject them. But more guys than you think are willing, or even eager, to go along. I'm really hoping you're one of them."

The smile on his face made his decision clear.

"I've got some lotion if you need it."

"That's OK."

He positioned his pillow against the headboard and leaned back. A plain cotton sheet was covering our bodies and he inched it down his muscular chest to just above his pubic area. This maneuver exposed my breasts; but I didn't protest. He uncovered the rest of his body by moving the sheet from his side of the bed to mine. My body remained half covered, but his was totally exposed. I appreciated this approach.

He spent a long time just looking at my breasts, and I was amazed that his penis began to respond. He started lightly touching the length of his body from his toes to his forehead while stealing sideways glances at my chest – and its hardening nipples. The full body stimulation continued but he began to devote more attention to his abdomen and inner thighs. His erection now appeared to be complete.

Things got more serious when he began to very, very lightly touch his scrotum. He was barely making contact with the sensitive skin, but it was obvious that he relished the feeling. He also lightly explored his anal opening with a fingertip, but didn't probe inside. The erection that I thought was at full strength a moment before grew. The size and shape was perfect – large enough but not intimidating. His knees were raised and he spread his legs wider to put himself on full display. He lifted his butt off the bed and thrust his hips forward – preening his beautiful erection for me. I was slippery wet.

Finally, he applied direct stimulation to his genitals. I was intrigued with his technique, which I had not seen before. He encircled the base of his penis with one hand and moved it down his length, stimulating the underside of his glans with his fingers as they passed by. As the first hand neared completion of its journey, the second began a similar path. This alternating action resulted in near continuous stimulation of what I assumed was his most sensitive area. I thought it was cute. It also occurred to me that such a technique wouldn't work well on someone who hadn't been circumcised.

This stroking continued for some time. Occasionally he paused to fondle his testes and anus as he had done earlier. After a long time he switched to a more traditional masturbatory technique – forming a ring with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and using it to stroke the same sensitive area. His breathing was deepening and his excitement growing.

A single dollop of precum emerged and clung to his opening. He ignored it for a while but then grasped his shaft with his left hand and used his other fingers to spread it over the underside of his head with firm circular motions. This intense stimulation seemed to increase his desire. He switched back to his one-handed method and it was obvious that he was getting close. Abruptly he stopped rubbing while the threat of an orgasm passed. I wondered what he was thinking. He repeated this process four more times before he could no longer resist. He resumed his two-handed technique with increased determination. His stroking became a frenzied blur and his scrotum tightened against his body, which told me he'd reached the threshold of inevitability.

After a few moments of ecstasy, a beautiful white rainbow presented itself in an impressive display of virility. It was quickly followed by a second of even greater intensity. I counted six strong emissions and two weaker ones before the final bit of liquid emerged gently and dribbled down his glans. He milked out the last drops and wiped them off the back of his hand onto his drenched chest.

There was a satisfied smile on his face and his eyes remained closed for a few moments while he relished the experience. When they reopened he looked at me inquiringly and smiled as if he had been struck by an interesting thought. He gathered some of the semen that was pooled on his chest and spread it tenderly over one of my nipples. There was plenty left to complete the task. Then he pulled tissues from the box next to my bed and began cleaning up his mess. I couldn't wait to fuck his brains out.

"That was beautiful," I whispered.

There was no need to tell him that he'd aced my test.

"I'm guessing you've done that before," I said with a smile. "How often do you masturbate?"

"I've been it doing a lot more often than usual since seeing you; but still not as much as the once a day or more routine I followed when I was 18."

I couldn't believe he was using me to think about during his masturbation sessions.

"How important is it to you?"

"I can't imagine not doing it. It's an essential, healthy part of my life. I certainly don't feel guilty or ashamed. Nevertheless, I've never admitted it to my friends."

"I was intrigued by the way you used two hands to stroke yourself. It's not something I've seen before. How long have you done it that way?"

"It's what came to me instinctively when I first taught myself. They say most guys stumble on a technique that works for them and stick with it. I guess I'm no exception."

"What were you thinking about while you were doing it?"

"Your little test fulfilled one of my favorite masturbation fantasies. I like to think about doing it while someone watches. The erotic nature of openly doing something considered so "forbidden" makes me buzz with excitement. And when that someone turned out to be you – the beautiful woman with storybook breasts I've been masturbating to for weeks – it's even more exciting. I was reveling in that feeling and savoring the thrill of your watching and judging me so intently."

"I loved watching you do it, and you had one of the most beautiful orgasms I've ever seen. It's probably obvious to you, but I can't wait to feel you inside of me."

"Oh really? Do you think I'll just fuck any girl that comes along? I've had some really bad experiences with insensitive babes that were only interested in a quick fuck and then couldn't wait to escape. Times like those make me feel used, angry and turned off. I finally figured out a way to avoid such experiences and made a promise to myself always to use it with a new girl. Would you like to hear what it is?"

He said this with an impish grin, and I knew I was had.

"I suppose so," I managed to say with a straight face.

"The promise I made to myself was that I wouldn't have sex unless the girl's first willing to masturbate to orgasm while I watch. The kind of woman who'll expose herself in such a personal, vulnerable way almost assuredly has the sensitivity and self-confidence I'm looking for in a partner. Besides, some girls actually find it more erotic than regular sex – especially if they haven't done it in front of anyone before."

"Is there anything else?"

"Yes, there is. Believe it or not, some girls try to fool me by faking an orgasm just to get a quick fuck. The only way I can weed them out is to watch the process intently and evaluate every minute detail – even things she has no control over. I watch what part of her body she touches first, and how long it takes her to get aroused. I blatantly judge her genitals. I note whether she's shaved and how well groomed her pubic hair is if she hasn't. I examine the appearance of her labia and whether the inner lips are smooth and compact or puffy and protrude around her opening. I consider her clitoris and whether it's visible under its sheath. I judge the color and wetness of her vagina, and of course the fragrance it emits.

I like to think about what she's thinking as she presents it to me. I look for the appearance of arousal fluid and whether she interacts with it. I carefully observe the technique she uses to stimulate herself. Not only how she touches her vaginal area, but whether she includes her nipples, perineum or anus. I notice whether she inserts one or more fingers, and how she uses them to stimulate herself. I observe the technique she uses on her clitoris – whether she uses direct or indirect contact and whether she rubs it using circular or up-and-down motions.

I try to tell when the very first stage of her orgasm begins and I monitor its progress. I observe her breathing, perspiration and heartbeat. I imagine what she's fantasizing about as her body gets hotter. I watch to see if she pauses to delay her orgasm, and I count the number of times if she does. I try to pinpoint the exact moment she decides to go over the edge and when she actually reaches that point by the intensity of her stroking or pumping. And of course, I focus laser attention on her orgasm. I look for distention of her nipples and areola. I count the number and forcefulness of her vaginal contractions and whether she ejaculates. I notice how long she continues to apply stimulation when they subside. I watch whether she grooms herself afterwards; and most importantly, her demeanor to me knowing that I've been watching her performance so intently."

I'd have been amused, had I not been so aroused. No one had turned the tables on me before, and I was unbelievably excited by the prospect of masturbating for him – especially after such an erotic description.

"You think you're pretty clever, don't you?"

"So do you want to move forward, or am I going to have to leave right now?" he said with a knowing smile.

I propped a pillow against the headboard as he had done and began the show. I mimicked the way he stimulated his body by beginning with my feet, torso and face. Gradually, my caresses moved to my flat stomach, belly button and outer thighs. When I couldn't wait any longer, I moved to my inner thighs. The feeling was electric. Arousal fluid was leaking onto the sheets and I let myself feel proud about it. As I mentioned, my nipples are super sensitive and stimulating them has always been an important part of my masturbatory experiences. My areolas become mounded when my nipples are fully erect, as they were now, and I hoped my observer was pleased. At last I allowed myself to touch them; and the feeling was breathtaking. I thought of the way he kissed and sucked them and imagined him doing it now. I could easily have given myself an orgasm by continuing these caresses, but I had other plans.

My fingertips started anew at my ankles and worked their way up my inner thighs until they approached my vaginal opening. I caressed the area in a leisurely fashion until it was time to move on. Very, very lightly the tips of my fingers moved up and down my slit. I was careful not to touch my clitoris directly. My knees were raised and I spread my legs, giving better access to my fingers as they opened my body for his inspection. The fragrance of my juices permeated the room.

I explored the area between my inner and outer lips; moving up and down both sides of my opening with the fingertips of my hands. This action provided indirect stimulation to my clitoris but I was not yet ready for anything more serious. The fact that I was using two hands reminded me of the way he had stroked his erection, and that vision intensified the feelings I was experiencing. It also made me conscious of the empty feeling between my legs. My response was to abandon my lips for the moment and allow my fingers to work their way inside. I started with the middle finger of my right hand – moving it up and down my crack while slowly penetrating more deeply. I savored the gradually increasing stimulation on the inside of my channel. Finally, the invading digit could go no farther so I used it to probe my inner depths. My muscles squeezed it involuntarily. I pressed it against the roof of my canal and slowly withdrew it while maintaining upwards pressure. I allowed a bit of contact with my clit as it emerged and a shudder flowed through my body. I repeated this action until I knew it was time to stop.