Most of my stories are extracts from a journal I started keeping some years back, for my own erotic entertainment. I thought I was the only person who did this, until I discovered Literotica and hundreds of other like-minded people. The only embellishments are to make the story more interesting to read.
One other fact is that I am always naked when at home. Lesley insists upon it and I love it. I love the feeling of the air moving against my skin. I love being looked at when I am naked, particularly by women who have their clothes on. Being naked when everyone else is dressed leaves me vulnerable and strangely powerful at the same time. When we have visitors, it is up to Lesley if I get dressed. Originally, I had to be clothed every time someone came over, but over time, that rule has been relaxed. We do not have a full-blown BDSM lifestyle, but I have to be available for bondage, whipping, masturbation or sex at her demand. I can put in a request for any of the above, but it is within her gift.
* * * * *
About two weeks later, Lesley was out for the evening and I was carrying out her instructions. These were to tidy up the house, sort the laundry, etc while naked and erect. I was to maintain an erection for two hours by masturbating then, after 9pm, it was up to me. I could either continue masturbating or not, but I was not to ejaculate without permission.
We often play this game. It is part of the humiliation and exhilaration of being naked and under somebody else's direction. Of course, I could just strip, wank and get on with stuff, but this would deal only with the physical need and removes the added edge that the psychological bit brings. Besides, that would be cheating. So I came home from work, took my clothes off, knelt in front of the mirror and watched myself stroke my cock to an erection. Still wanking, I wandered into the kitchen and began my chores. I have often wondered what the woman who overlooks our kitchen makes of the naked neighbour who always seems to be erect. I know she has seen me. Maybe I'll find out one day.
Sandra rang just before 9pm with a message for Lesley. After delivering the message, she asked what I was up to. Being raised correctly, I told the truth and repeated Lesley's instructions, adding that at that specific moment, I was kneeling on the floor masturbating. As it was now past 9pm I asked if she would mind if I carried on masturbating. I wondered if Sandra realised I was telling the truth. And if she did, I wondered if she was enjoying the thrill as much as me.
The conversation that followed was probably one of the most inane we have ever had, which convinced me that she believed me when I said that I was masturbating, and that she was enjoying listening to me get more and more aroused. Otherwise, she would simply hang up, wouldn't she? Of course, this turned me on even more, and I had to interrupt myself a couple of times to stop myself from cumming. Sandra waited patiently while I panted into the phone, before picking up from where I had left off, as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on.
A couple of minutes more of this and things were getting a little desperate. My cock was rock hard and my balls had expanded enough to become quite painful. I had to either stop, which I really did not want to do, or cum, which I couldn't, because I did not have permission. Then of course, it dawned on me. I needed permission, but there was no specification over who should give me permission. I could ask Sandra. It also occurred to me that, if I was to maintain a policy of honesty, I could tell Lesley when she asks, that I had ejaculated during the evening, but it was OK, as Sandra had given me permission.
This made me smile a bit. So, more than a little breathless, I interrupted Sandra with,
"May I have permission to ejaculate?"
She laughed and said, "What?"
"Well, I've been masturbating the whole time we have been speaking, as well as the previous two hours, and I'm not sure how much longer I can hold out. I need to ejaculate very soon, but I need your permission."
She thought for a minute, and said, "No, I don't think you can cum just yet".
It was my turn, "What?"
"I think I'd like to listen to you suffer for a little while. Anyway, as I was sayingβ¦". She carried on with our conversation β as if I was listening! I slowed down my strokes and loosened my grip. My hand was barely touching my cock and hardly moving, but still it twitched and every contact caused a shudder than ran up through my anus and my spine, causing little groans and squeaks into the mouthpiece.
"Are you struggling there?"
"Yes, please let me cum" I begged.
"Just a few minutes more. You do this sort of thing often?"
"What? Masturbate?" It was not possible for me to put a sentence together.
"Yeah, but while talking to someone on the phone."
"First time." I spluttered.
"No it isn't. You wanked while I was listening a couple of weeks ago, after you did my housework for me. I think you enjoy it. Tell me you enjoy humiliating yourself by wanking while I listen?"
"I enjoy wanking while you listen"
"Not good enough"
"I love to humiliate myself by kneeling on the floor, naked and wanking, while you listen on the phone".
"OK. Now if you ask me nicely and tell me what a dirty little wanker you are, I shall give you permission to cum."
"I am a dirty little wanker who likes to wank and degrade himself while you listen. Please may I come now?"
"You have ten seconds to cum. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4."
With a low moan a great stream of spunk squirted out of my cock and fell across the timber floor. A squeal accompanied the second, even more intense spasm. I totally forgot that I was holding onto the telephone as I had one of my most protracted and vocal orgasms, splattering spunk over the floor.
"There's a good boy. Now as a special treat, you can lick the mess up. Byeee." Sandra rang off. I replaced the receiver and bent to my task, licking up every drop.