ONE
There I was, standing in her shower with a large and persistent erection that had plagued me relentlessly for the last half hour. As the warm water splashed down over my skin I struggled to make a decision on what to do.
Either I jerk myself off or make this shower a cold one,
I thought miserably. Try as I might, the images of her slow masturbation would not leave my mind.
Whatever I do, I have to get rid of this fucking hard-on.
Looking down in frustration at my proud, aching shaft, I sighed and reached out for the thermostat.
Brace yourself!
I thought, preparing to turn the dial to 'cold'.
There was a 'tap-tap' on the bathroom door. I hesitated then turned off the shower.
"Yes?" I called, grabbing a bath towel.
"What are you doing in there?" Heather called loudly.
"Taking a shower." I replied, quickly drying myself with the soft towel.
"Why?"
"Er, I didn't think you'd mind."
"Well no, I don't mind I suppose; as long as you're not playing with yourself in there."
I groaned,
Why did she always have to do this to me?
After a brief pause I summoned what little courage I had, and once again took the plunge.
"But Heather, it's so hard that I can't stop myself."
With my heart thumping in my chest, I listened and waited for either a tirade of abuse or the sound of her retreating footsteps. She didn't speak or move away from the door. That was a good sign. I stepped out of the shower, hung up the towel and stood facing the door.
Ok, it's do or die time!
"It's true Heather, why don't you come in and see for yourself?"
Expectantly I continued to wait and began slowly stroking my still wet cock.
Have I read her right?
I wondered. Eventually the bathroom door clicked open.
TWO
Ever since the spontaneous event two months earlier, when we masturbated for each other, Heather had become really unpleasant. I suspected her overt rudeness was a direct reaction to her feelings of guilt and disgust over our voyeuristic act. Although she really loved watching men jerk-off, her disapproving conscious mind buried this erotic fascination to the point of complete denial. In fact, Heather had been such a bitch, that I was beginning to hate her, even though she was physically hot, the constant sarcasm, slurs and vitriol had driven me up the wall. However; jerking-off for her had been one of my most satisfying sexual experiences and I desperately wanted to repeat it. Perversely, her bad behaviour had somehow strengthened my desire. Why? I'm not sure. Perhaps my urge to 'tame the shrew' had became heightened by her hypocritical comments.
Heather was the oldest friend of my partner, Jane, and married to an amiable bloke called Tom. As Jane and Heather were friends, the four of us had met up five or six times in the last couple of months for dinner or a drink. We'd generally have a good time but inevitably Heather would sink into one of her moods and start railing against men. This in itself was not unusual, but when ever she made her dismissive references to "dirty men " with their "one track minds" and "Constant wanking!", she would now cast an icy stare in my direction. To my discomfort, the reproachful looks didn't stop me getting turned on by her "wank" talk and a tell-tale bulge would always appear in my jeans. Her disdain was so obvious that before long, Jane picked up on Heather's apparent focus on me.
"Why does Heather always look at you when she has a go at men?" Jane had once asked me. I just pleaded ignorance and suggested that maybe she just didn't like me. Which, ironically, seemed pretty close to the truth.
So what, (you may ask), was I doing standing in Heather's shower without her knowing? Well It started that morning when I got a call from Jane:
"Could you do me a favour and go round to Heathers house after you leave work.?" She asked.
"Why?"
"Because Tom's new surround sound thing got delivered last week and I said you'd set it up for them."
I groaned inwardly.
"Why can't Tom do it?"
"You know he's in Germany for at least another week, and she's got tons of boxes of speakers and stuff stuck in the hallway."
"Ok." I sighed. "But you know those things can take an age to set up, it could be some time before I get back."
"Don't worry, Anyway I'm staying at my brother's tonight, remember?"
After Jane's call I thought about the prospects for the coming evening with a mixture of dread and excitement. Going on her recent bad temper I was frankly surprised that Heather would even want me in her house, let alone spend a prolonged amount of time with me. Conversely, part of me wondered whether she had deliberately manipulated the situation so I was there on a night when both our partners were away? I gave up trying to second guess Heather's motives and prepared myself for what would probably be a dismal evening.
"Hi." I said as Heather opened the front door, "I've come to switch you on!" A stupid joke that wasn't even funny, but in my defence I was feeling rather nervous. She looked at me as if I'd just crapped in her hat. I coughed awkwardly and unleashed my winning smile (which quickly lost).
"It's all in here." She said coldly and pointed to a jumbled collection of boxes. I watched as, without saying another word, Heather turned and padded barefoot back in to the house.
She was beautiful. An olive skinned, curvaceous woman of forty who had the body of a thirty year old and a 'continental' face that seemed to perpetually pout. She was wearing a summery black and white check skirt that flowed in pleated folds over her round ass down to the tops of her calves. Her white, low cut halter-top highlighted the golden skin of both her neck and shoulders. The thin, loosely woven material was woefully inadequate in concealing her bold, chocolate brown nipples and pert, unfettered breasts that jiggled teasingly as she moved. I continued to watch transfixed, as she walked into the living room, her dark, straight hair shimmering hypnotically in the light and her fluid skirt, swaying seductively about those luscious calves.
Has she put on that top and skirt for my benefit?
I wondered.
I realized I had been holding my breath. With a sigh I entered the house and closed the door behind me. Picking up two of the boxes on the way, I followed her to the room.
"Do you want it set up in here?" I asked from the living room doorway. Heather had settled down on a plush, expansive sofa and was laying on her side with her legs tucked up towards her chest. The patterned skirt had rode up slightly giving me a tantalizing view of her curved thighs. She was holding a new looking paperback. Interestingly, the words 'Black Lace' were written down the spine.
"Where else?" she answered confrontationally, her dark eyes flashing.
I shrugged and smiled once more, then wordlessly began ferrying the many boxes to the large flat-screen TV in the living room. Heather fell silent and resumed reading her book.
Jeez, this is going to be a fun evening.
I thought sarcastically.
For the next hour I positioned the speakers, deciphered the cryptic user manual and wired up the player. During this time Heather completely ignored me and diligently read her intriguing paperback. I wished I could read Heather! Did her coldness reflect anger, shame or some sort of internal struggle, fought between her prudish intellect and a growing sexual desire? A sexual desire that I, the focus of her spite, had unwittingly strengthened?
At one point during my labours Heather scratched her legs and in the process rode the pleated skirt farther up her closed thighs. I now had the barest glimpse of those smooth, round buttocks in addition to the white panties that restrained her squeezed and protruding labia. Sitting on the carpet, assembling the system, I occasionally pretended mislaying something and then irritably look around, but in reality I was trying to steal furtive glances of her tightly covered sex. I was getting hard.
