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?"