With Hungry Eyes

How you love to watch, eyeing intently, viewing what is usually a private and solitary act. You ease back in your chair, getting comfortable, allowing your body to totally relax as your mind sharpens its focus. Your breath moves slowly in and out, you keep the rhythm steady – you will savor the anticipation you feel rising – this is a sign of the arousal beginning. You will not engage in any reciprocal activity, you will simply watch and you will watch well. You may lick your lips, you may wring your hands, but mostly you will be absorbing everything, sucking it in with your eyes until it is saved in your brain – an image burning itself into your mind.

The stimulating scene you are a witness to and, the resulting sensations that occur within you as a result, all of this you will absorb. This is what you enjoy. Like charging an internal battery, you etch the image and you peruse your insides for all the sensations that arise. Oh, how this makes you feel, so intense. You watch his hands moving over his cock, stroking it slowly at first. Silently, you command it to grow harder and harder still. You do not care what he is thinking, what he is imagining, you are simply watching as he sexes himself.

Unaware that you are there, he is quite intimate with himself, loving even. He is proud of his stiff member, and fondles it adoringly. His left hand roams across his firm chest, and down across his hips to his thighs until he reaches his balls. He cups them and cradles them with his fingers. You regard every movement he makes, thighs twitching, the muscles in his arms pumping, the quiver of a lip.

You wish that he had shaved himself. He has some hair on his pubic area although his balls appear to be smooth; you much prefer that naked smoothness, although you doubt you can explain why. Perhaps it appears vulnerable – exposed. And, these are things that arouse you. He is vulnerable to your staring eyes, and exposed to your hungering thirst. You feel a bit like a vampire, drinking him in, and he is before you, innocent to any event save for his private partaking.

You sit as still as stone now because you can sense his quickening even before he begins to pump faster and harder. You are hardening too with a tension that is delectable. You are filling to a liquid fullness as you sense he is about to spill. It does not take him long when he is by himself. His hands work deftly, pulling at his robust cock, that is pulsating, and throbbing, it is filling too.

Yes, it is all about watching, seeing, your eyes feeding your desire, visually stimulated by an act that is as natural as any other and yet makes you feel dirty for viewing all the same. Nasty, yes, it feels nasty, which it seems, feels so good. You are the observer, fixated upon this man, taking it all in. His tanned hands and arms are firm with tension, as he powerfully and briskly fondles his cock.

You feel contemplative as you lean back and twirl a strand of hair in your fingers, your eyes never leaving him. You are a perfect blend of tense feeling and smooth relaxation. It is your insides that have grow excited and tense, you can feel a quivering traveling along inside of you while you melt back into the chair. A total focus of sensation. Taking in the arousal with your eyes, drinking it down into you and letting it flow through your every vein like a gentle river, reaching out to your fingertips, and down as far as your toes.

He is quite beautiful also; thus there is more to your arousal than simply his hard throbbing cock. You examine every inch of flesh you can see, the curve of his muscles that lay beneath the taut skin; he is soft and hard all over. You can imagine his breath, warm and sweet. You wish you were closer so you could put your mouth to his and suck in his every breath. He is a pose, perfect, as he stretches, still massaging his curving, reaching member, while alternating his pattern here and there, slow and fast.

He wants to make it last a little you think. You soak up this wonderfully deviant display, drunk with a delicate delirium. You are almost spilling over; you want to see him come now. That is your favorite part, seeing the climax, the pinnacle of excitement when the sexual energy can no longer be contained, when the flame has risen so high it must burst out, before it burns.

As if he is somehow aware of you, of your thoughts, his body grows rigid and begins to shake, his face pulling into an expression that almost looks more like pain. With eyes now tightly shut, as his cock throbs and swelling vigorously, his hand closing in tightly around it. Your eyes watch ever more closely, feverishly. You feel an increasing anticipation running though you, and you realize you are leaning forward now, that the tension has made it's way from your insides to your outsides now. He is splendid, boldly clutching his cock and thrusting now as he begins to cum. You want to be touching him. This is making you ravenous; you want to devour him totally. You want to bring him to you and make him yours. But he is only a picture for your viewing pleasure.

He is beginning to melt, the stiffness draining away, the glistening wetness still dripping from the head of his cock to the hand he has caught it in. You feel your breath release, and imagine hearing his sigh too, his relief, his pleasure and yours now mingling in the molecules of air that spread across the distance between the two of you. He is relaxing now, done and spent, where you are charged. Power, control, discipline, you love the tease, and you carry the intensity stored like a battery inside of you. Yes, this is what you like, the taunt of it all, and how much it gives you. The fact that what you desire is right there in front of you, and you will not have it. You are an observer only, you will not partake, you will only watch, collecting him and his sexual output like a treasure.

Still, you will wonder what it would have been like to have been sitting right beside him, the observer observed. Sitting there in a chair, your legs crossed and hands neatly folded, not making a sound. An innocent observer, strangely absent and yet so very there, you could be so near. And, could you have controlled yourself, if you were that close? You sigh as you consider that you would have been near enough to hear him, to soak in his moans; to smell him, to breathe in the scent of his heat - his salty sweat. Close enough to taste him, to touch him. Oh yes, he is so worth savoring. Yet, stirring enough simply seen.