*Part 10 of an ongoing series…
I was now two months into my job as a live-in naked houseboy. It was, without question, the best job I’d ever had. And I had begun to settle into a routine. Housework during the day. Cooking dinner and having it on the table for Carrie when she’d come home from work.
We’d gotten used to each other. More than that, we were developing a friendship. But it was unlike any other friendship I’d ever had. I was always naked and she never was. I masturbated several times a day. Sometimes in front of her, sometimes alone. But it all felt so…normal.
Some evenings, we’d spend all night sitting on the couch, just chatting. And all the while, I’d be jerking off. Sometimes I’d cum in front of her. Sometimes she’d go to bed before I finished, leaving me to complete the task alone. Other nights, we’d eat dinner together and go our separate ways.
But the comfort level was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I was totally free to be myself. And she was free to be herself in a way that she’d never been while she was married. The fact that I was always naked, and that she never was, was never a topic of discussion. It was just taken for granted. That was our normal. And I loved every minute of it.
After two months, though, it had begun to feel like we didn’t have anything new to share. We were just sort of pleasantly living our lives together. This is not a complaint, to be clear. Just an observation.
So I was a little surprised – happily surprised, mind you – but a little surprised when she asked me a question one evening. We were sharing a bottle of wine in the living room. As usual, she was sitting on the sofa, while I was in the easy chair.
“I was wondering if I could ask you something,” she said. She had tried to sound casual, but it was clear that whatever it was, it had been on her mind for some time.
“You can ask me anything, you know that.” And I meant it.
“Well, it’s about…you know,” and she nodded towards my crotch, where my hand was casually playing with my dick.
“So? You know that’s my favorite subject. Carrie, you can always ask me anything about that. Ask away.”
“Well, you said something during our interview that’s sorta stuck in my head. And I’ve been curious about it ever since.”
“Well now I’m curious,” I responded.
“So, at one point, you compared masturbation to a sport. And you said that you ‘practice.’ And I’ve been dying to know. Practice for what, exactly? I mean, is there some World Masturbator Championship that I don’t know about?” She was dead serious, but nonetheless I started to laugh. I mean, how can you not laugh at a question like that?
“No,” I chuckled. “At least, not that I know of.”
“So then, what are you practicing for?”
“Well,” I said softly, “I guess I have goals.”
“Masturbation goals,” she suggested.
“Masturbation goals,” I confirmed.
“Do tell,” she took a sip of wine. She was wearing her usual evening attire, what she called her ‘pajamas,’ but which was in fact nothing more than an oversized white T-shirt with no bra. The outline of her massive hanging breasts was unavoidable.
“Well, I divide it into three categories.”
“Why am I not surprised,” she smiled. “Tell me.”
“Gladly.” If I was surprised by anything, it was that this topic hadn’t come up sooner. I was only too happy to expound. “Category 1: how much time can I spend masturbating in a 24 hour period. Category 2: how many times can I masturbate in one day. Category 3: How long can I stretch a single jerk-session.”
“How interesting,” she smiled. “Tell me more.”
“Well, I’m always trying to break my records, I guess you can say.”
“Your records. You mean, you keep records?”
“Oh sure,” I winked. “I take this quite seriously.”
“Apparently,” she grinned. “So what are the current records?”
“For Category 1? 11 hours. Out of 24.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, but it’s not as impressive as it sounds. It was actually 11 hours out of the first 15. But after that I passed the fuck out and when I woke up again, the 24 hour period was over. So on the one hand, I’m pretty proud of 11 hours. But also, I want to do better.”
“I see,” she said earnestly. “And how do you define better?”
“Well, one step at a time. But to start with, I’d like to get it over 12 hours. Because at that point, I can say I jerked off for more than half a day. That would be fucking cool.”
“So you’ve never gotten to twelve hours.”
“Like I said, I maxed out at 11. But when you ask about practicing, that’s one thing I’m practicing for.”
“And what about the other categories?” Her curiosity was so genuine.
“Well, Cat 2, I guess that’s not so important to adiosbet yeni giriş me. I’ve done 7 times in one day. So I’d like to just get it to 8. But, as you know, I’m much more about length of time than number of orgasms.”
“Which brings us to length of time. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone?”
“A little over four hours,” I shrugged, still jerking. “So, goal-wise, I’d be happy to increase that by 15 minute increments. But ultimately, I’d love to hit 5 hours. Just to know what that fees like.”
“Do you think you can last that long?”
“I honestly don’t know. Just getting to four hours is a lot of work, a lot of concentration, a lot of self control. So even getting to 4:15 seems like a big deal. But like I said, one step at a time.”
“And so,” she pondered, “all the masturbating that you do here – with me, alone, whatever – do you always have that in mind? Are you always ‘practicing,’ so to speak?”
“Well, often,” I conceded. “But not always. Sometimes I’m just doing it for the fun of it, for the love of it.” I paused to consider her question a second time. “But yeah, I guess, in a way, I am.” A thought entered my mind. I swallowed before speaking again. “I guess that’s part of what attracted me to this job, actually. Not just the chance to masturbate a lot. But to actually work on my game, if I can say that. That maybe this would give me the opportunity to reach some of my goals, to break some of my records.” I could feel my cheeks growing flush. I mean, I was telling this woman that I took a job working in her home – in part or in full – with the aim of smashing my own jerk-off records.
“Well I think that’s wonderful,” she smiled sweetly.
“You do?” It was not the response I was expecting.
“Yeah, I do. I mean, how many people do you know who know for sure what they’re passionate about and then have the courage to actually get after it. Granted, I don’t know how often that passion is masturbation. But it’s your passion. And you know that about yourself. And I think that’s wonderful.”
The fact that I was masturbating in front of her as she said this only made her words more poignant.
“And I’ll tell you something else,” she went on. “I’d be honored if you were able to break your records or reach your goals in my home.”
“Honored?” I repeated.
“Yeah,” she smiled. “I mean, you’re talking about accomplishing something you’ve never been able to do before. So if I can play a part in creating the environment for you to succeed, I would consider that an honor.”
“Carrie, I don’t know what to say.” I was so touched, I wanted to hug her; though I didn’t dare.
“You know what, Jack?” I could see her wheels turning. “I want to help.”
“How?” I asked. “I mean, by definition, masturbation is kind of a one-person job.”
“Pff,” she smiled. “I’m not gonna jerk you off. Relax.”
“What then?” I was curious now.
“Remember at the interview? You told me you needed structure in your life. Well, maybe the answer here is also structure. And I can help with that.”
“I’m listening.” This was getting quite interesting.
“I’m thinking, let’s start with Category 3. Getting you to 4 hours and 15 minutes. I say we make every Saturday an ‘Endurance Night.’ We’ll do it just like we’re doing it right now. We’ll just hang out and drink wine and chat. And you’ll do your thing. But we’ll start a timer at the beginning. And I’ll promise to stay with you the whole time. But you have to promise me something.”
“Name it.”
“If I tell you to stop, you have to stop. If I say hands off, it’s hands off. Got it?” She smiled. “I’m not doing this to fuck with you or to tease you, Jack. But we can’t have you going off early. And I’ve seen you do this enough times, I know the signs. So if I tell you to stop or if I tell you hands off, it’s for your own good. If jerking off is like a sport for you, then think of me as your coach.”
“I’ve seen you do this enough times, I know the signs,” I repeated. Her words had made me incredibly hard. “No one has ever known me like that,” I said, making eye contact as I continued to stroke. “And you really promise to stay with me? To do this with me every Saturday?”
“If you promise to do what I say,” she said again.
“Oh my god, yeah, I promise, I promise!”
“Good,” she smiled. “Then we have a deal.”
“We have a deal,” I echoed. “But…”
“But what?”
“I guess I still don’t really get why you would want to do this.”
“You mean, apart from the fact that I like spending time with you?” she asked playfully.
“Apart from that,” I nodded.
“Well, like I said. How many people really know what they want in life? And of those people, how many actually do anything adiosbet giriş about it? Now, here you are, really trying to reach your goals. I just wanna help. Think of me as a humanitarian,” she added with a laugh.
“I guess all I can say is, thank you.” I paused.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’m just still thinking about what you said. You’ve seen me do this enough times, you know the signs. What signs?”
“You don’t expect me to reveal all my secrets, do you?” she said coyly.
“Come on, give me something,” I pleaded.
“Let’s just say, I can read you. Your face, your eyes, your body language, your…method.” She paused, eyeing me, studying me. “For example,” she resumed, almost at a whisper, “if I had to guess, I’d say you’re probably going to cum in the next thirty seconds.”
As she said this, she leaned back, stretching her arms across the back of the sofa, arching her back. In so doing, her massive, heavy breasts – free from any constraint – shifted their considerable weight. No longer resting on her thighs, they now hung freely, pushed slightly to either side by her protruding belly, the faintest outline of her nipples pushing through her cotton T-shirt.
I could feel my cheeks reddening as I increased the speed of my stroke. I couldn’t remember the last time I was so hard. Her eyes were upon me. Not the devouring eyes of sexual desire, but the observant eyes of the scientist.
“Take your left hand off your balls,” she said softly, without emotion.
“What?” I kept stroking.
“Let me see your balls,” she said firmly. I did as I was told. She studied them for barely a moment. “That’s enough, thank you.” With her implied permission, my left hand returned to my balls. “Just as I thought,” she said, almost to herself. And she looked up at the ceiling.
Softly, almost in a whisper, eyes skyward, she began to count.
“Seven…
“Six…
*Five…
What was happening? I could feel the pressure building. Knowing that she was looking at the ceiling, I felt free to stare at her tits.
“Four…
“Three…
I was jerking so hard, I was worried my hand might fall off. The easy chair was creaking under the action of my efforts. She closed her eyes.
“I can hear you,” she whispered.
“Two…” she resumed.
“Aaaad…now,” she stated calmly.
And at that very moment, the exact second she uttered the word ‘now,’ I exploded. Hot cum burst from the tip of my cock, splattering my chest, my belly, my arm. My cheeks were red, sweat dripping from my forehead.
“See?” she said, opening her eyes to look at me again. “I know the signs.” She was smiling with self-satisfaction.
“Sorceress!” I hissed. “How did you do that?”
“Just science,” she shrugged. “I had a hypothesis based on previous observations. I hypothesized you had about thirty seconds. I was able to refine my hypothesis once I saw the state of your balls, among other data points. So I re-hypothesized seven seconds. Which turned out to be accurate.” She smiled. “Like I said, just science.”
“No,” I said hoarsely. “You made me do that.”
“Maybe,” she winked. “But think about it this way. If I could make you do that, I bet I can make you NOT do that too. See? I can help you, if you do what I tell you.”
“Sorceress,” I said again, but this time with reverence.
“No one’s ever called me that. But I like it.” She smiled wickedly.
“That was magic,” I whispered.
“I’m pretty great,” she said nonchalantly. “But I think it’s my bed time now.” And she started to get up.
“Wait,” I pleaded.
“What is it?” she asked curiously. But I didn’t answer. I opened my mouth, but no words came. “Are you OK?” she pressed.
“Can I…” I trailed off. In the two months of our living together, we’d had virtually no physical contact. There was never any call for it. We both knew what our arrangement was. We had chosen it and we were OK with it. We were always careful to respect one another’s personal space. But this moment felt different somehow.
“Can you…”
“Can I…” I hesitated. “Can I come sit next to you?” She looked at me. How must have I appeared to her in that moment? Rosy cheeked, sweaty, covered in cum, my dick soft and red.
“Oh, honey,” she said sweetly. “Of course you can!” And she patted a spot on the sofa with her hand, just next to her. Slowly, I eased myself out of the chair, making no effort to clean myself off, despite the fresh box of tissues on the nearby end table.
Carefully, gingerly, I tiptoed over to the sofa. As I sat down, I was careful to leave a few inches between us. Even now, I was being careful to respect her personal space; to not break the unwritten rule of no physical contact.
But adiosbet güvenilirmi she wasn’t having it. Not now. She put her arm around my shoulder and pulled me in close to her. Feeling her arm around me made me relax. I let myself rest my head on her shoulder, in response to which, she ran her fingers softly through my hair.
My right flank pressed against her left, I could feel the softness of her enormous breast in my ribs, a heavenly cloud.
“I’ve never felt so close to anybody before,” I whispered.
“Me either,” she cooed, still running her fingers through my hair.
“You’re so soft,” I said. We both knew I was talking about her breast.
“So are you,” she said with a little laugh, eyeing my spent penis.
“Bitch,” I answered playfully.
“I prefer Sorceress,” she parried. And then, “Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“May I…may I touch it?”
Wait, what? She couldn’t mean…
“You mean…”
“Never mind,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
Shouldn’t have asked? She, wearing nothing but a T-shirt, was sitting on the couch with her arm around her cum covered naked houseboy. Safe to say, all conventions were now out the window.
“Don’t be sorry,” I answered. “I’m just surprised. You want to touch my…I mean, now?”
“I know. It’s very personal. You can say no. You probably should say no. Forget I asked.”
I took my head off her shoulder and looked into her eyes.
“Carrie, it’s OK. You can touch it.” I smiled. “I’m done with it. For now, anyway,” And I put my head back on her shoulder.
With one arm still around my shoulder, she reached across her body with the other, gently, slowly, inching her hand towards my dick. Carefully, curiously, she took it between her thumb and forefinger. Very tenderly, she began to squeeze, to pull – this way and that. One moment she was caressing my soft shaft, the next she was circling the head with the tip of her finger.
“Is this OK?” she asked absentmindedly, never taking her eyes off the task at hand.
“It’s fine,” I whispered. I knew it would be at least several minutes before I was ready to go again, so it wasn’t very arousing at the moment. Nevertheless, the care with which she was handling me, the way all her attention was focused on me, it was nothing short of amazing. And the way her arm, stretching across her body, pushed up her other breast – even through the T-shirt, it was a sight to behold. I was floating on a cloud of blissful content.
“Dick pics are a dime a dozen,” she said philosophically, as she continued to toy with my manhood. “But it’s pretty vulnerable, to show somebody your limp dick. You know, I feel closer to you now then I did before, when I knew exactly when you would…” She didn’t finish her sentence, but she momentarily raised her eyes to my cum covered chest.
It was too much. The feel of her breast in my side, the way she eyed the cum splattered over my chest, my soft penis in her hand. Well, it wouldn’t be soft for much longer. I could feel the power returning. I took a deep breath, trying to control myself. But it was no good. My dick was already starting to stiffen between her fingers. She had noticed as well. For in that moment, she let go of me.
“You beast!” she cried, giving me a playful whack across the back of the head. But she was laughing. “I’m going to bed now.” She pulled her arm from around my shoulder as she stood up off the couch. “You’re on your own with this one, buddy boy.”
“Don’t go,” I tried, standing up with her.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she winked and began to head towards the stairs.
“What, no hug goodnight?”
She turned on her heels, looking at me, covered in my own cum.
“Fine, come here,” she said with a wave.
I approached her and she quickly wrapped her arms around me, pulling me tight. I could feel her tremendous breasts pressed against my body. No doubt she felt something from me as well. But she let me go. It was over almost before it had started.
“Good night, Jack.” And as she reached the bottom of the stairs, she flicked off the lights, leaving me in darkness. But I could hear the stairs creaking as she went up. About halfway, she stopped. In the darkness, I could hear her voice.
“Laundry, Jack. That’s your problem.” And she tossed her now cum-stained T-shirt down to the bottom of the stairs, leaving me to know that she was naked but that I couldn’t see her.
I started jerking where I stood, imaging her nude, striding to her room, her pendulous breasts swaying in the black of night. And at the bottom of the stairs, the T-shirt she had worn, which had covered those breasts moments ago.
I walked over to the stairs and picked up the shirt, which had both our scents on it. Standing there at the bottom of the stairs, I wrapped her shirt around my cock as I continued to jerk. She was right, I thought. Laundry was my problem. It was the last thing I remembered thinking as I blew my load into her shirt…