When I asked her what got her hot, I assumed it would be the usual fantasy—getting taken for a meal, or the cinema, kissed on the neck, massage maybe leading to some sensual lovemaking. I was not ready for her actual answer.
She told me she liked to think of men wrapping their palms around their cocks and beating themselves off then telling her about it.
I mean, I’d never heard a woman say that before. I usually focus on their pleasure, making sure they come before me, almost my mission. I mean, I love it, it’s not that I don’t think of my own pleasure, it’s just, I don’t want to disappoint or leave a woman unsatisfied so my orgasm, or journey to orgasm has never really ‘been a thing’. Like, I know I’m going to come. That’s a given really. Even if things don’t turn out the way the evening led us to believe and we part ways, I can end my night in a wank if I like. But it will be a quick solo hand job to ease the burden, not some sort of seduction.
But this, this, this is different. She’s got me thinking differently. Almost as if I’ve reversed roles.
We had finished eating dinner, and as the waiter poured the first glass from the second bottle, she asked me, “What do you think about when you wank?”
I spluttered out wine over my empty plate and looked cagily to the waiter who thankfully retreated discreetly.
“Wh… what?” I asked wondering if maybe I’d misheard. Her expression, like that of the ‘cat that got the cream’ told me I’d heard her perfectly.
“I said…” she leaned in and pretended to pick fluff of the front of my shirt. I could smell her sweet wine breath with hints of the rich garlic sauce we’d just consumed. “What do you think about when you wank?” On the last word her gaze met mine and she licked her lips slowly.
“Well…” I shifted in my seat, we hadn’t even fucked yet. Though she was by far the most sexual woman I’d ever met. The promise of a good time in bed cascaded from her. She oozed sensuality and intrigue and I could not get enough. “I don’t know.”
She raised her left eyebrow in a way that told me my answer would not do.
“I mean, I never really thought about it.”
She sighed. “Well, Sylvan, if you don’t know what you think about when you wank, how will I know you’ll be any good in bed?”
“What?” Her question made no sense. “How does that follow?”
“I like a man to know himself. Really know...
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Read all about the wonderful author: Tabitha Rayne
