Dark & Light Masturbation

This is my what I think about as I masturbate today, after my girlfriend Y has expressed to me that she has exhibitionist tendencies - wanting to make love to me in public, with other people watching:

I am walking into a place, at night, with palm trees around - resembling probably an island in the sun that I once visited on holiday, in which place I fantasised about girlfriends and uninhibited sexual activity, perhaps now, in regression, a fantastic sanctuary for my mind.

Y is in the centre of some kind of arena, naked and writhing on the floor, trying to move and escape, as she is tied down - her ankles, her hands, and a strap over her head. Her legs are assembled such by her bonding that they are wide apart, and her hole is exposed to all. I am off stage, perhaps hidden, behind a velvet curtain and seated in a theatre box, abstracted from this world, which now turns into more of a gladiatorial arena. I watch, already giving myself caress, both in dream and in fantasy. In dream, I am also tied, naked, restricted, but given enough freedom to tease my own person.

As I watch, many men enter the ring, all men particularly non-descript and with blank faces, blank bodies: nothing but lumps of flesh with throbbing, hard, thrusting penises, containing their whole heart and soul and essence, fuelled entirely by their libidinous drive. They have big rings welded to their backs, iron rings, from which come iron chains. My arousal increases to a throbbing pulsation. Y is in a lucid state, maybe drugged, yet maybe captured by her own sub-conscious involuntary lusting, for on sight of the men, (innumerable), she begins to moan and her body now writhes with a different intent, not to escape, but thrusting from her hips, proposing intent to engage in sexual activity and demanding penetration – abandonment of her person into one juicy deep ripe hole: she is taunting them and calling for only the most virile.

The men are being held, as if they were guard dogs, slowly being released by invisible owners, allowed to edge closer and closer, inch by inch, as if warning to Y, this young female flesh, pure skin, supple breasts, hungry wet sex between her legs, her seemingly delicate, yet muscular body breathing with the intoxicating mist of animal attraction. The men edge closer one by one, staggered so that the first will reach her, have time to ravish their prey, then be pulled back, just in time so another may mount her.

I massage myself into a heightened state, begin to sweat and watch the play. Act one - the first immeasurable, fiery cock enters her, savagely, making her squeal slightly in pain. This first action precedes a hundred more, just as savage, all violent. She is penetrated by ten, twenty, thirty, forty men - I lose count, each pushing and thrusting and entering into her body, her legs that should perhaps be closing open more, letting in her sexual aggressors, and her screams and squeals turn now more to moans and verbal expressions of her prowess, claiming that she can take more, more than they can give, more men than there are in number, letting open her liquid, fleshy vagina.

Each man in turn takes his turn, penetrating, thrusting, climaxing and ejaculating, filling her with more and more semen, white juice swimming inside her, all over her, crawling up her chest and over her breasts, feeding into her mouth like a river that she sucks and lets flow down inside, drinking and laughing with satanic tones. (This fantasy is not so distorted, for it represents desires - mine is for her to be fucked in front of me, hers is to be fucked in public and to please many men, as she has done and has expressed the desire to do, having already worked as an exotic dancer, relishing her power and ability to control and give life to another's fantasies).

By now my body is reduced to dry bone and cured flesh, for my life water has emptied as perspiration, but my hand, the only part free, still strokes and entices my penis, teasing and daring for me to explode in a firework display of stars and ecstasy. Each man continues until the very last one, at which point I hear a click and my bonding is released, the velvet curtains open and the dark turns to bright sunshine, and in the centre is Y, now also released, wearing a white dress, skin white, virtuous yet knowing demi-smile, cleansed and without trace of semen or vaginal excretion, sweat, blood or tear. This has been a display of the mind, a theatre of dreams and fantasies, expressing things that I cannot know the full meaning, nor predict if these fantasises will traverse into reality.

The moment is the plunged down into the depths of intimacy, for we sit and kiss and acquiesce with eyes alone, holding each other, transported to a field of lazy flowers that sway sleepily in the breeze (this perhaps my parachute cord to save the descent of my sexual fantasy liberation, threatening to abruptly spin me out of control. In reality, I am near my climax. I have slowed to an almost imperceptible pace, encouraged by the fact that at the end I am with her and my journey matters nothing, for it has all been an adventure. I let go, my body expels the moment in the form of muscular spasm, contracting and flowing like an electrical current through my body, before resting, relaxing and letting me fall far back down into a deep sea of cushions, filled with as much satisfaction as one can gain without being with another.

My dream disappears with the execution of my desire, and my body goes limp. It is over. It is always over. Tomorrow is another fantasy.

J.