Valentine's Day

I realize my preference for having males do themselves is considered a bit staid by many of my sisters in sport. I wouldn't have you thinking I don't see the fun and enjoy the sense of almost comedic elaboration my sisters can concoct in their demands for amusement and novelty in the staging and presentation of male arousal and the surrender of their semen. Because, in a very real sense, the males are always just doing it to themselves. Just as now, there's no tactile, physical stimulation of that penis by my gaze; it's all in his head. But I still like stripping away other sources of stimulation or excuses they might give themselves for their behavior, even at times my own attention to or interest in their efforts, feigning distraction or impatience, leaving them only the naked imperative to extract the semen from their balls by their own hand, simply because I can demand it of them. Yes, I know, that's all just in my head; he's just jerking himself off.

Isn't it fun, though?

So I'm enjoying watching him work himself up, jouncing those balls the way he knows I like, the arm he's leaning back on shaking slightly with the exertion of holding that exaggerated display position as his excitement mounts.

I'm aware of Simone's voice, muffled by the sunroom glass saying, "Oh, yeah. Sure." to whatever it is Peg is gesturing about, sense the movement on the other side of the glass as she steps away. But I'm focused on the male's performance and the immanence of his ejaculation when,

"Don't come yet." Deborah tells him with a casual flick of her hand. "We have more company."

"Ah, fuck Deb, please." the male pleads but takes his hand away, drops it back behind him again for additional support, his pelvis thrusting in supplication as his flushed penis stiffens repeatedly up off his belly and "Please." he says again weakly.

"Poor thing." Theo titters happily, "I like it when they beg."

"Me too." I agree.

And it is a gratifying interlude; his near orgasmic release so casually interrupted by that little flick of his fiancée's hand; his reflexive need to comply leaving that spasming penis of his to dance its little jig for her girlfriends. But that choreography is, apparently, only an incidental artifact of some broader scheme my sisters have in mind.

'Scheme' is, perhaps, too calculating a word. It's more akin to organic spontaneity; disparate precursor elements combining in the primordial pool of circumstance when struck by a bolt of sexual entitlement. The potential must be there in the precursors for the eventual evolution of more complex combinations, but the results can seem obvious, almost inevitable, once the final form emerges.

Simone returns with another male in tow. It's Peg's ex-husband who, despite the divorce, she continues to avail herself of for these purposes. "Not enough to build a marriage on." she told me once of her continued use of him, "Couldn't stand living with the guy; that was mutual, I guess. But we always had fun with this and we get on fine just as friends and, okay, occasional fuck buddies in a dry spell. No need to throw out the baby with the bath water."

Indeed. He's in his forties; stocky, robust build, slight love handles but no belt top muffin; well defined shoulders and broad chest; circumcised penis, the head not as prominent as I like them, but nice girth and a pretty upward arc to the shaft. They stand him up against the full length window, facing in, Clairice and Simone each grasping one of his hands and lifting it up to place it flat on the glass above him in, leaving him in an 'assume the position' stance.

I'm retroactively putting the disparate elements of my sister's impromptu scheming together.

It's the balls, of course; or at least that is the excuse; the available precursors on which the bolt of entitlement will exercise its elemental whimsy. Not just the mere existence and availability of a variety of balls for viewing, handling or draining under the present holiday arrangements, but; 1) the happenstance of my favorable comments upon the presentation of this particular set 2) Peg's off hand (at first) observation of her Ex's variation on the same, 3) Deborah saying she enjoys 'variety' 3) the chance arrival of Clairice and Simone outside who happen to be available to retrieve him when Peg spots her ex nearby . . .

There's no grand plan, just the vague outlines of a serendipitous theme; we're going to 'compare and contrast' their balls as they come. Why? Because we can. It's the arbitrary pretense for the exercise of our prerogative over their bodies and pleasure. No new information will be gained. No grander purpose served. It's just the opportunity they happen to present at the moment for our shared sexual amusement. The fact that the pretense is so contrived, claptrap and trivial and the results so inconsequential (to us at least), only enhances the entertainment value of the spectacle of desperate physical urgency and supplication for our approval they'll no doubt provide in their fulfillment of their thematic roles.

Ah, the gratifications of disparity.

They don't disappoint.

"Yeah, that'll work." Peg says from our side of the glass, raising her voice to be heard by the women outside, then holds up a hand and motions like she's masturbating an imaginary penis, raising an eyebrow in silent query.

The two outside exchange glances across Peg's ex, Clairice shrugs. Simone laughs and tosses up a hand in the universal 'Why not?' gesture. They turn back to Peg.

"Sure." Clairice says with another easy shrug, the response slightly muffled by the glass.

Another exchange of amused glances between aunt and niece, then Simone reaches in and curls a hand around the base of the male's erection, lifts a brow at Clairice who laughs and nods, reaches in to wrap her own hand around the shaft. Another nod and they begin to work him hand over hand, hesitate, start again, frowning slightly then laughing as they each adjust to get their stroking in sync.

After a moment Simone looks back up at Peg. "Make him come?" she asks. "You want him to come?"

"Yeah." Peg smiles, gives them the thumbs up.

"We're comparing." Theo adds without specifying what.

Not that it matters.

Peg's ex, learning we want him jerked off, steps up a bit closer to the glass and reflexively rolls his pelvis under and up, eager to offer us a good view as he comes. Though not privy to the finer points of our comparative agenda, his pelvis-curled-under position does present his balls nicely for purposes of our impromptu experiment.

Another flick of her hand and Deborah's fiancée resumes his stroking.

It always interests me how males in use will watch one another, often exchanging glances with those half dazed looks of . . . what is it?-- Vicarious pleasure? Jealousy? Competitiveness? Envy?; responding with obvious excitement - moans, thrusts, the sympathetic twitchings of their own penis -- as they watch women work and toy with other males.

My own husband tells me that, for him at least, being one of several and seeing other males being used gives him a sense of being interchangeable; seeing himself and feeling he's being seen as 'just another' male. He says there's a freedom and excitement that comes from being valued, for once, just for that and not because his wallet is fat (it's not, we're academics, not bankers) or his jokes are hilarious (though they are) or his research is brilliant (it is) or his carpentry top drawer (we humor him; the cabinets work just fine) or for his patience with and love and support of me and my mercurial temperament.

Though I occasionally enjoy making use of him singly with just one or two other women that's usually as a way of introducing new women to the sport, giving them a first taste of things in a low-key private setting. His excitement at being the first male to be used by women new to the sport makes him willing to help that way. But otherwise, his preference is always to be one of several males being worked. Because he has a particularly strong response to seeing me toy with other males, it's sometimes fun to use him as a piece of stationary eye-candy; make him stand, naked and erect, hands at his sides, positioned so I and other women in attendance can watch him watch as I play; tell him to show us how excited it makes him to see his wife . . . you get the picture. His excitement is genuine enough, but the demand that he 'show us' while simply standing there, not touching himself, just watching, it brings out something in him; that need to comply, to give me what I want, accentuating his already compelling exhibitionist urges, sets him thrusting and moaning, his breath catching at my every word or gesture, that lovely penis of his flushed and spasming.

Ah, but I digress. I only meant to point out that the addition of Peg's ex-husband adds that dynamic of male on male voyeurism and competition for our attention to the mix; the two of them watching us and each other, each anxious to put on the better show, offer the more pleasing comeshot, knowing they'll be compared (because we tell them we do) on the force, volume and 'show quality' of their ejaculate (actually, it's hard not to compare with one or more going this way, though it's more the fun of putting that in their heads and seeing them strive, bucking their hips and jerking hard to make it shoot further or whatever they think is their 'best look').

Having decided (however arbitrarily) on a 'theme' for our use of these two, the sport becomes the reduction of these two males; all their eagerness and excitement to 'show us', their need to have our attention, interest and approval, their mounting urgency to ejaculate for us, yes, all of it (and them); to the comparative hang of their balls as they come. It's not that any other use of them would be somehow more profound or important. It's just that such agendas, once agreed upon among ourselves, take on a momentum of their own. The very triviality of the experiment only heightens the shared pleasure of treating and viewing them and their soon to be desperately bucking and spurting bodies, as of interest and value only for purposes of this limited demonstration of 'variety'.

What might begin as mere posturing and playacting, quickly deepens into a kind of gleeful irreverence; the complicity, encouragement, and example of my sisters egging each other on until the sport of "making them do this 'just so' we can compare their balls" becomes a celebration of our shared entitlement.

Peg gets up and adjusts the position of her chair so she can more easily turn her attention to one or the other of the males. Settling in again, she taps on the glass, shares the agenda with her ex and the two women outside.

"We want to compare their balls as they come."

Her ex moans audibly through the glass, curling his pelvis under still further to thrust his balls towards the glass. I see his gaze shift to focus on the pair jouncing so pleasantly between the other male's legs. Deborah's fiancée's gaze shifts in turn through the window to examine the balls of this 'competitor' for our attention. Then, as if in defiance of this 'challenge', he turns his gaze back to meet mine before dropping it down pointedly to where he wants mine to go, looks back up again to assure himself of my attention, then, as my gaze settles between his spread legs, grips his cock tight and jacks himself vigorously to jounce those balls for my approval.

"There you go." I encourage him.

There is a bit more relaxed banter and teasing as Peggy needlessly points out the distinctive signs of tightening; the upward draw and seperation of her ex's balls as Clairice and Simone continue to work him. But it is quickly apparent that Deborah's fiancée will not endure much more of this verbal teasing without unburdening himself of what's in his half of the comparative set.

That's fine. He's been fun, but let's finish him up and move on. Just one more little push should do it.

"Yes, that's a good look for him," I say to Deborah, repeating my earlier assessment, "balls up and out that way." I clarify needlessly.

But I see it has the intended effect on him; his eyes coming to mine, a plaintive buck of his hips.

Yes, he's mine; I can just tell him. "Now come." I sniff, "Like I told you."

"Fuck yes! Fuck yes!" his hand slips to the base of his cock, his back arches as he strains to push his penis towards me. A pulse in the flushed shaft, then another as the first jet of semen spurts up onto his stomach.

A moan from outside as the sight of it triggers Peg's ex to spurt his own first splatter of semen onto the window. I look over to see a second spurt hit the glass, an opaque splotch that drools slowly downward. Reflexively I check the hang of his balls, clenched snugly on either side of the thick root; like two pool balls separated by a cue stick.

Ah, yes, variety. But

"Here's my come!" Deborah's fiancée reclaims my attention, his expression vacant yet pained as if I've neglected him, missed some of his effusive offerings on my behalf.

'Yes, go on.' I tell him silently with that soft smile and shrug, watch the penis in his grip spasm and spurt one last decent volley before subsiding into less productive twitching, a bit more burbling from the head to slip down the shaft to his cinched fingers.

I reward his efforts, letting him feel my attention for a bit longer as he shudders and gasps weakly, trembling slightly with the effort to hold that exaggerated display pose until I turn away towards Deborah and congratulate her on "your fiancée's stamina and performance."