Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
They can't see me, but I can see them.
Their hands are dipping in and out of the frothy steaming water as they grip the emerald silk sheet, scrubbing it against the washboard, trying to rid the cloth of last night's stains.
My stains.
My royal seed that I spilt as I thought about their hands.
I let it dry on purpose, crusting to the sheet just so I could watch this... watch them.
I love to watch their hands as they work, especially when it is my cum they are scrubbing at to rid the sheets of it.
I wonder if they think of me as they do it?
Do they picture me in their mind with my cock in my hand?
Do they wonder what I think of as I relieve myself?
Do they wonder what my cock would feel like in their hands as they scrub the results of my pleasure away?
The flex in their hand and arm muscles is such a delicious sight. The veins bulge as they tense and release. The skin pulled taunt over their knuckles as their fingers shifted to grip the cloth tightly, turning their skin almost translucent over those distinctive dips and ridges.
I think about what those rough, callous hands would feel like against my skin whenever I touch myself. They haunt my dreams.
Would they grip me as tightly as they are that fabric, or would they be gentle and teasing?
The sinful thoughts alone are bringing me to the brink. I can feel the swell of my cock as I focus on them. I can't take my eyes off them as they lift their hand from the steaming water to wipe their sweaty brow with the back of it. It does little to capture the moisture from their forehead, merely spreading it further and adding to the shine of their skin.
I can imagine tasting the saltiness on my tongue as I lick their hand slowly, feeling in between the dips of their bulging veins. I'd guide each finger to my lips and languish each digit with soft sucks and caresses, swirling my tongue over the tips of each one before I savagely nip at the ends.
The metallic taste of their blood could linger on my tongue for days after. I would be tempted not to drink or eat just to savour their flavour longer.
I could almost hear the soft moans falling from their lips as I did it. The mewling would escape as I sucked harder and forced all their fingers into my mouth at once. I can practically hear their whimpering echoing around my ears.
Fuck...
I think I hear my own moans as I lose myself to these thoughts, thrusting into the empty space as I stand behind this pillar like some perverse stalker, creepily watching them from a distance but not strong enough to approach - not yet.
