Guided Masturbation for My Girlfriend

Yolanda, you’re twenty-two and already naked on the bed, lamp-gold on your skin, nipples drawn tight in the quiet of our apartment. I’m Fabian, twenty-four, planted in the chair beside the mattress with my pants open and my cock heavy in my fist, because this is what you asked for and what I promised I’d give you. You can’t touch me. You agreed to that with your eyes bright and your mouth soft, eager, when I dragged the chair close enough for you to see every vein and far enough that your hands stay yours. Two dildos wait on the sheet by your hip: the slimmer one, glossy and a little curved, and the thicker one, weighty, with a base you can hold. Watch my hand. I drag my fist from base to head, slow, thumb smearing the slick at the tip, then back down. Don’t reach. Just watch, and listen.

“Hands on your thighs,” I say, low, the kind of command that doesn’t have to climb. “Spread them. Let me see you.”

You do it. Your pussy is already shining, lips parted, clit peeking, and the sight makes my grip tighten. I stroke once, unhurried, letting you watch my cock jump when you open for me.

“Two fingers. Just the pads. Circle your clit. Don’t press yet. Tease it the way I would if my mouth were there and I refused to finish you.”

Your breath catches. Light circles, barely there, and I match you—one slow pull for every pass you make. The burn starts small between us. I see it in the flutter of your stomach, in the wet gathering at your entrance, in the way you keep glancing at my cock like you’re starving and I won’t feed you with anything but my voice.

“Slower. I want the ache. Pinch a nipple, soft, then let go. Again. Tell me what it does to you, watching me stroke.”

“Hot,” you whisper. “I’m getting wet just from your hand. Fabian, I want—”

“You want what I give you. Keep circling. Light. Build it. You don’t come until I say.”

I work myself in that same patient rhythm, cock flushed, balls tight, and I hold you in the tease until your hips shift and your clit swells under your fingertips and the air between chair and bed tastes thick. Your thighs tremble. You stay where I put you. Good girl. Tonight I own the pace, and you want that more than you want my skin under your palms.

“Look at me while you do it,” I tell you. “Eyes up. I want you dripping before either toy touches you.”

You hold my gaze. Another slow circle. Another stroke. The ache settles in, shared, deliberate, exactly where I mean it to live.

I let that quiet stretch until your breathing goes thin and your fingers shine. Then I lean forward in the chair, still stroking, still not letting you have me.

“Spread wider,” I say. “Heels on the mattress. I want your pussy open and your ass tipped so I can see everything. Pick up the smaller one. Don’t push it in yet. Drag the head through your slick. Coat it. Show me how wet you already are.”

You reach for the slimmer dildo. The silicone glistens as you draw it up your slit, bumping your clit, and a soft sound breaks out of you. I stroke in time with that drag, fist tight, cock jumping when you gasp.

“Now in. Slow. An inch. Stop. Another inch. I want to watch you take it.”

You obey. The tip parts you, then sinks, and your mouth falls open. I make you pause halfway, circling your clit with two wet fingers while the toy holds you open, and I match every circle with a stroke that stops just under the head. Your hips try to chase. I don’t let them.

“All the way. Nice and deep. Then still. Tell me.”

“Full,” you breathe. “It’s deep, Fabian. I’m so wet it slid. I can feel every bit of it.”

“Good. Fuck yourself with it. Slow. In when I stroke down, out when I stroke up. Eyes on my cock. Don’t rush.”

You find the rhythm. The smaller toy glides, shiny to the base, and your clit stays under your fingers, circles turning needy. I edge you there, voice low and exact, until your stomach tightens and your thighs start to shake.

“You’re close. I can see it. Slow down. Half speed. Don’t you dare tip over until I allow it.”

You whimper and obey, strokes turning shallow, and I slow my own fist to the same cruel pace. The denial makes you wetter. I can hear it. When your breathing evens just enough, I let the coil wind again.

“Faster now. Rub your clit properly. Come on that toy for me. First one. Give it to me.”

It hits you sharp and bright. Your hips buck, the dildo buried, a broken moan spilling while you shake through it, eyes locked on my hand working my cock. I don’t come. I just stroke, steady, watching you flutter around silicone and ride it out until you’re panting and flushed and still so ready.

“Don’t pull it out yet. Breathe. That was one. You’re going to give me another before I let you near the thick one the way you want.”

I make you keep the smaller toy inside and barely move, clit touches feather-light, while I describe what I see—how swollen you are, how your nipples beg, how my cock leaks because you’re wrecking yourself on my orders and can’t lay a finger on me. The second climb is slower, meaner. You beg once. I tell you to use your words right.

“Say how full you feel. Say how wet.”

“So full,” you gasp. “Soaked. It’s dripping down. I need to come again, please, Fabian, please.”

“Switch. Pull that one out. Take the thicker dildo. Show me.”

You ease the slim toy free, shining, and wrap your hand around the heavier one. The stretch shows on your face when you press the broad head to your entrance. I stroke harder for three beats, then ease off, matching you as you work it in—slow, opening, taking inch after thick inch until you’re stuffed and trembling.

“Deep as you can. Now fuck yourself with it and tell me.”

“God, it’s bigger. I’m so full I can barely move. Wet, Fabian, it’s soaked, I can hear it.”

“I hear it too. Circles on your clit. Slow thrusts. You’re going to come on that one, but not until I count you up. Five. Four. Keep going. Three. Don’t speed up. Two. Eyes on me. One. Now.”

The second orgasm rolls through you heavier than the first. Your hips buck hard, the thick toy plunging as you cry out, pussy clenching so visibly I have to squeeze the base of my cock to keep from spilling. I stay in the chair. You stay on the bed. Your breathing turns ragged, chest heaving, and still you don’t reach for me. You only watch my fist and wait for the next order, wrecked and shining and nowhere near done.

I give you a minute of nothing but breath and the sight of me stroking, slow again, cock angry-red and wet at the tip. Intensity doesn’t mean hurry. I want you ruined by degrees.

“That was two,” I say. “Hands off your clit. Leave the thick one buried. Pinch your nipples. Both. Harder than before. Roll them. I want them sore while you fuck yourself for the third.”

You do it, back arching, a hiss between your teeth. The thicker dildo stays deep, and when I tell you to move, you draw it out halfway and push it back in, steady, the wet sound filthy in the quiet room. I stroke in the same cadence, inches from the bed, close enough that you could grab my wrist if I allowed it. I don’t. Your eyes keep dropping to my cock, hungry, and every time they do I tell you to look at my face and keep pinching.

“Plunge it. Steady. Not frantic. In, hold, out, hold. Pinch harder on the hold. Feel how full that toy makes you while you watch me edge myself for you.”

Your thighs shake. The third climb is different—deeper, meaner, your whole body involved. I talk you through it without mercy and without rush. I tell you how pretty you look stuffed, how your pussy grips that thick shaft, how I can see your clit throbbing even when you aren’t touching it. I make you describe it again, voice breaking.

“Full,” you pant. “So full it aches. Nipples hurt. I’m close, Fabian, I’m so close, please.”

“Not yet. Slow the thrusts. Three more, deep, then you can rub. One. Two. Three. Now. Circles. Come for me. Third one. Let me see it wreck your hips.”

It takes you harder. The thick dildo plunges while you pinch one nipple and rub your clit, and the orgasm snaps through you in long, rolling shocks. You gasp my name. Your hips buck off the sheet. I stroke faster for the length of it, letting you watch my cock swell and shine, then I ease off again before I tip, fist clamped at the base, breathing through my teeth. You shudder down from it, sweaty, eyes wet, still holding the toy inside because I haven’t told you to stop.

“Beautiful,” I say. “Stay open. You’re not finished. We’re going slower now, and you’re going to take both, exactly how I say. Only what I say. You can stop any second if you want. Tell me you still want this.”

“I want it,” you whisper, wrecked and sure. “Guide me. I won’t touch you. I promise.”

“Good. Pull the thick one out. Leave it in your hand. Pick up the smaller one with the other. It’s soaked from you already. I want just the tip. Just the tip in your ass. Nothing more. Slow. If it burns wrong, you stop.”

You nod, flushed, trusting. I watch you slick the slim head against your pussy first, gathering more wet, then reach down and press that glossy tip to your ass. Your breath stutters. I stroke myself in a lazy pull, eyes on the careful way you ease it in—only the head, a shallow, shining breach, your hole fluttering around it. Light. Nothing deeper. You whimper, not from pain, from the filthy new stretch, and your eyes fly to my cock like the sight of me stroking is what lets you take it.

“There. Hold it. Don’t push. Now the thick one back in your pussy. Slow. I want you full in both places, but that ass only gets the tip. Understand?”

“Yes.” Your voice cracks. “Just the tip. Oh—Fabian—”

The thicker dildo slides into your soaked pussy while the smaller one rests just inside your ass, and the combined sensation bows your spine. I talk you through the first careful thrusts. In with the thick one, hold, a tiny rock of the slim tip, out, breathe. Alternate exactly as I direct. When I say pussy, you fuck yourself deep and steady with the heavy toy. When I say ass, you still the thick one and give that shallow tip the smallest pulse, never more than the head. When I say both, you hold the slim one seated at the entrance and plunge the thick one in a slow, soaking rhythm while your free fingers find your clit again.

“Pinch a nipple with whatever hand you can spare when I tell you. Right now, clit. Light circles. Don’t chase it. Let it build while you watch my hand.”

I stroke in time, close enough that you see every throb, every strand of precum smearing my knuckles. You can’t touch me. The rule holds, and it makes you wetter—I can hear the thick toy working, obscene and steady. Your body trembles. Sweat shines in the hollow of your throat. I keep my voice low and exact, guiding every inch.

“Pussy. Deeper. Slower. Tell me.”

“Full. Both. The tip in my ass is—God—it’s so much with the big one in me. I’m dripping. I can’t think.”

“You don’t need to think. Ass. Just a pulse. Tiny. Good girl. Now both. Fuck your pussy and keep that tip where it is. Pinch your nipple. Harder. Look at my cock. See how close I am and how I’m not coming yet because your biggest one isn’t here.”

You moan, broken, hips starting to roll without permission. I let them, then rein you in.

“Slow. I said slow. Intensity doesn’t mean fast. In. Hold. Feel how your ass clenches on just that little tip when your pussy grips the thick one. Out. Again. Circle your clit like you mean to come and then don’t. Edge. I want you shaking before I let the last one take you.”

You edge because I tell you to. Twice I bring you to the brink—thighs quivering, voice gone high, the toys shining—and twice I make you stop, pull the thick one to the tip of your pussy, still the slim one, breathe until the peak recedes into a vicious ache. Each denial winds you tighter. Your eyes stay on my fist. Mine stay on the way you open around both toys, obedient, eager, wrecked by increments. The third time I let the rhythm return, deeper, your breathing turns ragged again, but I don’t give you the fall yet. I describe it for you: how your clit is swollen and slick under your fingers, how the thick dildo stretches you on every plunge, how that shallow anal tip makes your whole body jolt when you clench, how my cock is dripping onto my wrist because watching you obey is the filthiest thing I’ve ever had.

“You’re going to come harder than the others,” I tell you. “Not yet. Keep alternating. Pussy, deep. Ass, just the tip, a pulse. Both. Nipples. Clit. Eyes on me. When I start to really stroke for my own finish, that’s when you let go. You watch every second. You don’t touch me. You come while you watch me come. That’s the deal. Nod if you can still take it.”

You nod, desperate, beautiful, toys working exactly as I direct, body trembling on the edge I built for you one slow order at a time. I loosen my grip. My strokes lengthen. The head of my cock flares, wet and dark, and your gaze locks there like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“Now,” I say, voice rough. “Thick one plunging. Tip in your ass. Rub your clit and don’t stop. This is the big one. Come for me, Yolanda. Watch me.”

Your largest orgasm crashes over you as I stroke in earnest, fist flying, inches from the bed you can’t leave. It wrecks you. Powerful spasms roll through your stomach and thighs, your pussy clenching hard around the thick dildo, your ass fluttering on that shallow tip, and you gasp and shake so hard the mattress answers. You don’t look away. You watch every stroke, mouth open, crying out, riding wave after shattering wave while I groan and finally let go. Thick ropes of cum spill over my fist, striping my fingers, my stomach, the head pulsing as I milk it out for you to see. Our eyes lock through it. You keep coming, sobbing my name, hips bucking, toys still where I put them, the release shared and slow and intimate even with my hands on myself and yours forbidden to reach.

You shake through the last of it, gasping, flushed, still looking at the cum on my fist. I stroke once more, spent, and hold your gaze while the aftershocks ripple through you and neither of us has to say a word.