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The Sense of Sight
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
The Sense of Sight
DeeDee opened her desk drawer to find a new pencil, and she saw the
strange package immediately. She stared at it for a moment. What was it
doing there? Her name was printed in careful block letters on the outside,
so it must be something intended for her. This was a little creepy, she
thought to herself. When did I last look in my desk? Yesterday? She
gingerly picked it up to take a closer look.
It was wrapped in simple white paper. Light. And it rattled with a
plastic sound when she shook it. Videotape. She pried open the scotch
taped paper to prove herself right. There was nothing else written on the
paper or the videotape, just her name. Weird. Definitely weird. DeeDee
refolded the wrapping paper, dropped the tape and the paper back into the
desk, and closed the drawer. Weird.
All day long, DeeDee's thoughts kept coming back to that videotape.
No one at the office said anything to her, or acted in any way out of the
ordinary, but it had to have been left there by someone at work. Didn't it?
The end of the workday finally arrived, and DeeDee stuffed the tape into her
purse and headed out the door to her car.
DeeDee's curiousity made the drive home was a little faster than normal,
and by the time she unlocked the front door, let the cat out the back door,
powered on the television and vcr, and inserted the mystery tape, she was all
nerves. Now or never, she thought to herself, and she pressed Play.
For a few long seconds there was nothing. Was it blank? Then a picture
popped onto the screen. DeeDee stared at the image, trying to decipher what
it was. Then someone stepped in front of the camera. It was a man, standing
there in faded blue levis and no shirt, about two or three feet in front of the
lens. She could only see from mid-thigh to a few inches above his belly
button. Not enough to recognize anyone. Not yet.
Then his hands appeared, moving toward his belt buckle. DeeDee licked
her lips uneasily and unconsciously took a step backward. The male hands
unhooked the buckle, slid down the zipper, and wiggled the pants downward.
No underwear. And there it was. She took a deep breath and watched with
amazement at the scene unfolding -- literally -- in front of her.
The camera made the penis the obvious star of the show. It was a normal
looking penis attached to a normal looking man. His fingers stroked its
length, coaxing the erection, without hiding the view from the intended
audience. DeeDee backed up another few steps and, without taking her eyes
off the screen, she sat down on the couch. The penis grew and thickened,
rising to a 45-degree angle of hard flesh.
What was she supposed to think about this? She wasn't repulsed, exactly.
It was sexual harassment, perhaps, but she didn't feel particularly threatened
right now. It wasn't like someone was exposing himself to her on the street.
She could turn this off if she wanted to. But she didn't want to, at least
not yet. Who was this man?
The hands dropped away, and DeeDee got a full look. The hardon was
pulsing with his heartbeat, made all the more visible as he stood completely
still. Slowly, he turned to show a profile to the camera, and DeeDee could
see the graceful shape, jutting upward from the brown curly hair at the base,
the shaft with its small veins and ridges and tight skin, curving to the
bulbous cockhead aiming almost vertical, slightly ticking like an erotic
metronome.
The Mystery Man was busy. Fascinating! His fingers stroked himself to
show her his cock, almost proudly it seemed. He spread the oozing precum
around the head and down the shaft, making the skin all shiny. Every now and
then a hand would disappear above the top of the screen, then reemerge to
stroke his stiff cock from top to bottom. Saliva, she thought. The man said
nothing. DeeDee reached forward to grab the remote control on the table in
front of her, turned up the volume, and all she could hear was the liquid
sounds of flesh on slippery flesh. Up, down, around the head, faster, then
slower, then faster again. She had never actually watched a man masturbate
before. How long would this take?
The answer came soon enough. One hand focused on the erection, sliding
up and down from the base to just below the head. The motion increased in
speed, then she heard a grunt and all motion stopped. Wow! Semen shot from
the end of the penis, and the hand started up again, sliding up and down the
shaft in rhythm with the thick white fluid that was pumping out. DeeDee
watched in amazement as it dribbled down, his fist scooping it up and applying
it on his shaft, making everything seem so wet and sloppy and, well, sexy.
Slowly now, the fist disentangled itself to exhibit the still rigid cock,
glistening with semen and saliva, making little jerks as it continued to ooze
the end product of his orgasm. His fingers milked the last of the semen
through his softening erection, displaying everything to her. Wow! DeeDee
was riveted to the screen. This was so different from watching an x-rated
movie. This was someone's personal production, made just for her. Someone
she probably knew.
The man moved out of camera range, and the screen went blank. He had
turned off the camera. It was over. DeeDee got to her feet and, with shaky
legs, went over to the vcr. Stop. Rewind. She stood there thinking as the
tape spun. She felt aroused by this. She could feel her thickened pussy
lips, and she was certainly lubricating. What now? She answered her own
question by undoing her own slacks, slipping them off. The vcr stopped
rewinding. What now?
DeeDee stared at the vcr. Her right hand brushed up against her mound,
and she could feel her own excitement beneath the fabric of her underwear.
She pressed Play and retreated back to the couch.
When the image returned to the television screen, DeeDee's hand found its
way inside her panties. Her sense of surprise when she first saw the tape was
now replaced by the sense of her own arousal. She watched the man pleasure
himself, and she tried to match him. As his precum lubricated his erection
in Nature's way of preparing it to penetrate into a vagina, her own fingers
strummed her clit and worked her own juices around her gaping inner lips,
preparing herself for the onslaught of a stiff cock which would fill her
flesh with his, gushing semen from his balls deep into her body.
DeeDee knew the timing of his climax, and she urged her own onward to
synchronize with it. Her right hand worked her clit with a familiar side-to-
side motion that maximized her pleasure, her eyes half shut with concentration
as she watched the upthrusted penis in front of her. Her pussy had bloomed
wide, slippery with her excitement, her vaginal opening and her anus clenching
as her hand blurred pleasure everywhere. She was going to time it right, she
thought, as she watched the man's fist break into that last momentary flurry
of motion and, raising her knees and spreading her legs, she matched his
frenzy with her own, gasping and grunting along with his sounds coming from
the speaker. Her insides melted and vibrated and shivered as she watched the
white jets erupting from his cock, imagining them splashing deep inside her
vagina, his cockhead spurting and quivering against her cervix, his pubic bone
pushed hard against her clit and wide open lips, the muscles of her vagina
rhythmically gripping his penis, feeling the semen pulsing through his stiff
shaft.
In the afterglow of their shared orgasm, watching the man proudly wear
the spreading semen on his cock and hands, DeeDee's left hand pressed the
underwear into her own wetness, soaking up juices into the cotton cloth,
rejoicing in her own body and her own pleasure. As the picture went to black,
DeeDee mused about how to respond to the videotape. A plan formed, and she
smiled. She was thinking about the wet and undoubtedly aromatic underwear
that she was going to get back to the Mystery Man, somehow. A sealed plastic
bag, wrapped up with that same wrapping paper with her name on it, left in
her desk to be discovered by her Secret Admirer. Would that work?
It was going to be an interesting next few days.
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