Twilight Voyeur
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Dexter free porn video
I stood in the doorway, looking at Dexter sitting on the couch. I was nervous and very excited, having never seen a guy play with himself before… never having seen a guy cum before. Dexter appeared to be a bit nervous as well, though outwardly he looked more relaxed than me.
“So, this is a no touch deal, right?” I asked, “You do all the work?”
“Yep, that’s the fantasy.”
He stood up slowly, kind of half heartedly waved his hand at the empty chair across from him and said, “Why not sit down? Relax, let’s have some fun.”
I stepped over to the chair, trying to maintain eye contact (he was using his eyes; looking straight into mine) and sat down on the edge of the chair, not quite relaxing yet. I kept subconsciously looking down at his belt, gauging his package, but then quickly lifting my eyes to his face (Did he see me look down?).
My heart was pounding, palms damp, and my body flushed with beginnings of arousal. I was a little surprised; I didn’t expect my body to react like this.
Dexter had on a snug fitting long sleeve t-shirt tucked into a faded, but still nice, pair of very well fitting Levis. He looked good: sexy as he fingered the buckle to his belt and undid that, pulling it out of the way. He kept his eyes glued to mine, making sure I was still in the game. I was still having trouble maintaining eye contact, I wanted to see him now.
What was he wearing? Boxers? Briefs? Tight? Loose? Was he hard already? Fuck, my heart was pounding.
He unfastened the top button and began to pull down his zipper, holding his pants open as the zipper came down. Red… smooth, aaaah, they looked tight and I could just make out the lump his dick was making in them as his zipper slid past. He was already hard, and God that made it so sexy. He spread the jeans open and began to shimmy out of them, his dick straining at his red boxer briefs. It looked almost uncomfortable, but he made no attempt to adjust himself. Instead, he kind of subtly pushed his hips out, showing me how turned on he was.
I licked my lips.
His gaze still locked on mine, he reached into the waistband with his thumbs to pull the elastic away from himself, so it would clear his erection, and he began to pull them down. As they lowered, his dick came into view. It pointed almost straight up, probably about six-inches long and just about big enough to wrap my hands around (or so I imagined) and looked almost painfully hard. He had to bend to pull off his jeans and underwear, so we lost eye contact for a moment and I was able to recover some of my composure… until he stood back up and, instead of grabbing his dick with a fist, like I thought he would, he simply ran his middle finger up the underside of it, making it jump with the anticipation of a more insistent friction.
I was absolutely captivated. Previously drawn to his eyes, I could not find the strength to make myself look up. I was taking in every detail of his dick: the way the ridge of his head curled around the crown, and the small drop of moisture on the tip of his slit. To the veins and ridges down his shaft, all speaking directly to my sex. I was imagining how it would feel in my hands, in my pussy. I could almost feel it as it spread me open for the first time, yet I felt so empty. I was so wet.
“Should I stay standing up, or sit down?"” he asked.
“Either is fine,” I stammered. I couldn’t think straight.
“I don’t think this is going to take long,” he said, again running his middle finger up the underside of his dick. It jumped again. This time, his finger lingered and traced a small circle just under the tip. He groaned, teasing himself.
I looked up to his eyes for just a second and saw that erotic look of animalistic sexual need. His eyes were pleading with me not to make him stop. His face was steel, his mouth open and breathing heavy.
“Show me your tits.”
I paused. “That’s not part of the deal.”
He groaned. I could tell that would help him get where he needed to go.
His left hand went down and cupped his balls. His middle finger of his right hand kept circling that spot under the ridge at the tip of his dick. He was leaking pretty good at this point, drops of clear fluid dribbling down onto the tip of his finger.
“Please,” he managed to croak.
I laughed, not in a cruel way, but more a nervous giggle.
His hips were pushed towards me, exposing himself to me.
I nodded my head and reached for the hem of my t-shirt. (What bra am I wearing?) My plan was to simply pull up my shirt and bra at the same time, not taking it off. I was just going to “flash” him. I felt powerful that I controlled how he felt at this moment; that he needed me to help him finish. I didn’t see that coming.
I lifted my shirt and grabbed my bra on the way past and I pulled them both up and showed him my tits. My face was flushed with arousal and embarrassment, not sure which was the more apparent.
He immediately dropped his eyes from mine to my chest and wrapped his right hand completely around his dick, sliding it up and down, but still focused his finger tip in that one spot. He groaned loudly, a groan from way down in his throat.
The head of his dick looked like it was going to explode. It was purple and swollen, almost angry, as he let out one gasp, stopped stroking for just a second, and I saw his cum for the very first time spurt out onto the floor: once, twice, three times, down to a trickle. He was still stroking, though his eyes were now closed. His hips rocked back and forth as if they were fucking the air in front of him.
He let out a sigh and fell back onto the chair as I pulled my shirt back down and a very strange awkwardness fell over us.
“Thank you.”
I wasn't sure what to say. “You’re welcome?”
Just then the upstairs door opened and footsteps came into the house...
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