#MasturbationMonday: Photo Box

This is my naughty little effort for this week’s #MasturbationMonday. As it’s summer holiday season, I’ve sent my characters to holiday apartments, that just happen to be next-door…and it’s easy to see from one into the other…



She spots him through her balcony window. There’s a communal walkway outside, linking all the balconies together, and his holiday apartment fits into the adjacent space to hers, making up one corner of the quadrangle. She stands there with the door open, a cold can of soft drink in her hand, her flesh still tingling a little from a couple of hours in the afternoon sun. She’s naked, except for the blue thong bikini bottom. There’s a wonderful, strange, sexy sense of freedom, being allowed to sunbathe topless here. For ten years it’s been the confinement of the requisite grey pencil skirt and cream blouse and an odd ice-cream on the seafront. You can’t sunbathe, topless or otherwise, in a bank.

He’s coming down the walkway, a Polaroid camera hanging around his neck and embedding itself in the almost white hair that curls tightly on his chest and spreads all the way down past his navel. She twitches as she notices it’s all down his legs, too. Where else is it, she wonders? The red swimming trunks are new, she’s sure. They complement the silver waves of his hair. She slides herself up against her open sliding door, watching as he leaves his own door wide open, and grabs a can from his refrigerator. He vanishes, and she cranes her neck to see him, the condensation from the can dripping off her fingers and between her breasts. She rubs it into her skin, enjoying the contrast between the cool wetness and the heat of her skin.

He returns, holding a small box. Placing it on the table, he tips its contents out, scattering square photographs across the surface. She watches him pause before picking one up. Curiosity burns within her; she’s not close enough to see the picture. But she remains still against the open door, a gentle breeze blowing over her nipples and hardening them. She runs a thumb over one, and it lets loose a ripple down her spine, which wraps itself between her thighs. She almost closes her eyes, but the man prevents that. Instead, her eyes widen as she watches him push down his trunks, letting them fall to the floor, and then kick them under the table.

Her lips part as her hungry eyes take in the sight of him grasping his cock. She’d had no indication that that was inside his trunks. His fingers wrap around his girth, pushing all the way up to the deep ridge, and pointing it towards the photo. She bites her lip hard—there’s no foreskin that she’s used to, just a deep pink head that comes and goes from sight as he begins to slide his hand against the solid, rigid cock. She wonders why he’s been circumcised, just briefly. Has he been an Army man, a long time ago? It doesn’t really matter. It makes her hot.

She’s never been with a much older man before, although she’s often thought about what it would be like. It’s a very, very secret fantasy of hers. Her back arches against the doorframe as she slides her fingers into the bikini bottoms, discovering a pool of juices that she’d felt escape from her. Her fingers hover over her pussy as she imagines what it would be like to run a finger through that white hair on his chest and be kissed between her thighs, with that short, well-kept silver-grey beard tickling her bum cheeks over and over as his tongue joins in and tortures her pussy with expert lapping at her cream, thrusting his tongue into her as she bucks, as far as he can go, and until she explodes into a burning orgasm.

Her fingers hover over her pussy, brushing it with her fingertips as she grows ever more hungry, watching him stroking his cock, slowly, with care. He draws his hand all the way down its length, squeezing the end, before sliding back up to its base, a couple of fingers reaching under to run themselves over his balls before he begins again. Should she be wanting to touch herself to this clandestine moment, and a stranger’s cock? He begins to increase his pace now, and she can’t help herself—the sight of such a big cock on an old man, the way that she is caught by surprise at his agility with it, and how the curly grey chest hair turns her on in reality and not just fantasy—it makes every nerve ending throb beneath her hand.

She pushes a finger into herself, the almost silent gasp stiffening her body like an imitation of an erotic statue at the realisation that she is so wet. His cock is rock hard, and he has begun to pant. Low, fast moans sneak through the air from his doorway to hers, driving a second finger in to join her first. She wants to moan out loud, writhing there against the doorframe, but she holds it in and the agony of it fills her, makes her tremble, as her eyes remain fixated on his hand. She doesn’t want to miss it: that moment that will take her over the edge with this man she’s never met, and who can’t see her.

As her fingers sink in to the hilt, he throws down the photo with a growl and stops, a shocking frustration bordering on despair riddling his face. The hand she holds her cold drink in jolts; the can catches her breast and the icy contact with her skin makes her squeal.

He looks up.

She flies back inside the room, thrusting the can onto a side table as she stumbles and tumbles onto the bed, flushing with embarrassment. Did he see her? He must have done. Or at least seen a movement. She repeats over and over in her head that she hopes not, but she knows that’s not what she really means, deep inside. She can’t get the vision of him out of her head. She needs…

Tugging at the strings either side of her bikini bottom, she lets the blue fabric fall away from her. Her palm grasps her breast, fingers peaking her nipple as her other hand works her pussy. Soft circles on her clit, gentle touches along her folds to leave her sighing as she lays there, entirely naked. Her fingers sink back inside. Enthralled, consumed by her finger-fuck, she closes her eyes and listens to the sound of her fingers moving, squelching in her own juices.

The heat of her skin on the bed, the warm air in the room, the vision of that cock next-door behind her eyelids, all draw her orgasm down through her. The ache begins to build, rolls in waves, pushing itself right down into her legs, leaving them shaking into the mattress. It gets closer; thrusting her buttocks high into the air, her eyes fly open, the desperate agony of being so near the edge forcing her lips into long, moaning gasps.

She bolts upright when she sees, at her open door, a Polaroid camera. It’s just hanging there, in her line of vision, its owner cupping his balls with one hand and paying slow, delicious attention to his hard, thick girth with the other.

“What the…? I’m sorry.” She grabs a sheet but misses, only really managing to cover her left knee, with no idea why she’s apologising for what she’s doing, there in her own holiday apartment. She sits there, hunched; he continues stroking. She should tell him to stop, to leave. Something. But fascination holds her still and silent.

“You like watching me, don’t you?”

A pang smacks between her ribs at the sound of the drawling accent. Her face is burning. “What do you mean?”

“I saw you. Watching. I saw all of it.” He grins. “And now I see all of you. Have you cum yet?”

She can hear the blood rushing through her ears as he approaches her feet, still stroking his cock.

“What—were you doing with that photo?” Her mouth has gone dry. Her heart bangs. He’s moving. Closer. He rolls a fingertip over her ankle bone and she quivers.

He pushes the sheet from her knee and lets go of his cock so it stands, heavy and deep pink, towards her. As he palms both her knees, easing them open, his cock twitches, and a bead of pre-cum sits in the slit. Her mouth falls open, her breath catching in her throat.

“Trying to recapture a memory.” He shrugs. “But it’s gone.”

His legs are brushing against her inner thighs. His hairs tickle, and it makes her wet. She knows he can see what he’s just done to her.

“What pictures are in the box?”

“Birds.” He beams. “Lots of tits. I’m a real ornithologist. Animal lover.”

“I bet you are.” The words fall out of her brain and into the air before she has chance to control her thoughts. Her eyes flit from the tip of his tongue which pokes out between his teeth to the grin which makes his eyes crinkle. Fuck, she’s never realised before just how sexy that is. “What’s your name?”

“You can call me Fred.”

“I’m Katherine. Friends call me Kat.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Kat. Have you cum yet?”

His cock is touching her smooth mons. Her body has dominance; it succumbs and presses itself hard against his cockhead.

“No, I haven’t.”

“I need to. Do you?” He trails his cock tip over her hardened nub, then flicks, twice, three times. He’s glistening now. A throb fires like an arrow through her, targeting her clit.


“Will you do it with me? Will you be my picture?”

His eyes latch onto hers, devouring her senses and reason. That moment when she saw him fling down the photo, desperation across his face, lingers in her head. She nods, laying back so he can see her fingers rolling over her slick little ball.

His cockhead presses against her entrance. He strokes hard, and she feels the vibrations permeating her flesh. His eyes flick from his point of contact with her body to hers and back again. That second their eyes connect, her impulse is to thrust against him. His cockhead fills her, stretches her. He’s so hot. She is. Oh, it doesn’t matter…stroking hard, he holds himself there.

“Open yourself to me. Use your other hand.”

She does as he asks, two fingers stretching herself either side, folds widening, giving her better access to her clit. She wets her fingers and rolls, the added slickness turning her on more. It’s so good when she’s soaking and fucking herself.

She feels the change in him. He moves, only his ridge pressing down into her entrance, and she tries to recapture his head, suck it in with her muscles, but he’s too hard, too strong, standing over her like that. His finger joins hers, working her clit hard and fast, and she lets him take her over the edge, exploding when he catches and rubs the tiny part that sets off fireworks way down inside her. He responds; doesn’t let up; gives that spot everything.

She’s on fire, her orgasm ripping through her as she hears the throaty growl, watches the way his face screws up in the anticipation of pleasure-pain leaving his cock. A jet of cum hits her clit and she gasps. Another runs into her folds, the underside of his cockhead still pressing into her hole and coating itself with the product of her release, to be joined by his.

“Wink at me, little kitty.” His camera clicks, and the buzz produces a resultant instant image. She watches him, still regaining her breath, as he smiles at the picture, then spins it in his fingers to show her.

“You’ve taken a photo of…”

“Of my cum on your pussy. Yes.”

She lets out a moan at seeing it captured like that—his juices caught in the act of running over her clit, and drowning her pussy lips. Her entrance pools, and she can feel him running down in channels over her bum cheeks. He’s taken all of this, held it captive.

As she stares at the photo, he falls to his knees, head between her thighs. His hot breath drives her to grind herself into the bed as he laps with a wide, experienced tongue at the product of his wank. He takes her all the way again, drawing up his cum and swallowing it, little by little, sweeping and circling over every hot, swollen part of her pussy. He pays lots of attention to her entrance, sucking and licking, tracing circles round and round, finally lifting her legs high and slipping his tongue between her bum cheeks. No-one has ever licked her there before. The surprise at how good it feels makes her moan again, and he puts extra pressure on until she’s sure his tongue will disappear up there, too. Her head is in such a whir of unexpected sensation and that glorious image of his cum on her intimate flesh, that she almost doesn’t notice when he stops.

She lays there, her body slowly returning to reality, eventually finding him lying beside her, camera still round his neck but resting on the sheet, photo between his fingers.

“What are you going to do with that?” She nods towards the photo.

“It’s for the box.” He roams her face with piercing blue eyes. “Is that okay?”

She nods.

“Have dinner with me?”

She wriggles closer, until her breasts touch his chest. The hair tickles, makes her want to wrap her arms around him, but she doesn’t. She runs a finger through it instead. “Do you usually take your ‘stimulus’ out to dinner?”


“Are you really called Fred?”

“No. Does it matter?”

“No.” She bites her lip. “So why do I get dinner?”

“Because I just know that, whenever I look at that photo, I’m gonna cum, wishing it was real, all over again.”

His words come in a thick drawl as she feels two fingers slip into her, exploring her sensitive walls.

“Oh fuck!”

“That’s the idea.” He grins. “But after dinner.”

She returns the grin, in between whimpers. His fingers are moving faster. “You old dog.”

“I’m just starving. I’ll show you how much.” His fingers sink further into her as he holds up the photo so they can both see it. “It’s my speciality, you know—chasing and fucking with a pussy, Kat.”

masturbation monday 3

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34 thoughts on “#MasturbationMonday: Photo Box

  1. John Brownstone says:

    I loved this story for many many reason’s, the voyeuristic element and then being taken into real life. It closed well yet still left it open for more. I too wonder about the photos in the box and the history behind them.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Dave says:

    Wow, sexy Ina, you never fail to pleeease in a story, that’s for sure. 😉 I love your writing style. Truly. You are amazingly talented! Have you thought about a longer anthology of stories connected with the photos of the different women this man has .. enjoyed.. and put in his precious box? Maybe a different story for each photo?


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