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Alone at Night

Posted by: Author: Age: 111 Posted on: 0 comments
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The other night I went to bed, dozed off and woke up ragingly horny. I'm not sure if that happens to you but sometimes that moment of releasing tension into sleep taps a hot spring of desire. When I'm alone, it's desire for myself.

I was dressed in long johns and socks and a teeshirt. I pulled up my shirt and kicked down my cotton undies, the old fashioned kind with the woven stretchy weave. I knew this wasn't going to be a long dramatic tease before I climaxed, and once I felt myself get to that point where I could just let go.

After a few breaths I relaxed and backed away from the edge gently. Then I did three things, one is I stripped beneath the sheets, kicking off my night garments and pulling my shirt over my head.

I then lubed my ass and lubed a slender buttplug and fucked my ass. and relaxed into being penetrated.

Then holding the plug in me I got up and walked, naked and fucked, to my kitchen table. There was something on the table that I wanted, a mirror. It was small, about five inches with a blue frame, the glass is all spattered. It's spattered with, if you haven't guessed, a lot of my cum.

In other words a collection of orgasms put there and partially licked back, leaving an intricate, layered pattern on the glass. Yes what I am saying is I masturbate and let out my cum onto mirrors, sometimes looking at my face as I do.

There are sessions where I lick up my fresh warm cum, and swallow it then, or most of it, there's always a little left behind. Other times I leave my whole ejaculation to dry, and take it back the next time I'm working up a head of steam and a new release of semen. That's when I'm the horniest for my cum, and right then I have some, sometimes a lot, left there from prior orgasms.

I picked up that mirror and sat down on the couch, where the coals from the fireplace were still emanating strong warmth. I pressed the dildo up my ass and leaned back, sitting with my knees apart. I dropped them apart, feeling the delightful tension in my inner thighs.

I took my spattered mirror in one hand and masturbated with the other. I looked down at my hand and cock and this little blue framed platter with all its deposited pleasure. Suddenly I was frighteningly selfconscious, disbelieving what I was doing, and that burst into the freedom of doing it. My focus shifted and I glanced at my eyes, peering out from beneath all the layers of coating, the tongue streaks, and the distinctive visual of a spurt of semen that had dried in place. That did it. I was news. I grunted and consciously looked deeper down, searching for my face, and found it and glimpsed my expression as I was pumping semen, expression that morphed compassion and disbelief.

Then I was looking at a pearlescent spill of liquid and brought this up to my lips and sucked in what I had just made. I opened my eyes wide and pushed myself to look at my face as I swallowed and then panted and then my wet lips dropped open and I breathed. I heard myself moan and then grunt as that all happened and the memory was echoing vividly.

My face was wet. I could feel it drying with a cool sensation.



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