Watching Henry Have Phone Sex

Posted by: Author: Age: 15 then, 25 now Posted on: 1 comments
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The year I turned 15, our family moved to a California McMansion surrounded by other over-sized houses on under-sized lots, all of them located above a major seismic fault line.



Our next-door neighbors had a son, Henry, who was a something of local legend for his looks, brains and brawn. Unfortunately, Henry attended Stamford on an athletic scholarship, and had left for school about a week before I moved in next door.



My bedroom was over the garage and had French doors leading to a narrow redwood deck. Across a little strip of grass was an identical set of glass doors on the neighbor's house. Since I could see lots of sports posters and a big trophy case inside, I assumed this was Henry's room. For more than a month, the room was dark.



My friends, however, didn't let me forget Henry. Flo was soooooo totally jealous that I lived next door to her secret crush. Amber, my goth friend who was obsessed with drawing spurting cartoon penises with a Sharpie pen on every available surface, said her older sister had given Henry a handjob in the family BMW.



Amber swore that when he ejaculated, it sailed through the open moon roof and splashed down on the outside of the windshield. Some nights, I fell asleep with my hands between my legs, fantasizing about wrapping my own fingers around Henry's warm cock.



One Saturday evening in early October, as I returned home after a late soccer practice, I saw an unfamiliar red sports car in the next-door driveway. Could Henry be back for the weekend?



I bolted to my room, gingerly cracking the drapes. It was almost dusk, and I could see Henry, looking every bit as buff as my friends predicted, sitting at his desk. It felt a little pervy, but I parted my shades a couple of more inches, careful to work slowly so he wouldn't notice any movement and then moved a chair to where I could sit in the dark without him noticing me.



At first, observing Henry made me nervous and more than a little aroused. But after an hour of so, it actually started to get boring. He picked his nose once or twice, and got up and went into the hallway, probably to go to the bathroom, returning about five minutes later, wiping his hands on his T-shirt and gym shorts.



Boring or not, one thing was for sure. Henry was as hot as everyone said, blonde hair, blue eyes and body to die for. His butt was drum tight and his thigh muscles bulged as he walked. I could even make out what looked like a six-pack when he wiped his hands down the front of his shirt.



I'm not sure what I was expecting to see, although the idea of watching Henry pull down those tight little shorts did cross my mind a few times. When I was 14, I'd met a young guy called Skip on my Uncle's ranch in Wyoming who introduced me to how a man's cock looked, felt and smelt. Technically, I was still a virgin, but I had a real good idea of what Henry had in his shorts and how it worked.



I think I was fantasizing how it would feel to have my hands in his pants when Henry reached over and answered his phone. From his smile, I could tell it wasn't Granny calling.



He paced around his room for a few minutes before stretching out on his bed, which thankfully was still in my line of sight. His head was propped up on his pillow, his eyes were closed and he pressed the phone to his ear with his shoulder. There was something about his dreamy expression that sent little jolts of electricity racing down my spine, and maybe a twinge of jealousy that it wasn't me on the other end of the line. I could feel my nipples stiffen under my sports bra, and the memories of last summer with Skip in my Uncle's dairy barn became more vivid than usual.



He had shown me how to wrap my fingers around his cock, which looked enormous to me then, although I know now it was about average, and gradually increased the speed and friction of my strokes until I felt his shaft begin to swell and throb. Then he would tell me to stop for a moment, blow gently on the tip, and start over again with slow, feathery touches. When his hips would finally begin to buck in rhythm with my strokes, he had me jerk the shaft violently until I felt and saw his cum squirting out. More than once, I came too as I felt him pulse and then shoot.



As Henry was flirting and making small talk on the phone, I wondered if I'd ever have the chance to practice my technique on him. Would he be hot to my touch? Would his cock have the same musky man-scent as Skip? Would he moan my name when he came and swear he'd fuck my brains out when I got older?



Between these thoughts, and watching Henry on his bed about 20 feet away, my pulse was racing and hormones were surging in a way I'd never experienced before. When Skip had undressed and masturbated for me, it was like a show, a performance for my benefit. But this was different. Sneaky, decadent and intoxicatingly voyeuristic. My pussy was tingling with the expectation that something forbidden was about to happen.



Henry didn't disappoint. Soon his fingertips tweaked his nipples as he cooed into the phone. I mirrored him with my own fingertips. He leaned forward and slipped out of his T-shirt. I was actually a little disgruntled that Henry didn't have Skip's exaggerated, chiseled pecs, but then what Henry had wasn't bad. Not at all. And certainly not when compared to my scrawny 15-year old boyfriend whose only exercise was hoisting his calculus text book.



I pulled my jersey and bra over my head and looked down at my tits in the dim light. They were a little bigger and fuller than last summer when I showed them to Skip, and my swollen nipples had seemed longer than my breasts. If anything, my areolas and nips were even puffier and more pronounced now, but at least tits had grown to match. Besides, all the really mattered at the moment was that everything was incredibly sensitive. Just stroking my nips sent stabs of excitement straight to my clit.



It crossed my mind how perverted I must look, sitting half naked while peering into my neighbor's window. But damn, it was good.



Henry wasted no time going for the main event. He arched his hips and slipped off his gym shorts and briefs in a single motion. It may not have been Skip's sexy strip tease, but something about the secrecy of watching this private moment made it just as insanely erotic. Seeing Henry's stiff cock aiming for the ceiling and bouncing around in the warm glow of the electric light sent me over the edge. I may have moaned out loud. What happen for sure was a contraction, a kind of mini orgasm that left my pussy feeling warm, wet and hungry for attention.



No need to be cautious now. Henry's eyes were closed tight as he whispered into the phone, his hand gliding down his stomach and through the patch of surprising dark pubic hair that framed his beautiful cock. I stood up and peeled off my own shorts and very soaked panties. The cool air flowing around my wet pussy lips was totally amazing, like an unseen hand caressing my most secret parts with the gentlest possible touch.



Out of the blue, I started giggling at the idea of calling Amber or Flo and sharing this crazy moment with them. Then my finger pushed my lips apart and brushed against my clit. After that, the only thing that existed in my world was the aching in my pussy and vision of Henry pumping his cock.



I had done myself lying in bed and even standing up once while Skip and I watched each other. But this was the first time I had masturbated in a chair with my legs spread out almost in a split. It surely wouldn't be the last.



When Skip and I had gotten off for each other, there had been an ebb and flow, each of us would stop for a moment just to watch. When that happened and I could feel his eyes on me, there was a special kind of excitement.



Tonight it was different. I felt naughty, even a little slutty, for violating Henry's privacy, for acting so sneaky. I felt like some kind of voyeuristic vampire, secretly feeding on the sexual energy of this beautiful man whose hard cock was perfectly framed by the thick fabric of my window curtains. It was all new and intense and forbidden and madly exciting.



For a while, I was lost in my own pleasure and must have closed my eyes. When I opened them, Henry's hand was a blur as he flailed his cock. His back was arched and his butt was a foot or more off the surface of the bed. I wish I could say I saw the cum fly toward the ceiling, and that I followed the trajectory and measured it's height and arc. But I didn't.



Yes, I saw creamy white cum splattering back onto his hand and stomach and chest. But his stroking was so furious, his hand and cock jerking so rapidly, that it was all just a lovely blur of pale skin and liquid.



When I made Skip cum with my hands, it was always accompanied by a deep animalistic groan that sent shivers down my spine. What I could see perfectly were Henry's lips pressed against the phone and what must have been his own scream of passion, which is when I came.



And came... and came.



Long after Henry had cleaned up, whispered goodbye to his lucky phone partner, and gone back to studying, I was still lying in my bed, re-living what had just happened and giving myself one long, squishy orgasm after another.



I decided not to tell Amber or Flo that Henry was home for the weekend. But the next day, I did get to know him much, much better.

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