I was sitting in an armchair in the corner of Mr Wooster‘s bedroom. It was evening, the curtains were drawn and the walls bathed in golden candle light. My pose was relaxed, and I had a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other one.
On the bed was my beloved master; and I was watching him.
I was watching his firm, slender backside shining with sweat, his fair head moving up and down as he thrusted with vigour between the spread legs of the man beneath him. I had never seen that boy before, Mr Wooster had picked him up in Picadilly Circus earlier. But he didn‘t matter. It was only my lover I wanted to see, writhing and panting and groaning with lust.
I take a delicious pleasure from watching him like this. I certainly enjoy to engage in these activities with him as well, and we do so often, but seeing him doing what he usually does to me from a viewer‘s perspective is almost more thrilling.
Mr Wooster does not like to watch me with other gentlemen, because he wants me exclusively, and I would never let any other man have me this way; however it arouses him extremely to know that I am looking at him during his exertions.
They were nearing the end now, and my young master began to thrust faster. The body beneath him was shaken with every push of his hip. I took a sip of brandy, my eyes never leaving the scene in front of me. I was painfully hard, but I didn‘t touch myself, I never do on these occasions. I don‘t participate in the act, merely a spectator of the show.
When Mr Wooster reached his climax, he turned his head and gave me one of his wide, sunny grins. He is always proud like a little child when he achieves his goal of giving me satisfaction. This was, as always, the moment of highest pleasure to me, and we spent ourselves together; I into my trousers and he into the anonymous man.
Then I set my drink and the cigarette aside, while he laid back on the bed. The young man quickly gathered his clothings and left the flat. I went over to my dear Bertram who was still smiling and kissed him gently on the forehead.
„Thank you“ I murmured. He pulled me on top of his warm, damp body and said: „You‘re welcome, but tomorrow it‘s just you and me again, what, old thing?“
Fill: Spectator of the Show
My pose was relaxed, and I had a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other one.
On the bed was my beloved master; and I was watching him.
I was watching his firm, slender backside shining with sweat, his fair head moving up and down as he thrusted with vigour between the spread legs of the man beneath him.
I had never seen that boy before, Mr Wooster had picked him up in Picadilly Circus earlier.
But he didn‘t matter.
It was only my lover I wanted to see, writhing and panting and groaning with lust.
I take a delicious pleasure from watching him like this. I certainly enjoy to engage in these activities with him as well, and we do so often, but seeing him doing what he usually does to me from a viewer‘s perspective is almost more thrilling.
Mr Wooster does not like to watch me with other gentlemen, because he wants me exclusively, and I would never let any other man have me this way; however it arouses him extremely to know that I am looking at him during his exertions.
They were nearing the end now, and my young master began to thrust faster. The body beneath him was shaken with every push of his hip.
I took a sip of brandy, my eyes never leaving the scene in front of me. I was painfully hard, but I didn‘t touch myself, I never do on these occasions. I don‘t participate in the act, merely a spectator of the show.
When Mr Wooster reached his climax, he turned his head and gave me one of his wide, sunny grins. He is always proud like a little child when he achieves his goal of giving me satisfaction.
This was, as always, the moment of highest pleasure to me, and we spent ourselves together; I into my trousers and he into the anonymous man.
Then I set my drink and the cigarette aside, while he laid back on the bed. The young man quickly gathered his clothings and left the flat.
I went over to my dear Bertram who was still smiling and kissed him gently on the forehead.
„Thank you“ I murmured. He pulled me on top of his warm, damp body and said:
„You‘re welcome, but tomorrow it‘s just you and me again, what, old thing?“
I couldn‘t possibly argue with that.