I can hardly be left alone for a few minutes on a comfortable piece of furniture without rubbing myself. Hotels are the worst—often, the only place ...o sit down is a bed, so I’m basically just touching myself the entire time I’m in the room.My first memories of masturbating are from when I was about 9 or 10 years old. My mother would often catch me, and proceed to give me hell like no tomorrow. As a result, it’s something that’s always conjured a feeling of guilt. But it has always been. " "I used to worry about you seeing me with a hard on," he said. "I'd hide it best I could, but whenever I got to thinking too much about you, about the remote possibility of getting into your elegant pussy, I'd have to run upstairs. I sure jacked off a lot of times." She sat on the edge of the bed, holding out a water glass. "Pour me some nerve, lover? What a waste that was, you masturbating and me being so lonely. All that time, we could have been fucking. But we'll make up for the missed. I know that you don't understand what's going on, but I'm going to explain. I don't want to take advantage of you . . .” I opened my mouth to say she wasn't, but she put a finger to my lips to shush me, then continued.“I have been thinking real hard, the last several days . . .” She was going to stop our fun, I could hear it coming – rather going away. “I need to explain why I have been letting you do things, that are not what a boy should be doing to his mother.”“I'm not a boy!”“Sorry, a. I think I’m going to cum. Yep…here it cums!”With that his cock swelled and throbbed and I realised to my horror that he was filling me with spunk.“Nice” He said and stepped back, his cock flopping out and a drool of cum slid down my balls.The other man, Bill, dropped his shorts and a stubby erection sprang up stiffly under his flabby belly.Before I even had time to react, he got behind me, steadied my bottom with one hand and thrust his cock into me with the other. It was so matter of fact, so.