Under the ray of light and hotel bedsheet

This is all true, or is it? Does it matter?

I'll type it out from what actually happened, but if I get the urge to embellish a little, then please sympathise that this was a very sexy event...

Its a stag do, a bachellor party if you will. We were all thirties and early forties, please dont think we were mere bedroom teens full of horny thoughts. We'd all come on this merry event to get a few drinks down us, and escape the daily monotomy of kids and work.

I appreciate this story might be a little low-key but it felt pretty intense at the time!

We're not a big group, but we've known each other a long time, finally the last of us is getting married and we've already arrived in the big city of Manchester. Suddenly we're dumping our bags at the hotel and heading straight out on the beer.

By the end of what would be most guys our age's night, we were still going strong. Although we were running out of places to drink. Somehow, and this is still a mystery to me; we ended up diverting into a strip club. A fortune to get into and over priced beer doesnt stop us and we're having a great time. I look around and notice something, we're all only tenuously still a group. Sure we're all still in the place, around the same table too, but we're all pre-occupied. We're all happily married and now we're surrounded by incredible looking women of all types; exotic tanned skinned, dark and sultry, red head with a sexy look in her eye, a black haired girl no older than 20 with the sexiest black lingerie I've ever seen.

I chuckle to myself, what are we like?!

One by one we're off, waving girls over and disappearing with a steely determination to enjoy every penny of the upcoming dance. Some of them have several. I have two.

The second dancer leans in, straddling my lap, she whispers into my ear;
"Do you like them?"
I flinch, not from the fact that I've obviously been staring, but because her breath on my neck has sent shivers down my spine.

Good shivers.

Really good.

Suddenly her weight in my lap, shifting across my legs in time to the music, has got me wincing with embarassment. She smiles warmly and whispers again;
"Don't be so shy"

More shivers. She smells like warm peach and sugar.

My body responds in the most primitive way it can, and I'm left in no doubt that she can feel me under her. I wonder if she enjoys making men feel this way. Surely she must? The drink makes my shyness fade and I decide to relax.

She leans forward again, easing her weight onto me, directly onto me. I bite my lip. Her chest is so close to my face I can see every tiny goose bump on her incredible, small, tits. Without any warning she swipes a nipple across my face.

I cant help but smile, now I'm a horny teenager, she has me. She's watching my reaction closely as she teases her nipple back again, slower, hovering in front of my lips. I'm desperate to touch it.

She must sense it, I'm too good of a guy to do anything I shouldn't, instead she revels in my awkward dual desires, to be good, and to be bad. So she expertly allows her perfect pink nipple, shaded by the strip club shadows, to gently trace a path over my lower lip.

Suddenly it's over, she stands back, grabs her bra and blows me a kiss. We walk down to the main lounge together and she instantly goes off to graft a group of newcomers.

It does not matter one little, I know I'll have that moment burned into my memory for a long time. Little did I know that it would be over shadowed somewhat, and fairly soon.

We all decide collectively, it's time to leave. 5am or sometime. It's both LATE, and EARLY. The world is still in the last innocent slumbers of Sunday morning and we're all staggering out of a strip club recounting tales of the dances we'd had.

Back at the hotel I find my room. Im sharing with a tall blonde guy I know fairly well, although he had moved away a few years ago. He stumbles to the bed by the window. My own bed is parallel, with just that thin gap between them. The gap that feels like the legal minimum the hotel has to provide for some health and safety reason.

Damn that dance was hot.

We strip off in the dark. I'm down to my briefs. I'd treated myself to a new luxury pair and was suddenly reminded how great they felt as I threw back the white sheet. After a few seconds of recounting the night he walks past, pops on the bathroom light, silhouetted by the buzzing bathroom brightness. I'm chatting in detail about the dance and he's chipping in best he can while brushing his teeth.

He spits. And rinses.

I get up, probably awkwardly semi aroused, and we have to do the passing manouevre particular to a tiny hotel room. Next I'm staring at my self in the mirror while he describes why his dance was even better than mine. I'm particularly enjoying the sight of the bulge in my briefs.

I spit. And rinse.

Ping! I pull the light switch string and the fan continues to whir, much too loudly, but it's dark now and my lack of night vision means I have to feel my way to the narrow bed. I whip back the thin sheet and im officially in bed.

So is he. The other of the twin beds.

The only light in the room is an indescribeably bright lance of white, almost solid looking, street light. It feels like it's right outside the window and drapes across his bad in a thick line, rising over the bump in the covers which at this time is my room mate.

Time crawls by, my mind swirls with recollections of the sexy dances, my ears ringing too. I lay still, waiting for sleep, still tipsy, or more accurately, half intoxicated. I'm lost in my own thoughts for a while, I think it could have been at least twenty minutes when I open my eyes. I'm starting to get annoyed at not sleeping. Am I past the point of sleep? The sun must be rising, of course, thats why the light is so bright. I briefly acknowedge the incredible job the black out curtains are doing and look over. My eyes struggle with the contrast. Pitch black and the strip of white.

He moves a little. Is he asleep?

I look back at the curtains.

Ah, yes, he moved, I wonder if he's struggling like I am. I decide against saying anything. He definitely moved a little then. Just a very slight shift. I can see in the light. It must drape right over his waist, diagonally.

'His hands are about there...' I ponder to myself, my own thoughts entering my half drunken mind like visitors to a doctors lounge.

'Yep, I saw that, definitely struggling to sleep, a bit of movement.... near his waist.'

Something tingles again.

'Her body was incredible, I cannot believe it... and what was it he said? How she spent the dance grinding against him?

Pretty hot, he sounded like he fucking loved it.' My thoughts have a little conversation of their own while my eyes close, then reopen, glancing again to see if there's another movement.

There is.

'What if he's thinking about her?

Is he adjusting himself?'

I watch more intently, laying on my back, head forward, eyes to the side, adjusting all the time to the dark I cannot see him. Just the light, laying over his body.

Nothing.

Nothing.

No movement.

He sighs gently.

Then movement. My mind fills with an explanation.

'That was definitely his hand moving away from his waist. Down to his side. Was it between his legs?'

I think again about the description of his dancer and recall her. Pale skinned, short, big round breasts with red hair draped over them and a scarlet lace bra. The opposite of his wife, but very similar to one of the wives in our social group. I allowed myself to wonder if he had a thing for her? His friend's wife? How naughty. What would she look like as a dancer?

I feel myself begin to get turned on.

I think again about my dance, while watching him. She was perhaps a lookalike of someone I know too, did I choose her subconsciously? Not that I would describe myself as having a thing for her, but she's definitely sexy.

Again, movement, back up, from his side.

'Yes, definitely between his legs, he's adjusted himself there. Just a little, cheeky git! He must be thinking about her. But wait, he's still there, his hand is still....'

I squint in the dark. No light lay on me or my bed. I turn my head, so slowly, so very slowly, to face him. I can see better now. A slight rise in the cover.

'He's moving his hand away, is that a bulge still?'

The bed cover, white and thin stays tented, a definite bulge in the sheet.

'He's hard. He's definitely hard!' my thoughts cannot believe it. The suggestion runs through my head like a train through a tunnel.

'He's laying there, less than a metre from me, with a hard on!'

I become suddenly away of my own situation. My own rising situation. I think again on my dances, closing my eyes, enjoying the feeling of my own sheet rising. I can feel little pulses as I stiffen. Unbidden my eyes open and im looking back at him. He sighs again. That must be what made me open my eyes.

I can see he has his hands there again. I'm transfixed.

'Is he holding his cock? Squeezing it gently? It must feel fantastic, while he thinks about his dance.'

Im aware now that i'm also getting very turned on. Part of me wonders...

'Is he gonna start? Will he do it?'

And with intense focus I see him moving. The bulge is moving. The sheets are shifting. Up, back, down. So slowly, but definite. I can see it. He stops, and lets out a long quiet sigh. His heart must be beating so hard from it, he holds his breath. Then pauses and lets it out.

'Oh my god. I cannot beleive it. He's teasing himself, right there!'

My own cock pulses to hardness.

'He's slowly stroking it.... right there! Right next to me!'

My cock is rigid now. It probably has been for a while. I turn onto my side, facing him. It is the loudest motion imaginable and his hands visably retreat to his side. He pauses. Absolute silence.

He cannot see but I am facing him.

'Will he give up?' I wonder.

An eternity passes. My arousal subsides a little.

But as my eyes begin to feel heavy I see him move, back to his fun. Is it fun? Is he enjoying this? Or is it an animalistic urge?

He's bolder now, I can see more clearly, the pause must have been excruciating for him. I hear him hold his breath after an intake. I watch as the sheets move, underneath he strokes himself, down and back up, fingers wrapped around his head.

It feels so good. Fingers pulling down, the tingle of the tip, the urge to cut loose and go wild but the realisation this has to be slow.

My hand is holding my own cock. I sympathise with him. I ponder the dancer. Remembering how turned on he sounded by his own dance, and my semi arousal in the bathroom. My fingers move on their own, unbidden, teasing myself slowly. So slowly.

I'm watching everything now. He's going for longer, a few more strokes each time. Suppressing his sighs of pleasure as he enjoys himself.

'He's actually wanking. Wanking his hard cock. I wonder what he's thinking? Did he plan this?'

My fingers take so long to mimic him. literally moving a millimetre every few seconds. Finally, I have pulled down, the pleasure is fantastic. my whole cock tingles wildly, like fireworks. I hold it there. I too, am holding my breath.

He hardly stops now.

'I can hear him! The sheets rustle, my god. I hope I am not making that noise while I do it. Why am I doing it? Is it the drink? The dance? The situation?'

A tiny brief noise makes my cock tingle. A shiver of pleasure rises up through my body. Pure sexual, horny, pleasure. I heard it, a little wet sound.

'That was precum. He must be so wet down there! His fingers must be sliding down his shaft so easily, no wonder he can't stop!'

I slide upwards again. Watching the sheets move, more rhythmically, more constant.
'He's wanking himself off. Just there, an arm's reach away. What is this?!'

He picks up the pace. My own cock is rigid, I smear pre-cum around the tip. it feels incredible. My eyes are locked on the sight of him wanking under the sheet. I hear it again, and again, every stroke bringing a wet noise.

'He's breathing as quietly as he can, but it turns me on more. Why am I so turned on? Why am I so desperate to throw back my covers and wank freely? Why has that thought made me stroke a full series of strokes? I will myself to pause yet all this does is allow my ears to concentrate on his little gasps, and the sound of his wet cock being stroked. My eyes are filled with nothing but the hypnotic bouncing of his sheet.

He gasps several little clipped breaths.

'He's going to cum! Should I? Does he want me to be awake? My god, does he know what im doing? Is that helping him?! Is he now putting on this show FOR ME?'

I wank several more times.

'Listen to him, so close. Is he thinking his dancer? The other wife? About me???!'

I grab my hard cock firmly.

He reaches a rapid crescendo.

'I want him to throw down his sheets, I want to see him. Imagine him working his cock in the silver light.'

I squeeze myself tighter.

'Imagine him pumping his cum through the air' my thoughts command me.

I pull down on my hard cock. Its all I can do to stop myself going into a crazy mindless whirlwind of self pleasure. My will power is straining.

'He's cumming, listen to him!'

I hear him gasp, hold his breath, then several wet strokes, followed by a release of air from his lungs as he savours his orgasm. He must have cum so hard. I could see his outline as she came, involuntarily lifting his shoulders off the bed. I blink away, suddenly unable to move at all. Unable to finish what I had started. It was exquisite torture.


I knew I had to let it go.

To let sleep take me.

It didnt take long, though I'm sure I was bulging the sheets until morning.





















The morning? A chance to shower, to get naked, a little privacy. He had awoken first, the hiss of the water waking me. I swished the curtains open a little and realised I was almost entirely physically turned on. I looked down at his sheets, the evidence of his pleasure.

I lay back, enjoying my super sensitive cock. Daring to pleasure myself until the shower stopped. When he emerged from the shower I quickly hopped in, closed the door and slid my briefs off. Springing upright I gave myself a few moments, looking in the mirror as I did it. Then to the shower, under the stream of water. A little splashy, audibly masturbating, but I was content to let him hear if he wanted.