Richard's Lust

Masturbation: The manual stimulation of one’s own genitals by other than sexual intercourse for the purpose of achieving sexual gratification up to an including the experience of an orgasm.

OK, that’s as good a definition as any. I know, there’s boobs, too. And there’s butt stuff. (Really, it seems there’s A LOT of butt stuff...) Even without taking those erogenous zones into  consideration, and just limiting our inquiry to the question of getting busy with the options presented by our anterior nether regions, there’s a lot of wiggle room in that definition, isn’t there?

Let’s narrow it down. Take “sexual intercourse” to mean either vaginal, anal or oral….“But, hey, there’s still lots of other… “ Yeah, I know. So, let’s make it even simpler by just eliminating the involvement of any other person in the activity. (I hear you cheering, introverts & misanthropes! Happy jackin’, bros!) Now that partners have been ditched, we’re talking only about a guy or gal on his or her own, seeking sexual gratification.

But (not butt) since my OEM parts list included the dangly bits, I’m only going to address this from a guy’s (this guy’s) perspective. Besides, my wife would be the first to tell you I’m the last man who could make a claim to have any inkling, much less understanding, of a woman’s perspective on matters of masturbation, particularly this particular question:

“When (if ever) does masturbation actually become Sex (or ‘sex’)? And if it is ‘sex,’ what exactly does that mean?”

If we define Sex as engaging in contact with another person for the purposes of achieving sexual gratification up to and including orgasm, then masturbation is never Sex. And no, I didn’t forget cyber-sex, sexting, phone sex, remote-app-controlled vibrators, surreptitiously surgically implanted neuro-erotic stimulators or plain old common alien anal probing (remember, we already nixed the butt stuff.) So, if you’re satisfied with that (as most would likely be, I’ll have to admit) you can stop reading now and get on with masturbating to something else (isn’t that why you’re here in the first place?), ‘cause this isn’t getting your juices flowing, I know.

Still here? Let’s also eliminate the use of porn (however you define it), erotica, booze and any mind-altering substances from the possible scenarios. I know, BORING!

What we are now left with is our hypothetical man, a guy, a dude, maybe your dad, hubby, buddy, roomie, friend, neighbor, relative, ex-, your crush, whoever. He wants sexual release and his available options are his own body and any inanimate object that will help him achieve it.

While there are no doubt limitless ways for men to masturbate, if anyone were to be asked to imagine a man masturbating, he or she would likely form a mental picture of him lying in bed, probably naked, pumping his erect penis in his gently clenched fist getting increasingly excited then finally climaxing and ejaculating onto himself and afterward lying still and sated. I’ve been that guy countless times over the past 45+ years, and I know just about every other man here can make a similar claim. This is how we do it. We like it. It works. It feels good. It’s simple. It costs nothing. And it’s fun. That’s masturbation.

You mentioned ‘sex’ back… damn, dude, way back. You asked when does masturbation become ‘sex’? Something like that.

Well, yes, that’s the question. Does it?  Let’s consider the following:

Case No. 1: Richard; Gender: Male; Age:18 years; Experience of Sex: Virgin

Home from his first year of college over Christmas break, back again at the Historical Society where he’d volunteered while in high school, several displays were being broken down, their components, furniture, artwork, tools, tableware, period attired mannequins, were taken to the basement storage rooms.

“Thank you for locking up again, I’ve still got so much Christmas shopping to do.”

“No problem. See you in the morning, Mrs. Blaine.”

He was down in the storage room before the Director was out of the parking lot.

Richard had moved the mannequin of the young woman along with other items from the exhibit down to storage earlier that day, carefully holding her relatively light but solid form by the hips, which was made somewhat difficult by her dress and whatever lay beneath sliding against the swell of her smooth plastic (fiberglass?) body. Experience from helping out his mother in the thrift shop where she volunteered had also taught him to be mindful of where the mannequin’s joints were, especially the shoulder and leg joints. Negotiating the narrow wooden stairs to the basement of the old building with the model pressed against him was tough enough without having an arm, or worse, a leg popping off her. Reaching the bottom of the stairs just as Mrs. Blaine was about to come up, she directed him to the niche where she wanted the mannequin placed. It was a bit deep and narrow. She’d fit, but he could see...

“Richard, here. You don’t have to be so gentle with her. She’s pretty sturdy. The easiest way to move these smaller ones is to put one hand on the shoulder or upper back to steady her and with the other…” she then shoved her arm right up under the young woman’s skirts. hiking them high to reveal an expanse of creamy white inner thigh “just grab her by the crotch and heave….” as she lifted and slid her into the wall. “She won’t mind.”

“OK,” Richard said.

“You wouldn’t have been able to fit her in there the way you were holding her.” 

“I was just trying to be careful.”

“Oh, I appreciate that,” she said, turning to him. Looking back again at the young colonial woman at whom Richard was also gazing, she paused a moment before continuing. “She’s quite pretty, isn’t she?”

“Yes she is, very,” he quickly replied, turning his gaze away for the mannequin’s face with, he realized immediately, maybe just a little too much enthusiasm. She and Mrs. Blaine were now looking at each other. Then his boss had turned back to look at the mannequin, and Richard followed her gaze.

“I’d have to think that she made her husband very happy.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that but when he’d turned back to respond to her, Mrs. Blaine was already headed for the stairs.

Hours later now, everyone having left for the day, Richard was alone in the basement with the young colonial woman whom he had just, this time employing Mrs. Blaine’s technique, hoisted from her alcove then gently laid supine on a space he’d cleared on the floor atop his down jacket which he’d brought down with him and his sweater which he’d just taken off. They would, he hoped, sufficiently cushion her against what was coming.

Because it wasn’t just his hand that would be meeting her crotch. “She won’t mind.” That’s what Mrs. Blaine had said, wasn’t it? Well, he sure hoped that was so. And obviously, it was the best he could hope for. Because now, it was Richard’s turn to get laid, after a fashion.

Even in her severe or drab, depending on your perspective, white and gray cotton and wool (probably polyester, Richard thought, as he unbuckled his belt, repro clothing - couldn’t do this if she were in an original, colonial era outfit) clothes she was a hottie. The dress’s wide skirts didn’t do anything to show off her legs or ass, but its narrow waist and snug top accentuated her hips and bust. Yeah, she had a nice shape. Nice rack, too, Richard mused. And while he was a bit dismayed that he wouldn’t have the opportunity to get her out of that dress – far too risky – to see all of her, he knew it would be OK. What he as after, he could get without doing so.

She gazed up at him and he down at her as he undressed. Her face was stunning. Heart shaped. An almost perceptible smile. Beautiful blue glass eyes. Pale skin with just a hint of color in the cheeks. Short blond hair pulled back tight under her bonnet, was that what it was? He guessed so. She had been one of four mannequins that had been donated to the Society over a year ago. But he had been away at school and had only met…he felt a bit of self-consciousness creep in, only seen her in the past few days since he’d been home, and he was smitten. It was, he thought, such astoundingly good luck that her exhibit was being moved just while he’d be there for the next two weeks. She was a Hindsgaul or Rootstein he guessed, both the females were, probably: higher-end fashion mannequins. Even dressed down, and even though he knew full well they were just mannequins, they were, this one in particular, by far his favorite of the two, very attractive and stirred in him similar feelings to those he had when looking at the models in the Swimsuit Issue which he, and his college roommates had shared. (And to which they had each masturbated in the privacy of their room in the evenings, alone of course, but sometimes two, and once, all three of them, in turn.) Which of course was a mannequin’s raison d’etre, Richard thought - the being very attractive part. “Look at me, see how pretty I am (and by the clothes I’m modeling.) You’ll be as lovely as me, really.” This is what they said to women. Or, maybe, Richard thought, to men who had reason to be buying clothes for women. Which he did not, though he wasn’t sure whether or not he was sad about that.

But the other? What he was feeling now? Of course not. Oh, to the models in the Swimsuit Issue? Definitely. SI was a men’s magazine and the Swimsuit Issue! Duh! They weren’t modeling bathing suits for women! He sometimes wondered how many other guys were masturbating to those models, just like him. Thousands? Sure, probably. The mannequins, he knew, weren’t made for doing that. But, why should anyone really be surprised that he felt as he did? Because to Richard, these beautiful physical models, some of them at any rate, certainly this one, said something quite different to him than what he understood the marketing people had intended. This lovely young colonial woman, whenever he’d chanced to steal a glance at her or was able to look at her more discerningly for a longer period of time, seemed to be looking right back at him, and whispering, as had the two before her, “I want you, too.”

Well, yeah… OK. No. Richard knew that was bullshit. He wasn’t into anthropomorphizing her nor had he done so with the other two. She just looked hot and he wanted to fuck her. There really wasn’t any more to it. Now, jeans, boxers, socks and shoes shucked, he’d do his best to do just that. He wondered this time, as he had each time before, if he’d think differently about what he was doing, or if he’d be doing it at all, if he had slept with a woman. But, he hadn’t so there wasn’t much point in dwelling on it. He thought too, about whether there were other guys who wanted to and did the same thing he was about to do. He and his friends had all jerked-off to that Swimsuit Issue and smiled knowingly to each other before and after and he had once, grinned along with the second as the squish-squish-squish of their third roommate’s lubed fist pumping himself and his moans and gasps as he orgasmed could be heard while they stealthily listened outside their room’s door. He knew they’d listened to him too, and he hadn’t minded. It sort of made it a shared experience between them. He didn’t think, though, that this thing he so liked was something his friends or any other men – of course there would be some tiny number - would ever do or understand. Which didn’t make him feel bad. More like it made him think that he’d discovered something different, unique and kind of wonderful. A thing though which he had now had to do alone in the privacy of a locked storage room in a locked building after everyone had left and of which he probably would never speak to his friends.

Richard sat down beside the mannequin and began to gently run his hands over her dress-clad body. The fabric covered, but could not conceal from his touch, the swell and curve of her strong firm hips, her flat firm stomach and her pert, firm breasts… Well, she was, of course, all firm, he mused. As he then lowered himself down beside her, leaned over and began to make-out with her, he marveled at how lifelike the face he was kissing and the clothed breast he was fondling - he could even feel her nipple, so she wasn’t wearing a bra…OK  probably historically accurate - could look so real but feel so unlike a woman under his questing lips and probing hands. Not that he’d actually known what either … he’d thought with a sudden pang of self-pity as he now kissed her more fiercely…No! Don’t think that! This is good! It’s going to feel good! You’re gonna fuck her!

Yes, he was. Richard didn’t actually think that one went directly from ten minutes of smooching to sticking it in with a real woman. But, while he had privacy to do what he was going to do, he didn’t have a lot of time: he was expected home for dinner and there could be questions if he punched out and set the alarm too long after closing. Not that anyone would think he’d been doing it with a three hundred year-old hard hottie housewife in the basement. But, she wasn’t a woman she was a mannequin and she didn’t give a shit about foreplay and besides, yeah it was time to get to fucking.

He got up to his knees straddled her lower legs after pushing her dress up a bit, ran his hands partway up her smooth, firm thighs still under the dress. Nice… he withdrew his hands and began to gently masturbate…just a little, as he looked at her face…  yeaaaahhhh, OK, he thought. He then worked the dress up over her legs and hips so he could…

What the…? He’d seen that she hadn’t been wearing any drawers or knickers or whatever they called underwear back then when Mrs. Blain had so unceremoniously hiked up her dress and grabbed her by her pussy. So? Why should she have? More work, more expense for something no one would see. But she wasn’t going commando either. The beautiful young colonial woman was, instead sporting a very un-eighteenth century, contemporary pair of sexy yet somehow also modest light pink, silk(?) panties.

Richard briefly contemplated this unexpected development. Either whoever had dressed the mannequin had a sense of humor Richard appreciated or, remembering his mother covering the store windows when undressing the mannequins, word had come down that even the artificial ladies at the Historical Society most certainly did not go commando. He quickly dismissed the second possibility on the grounds that only Mrs. Blaine would be so stuffy but also that she, unlike his mother, would, like just about everyone else, probably never even entertain the idea of “inappropriate” and “mannequin” in the same thought. Besides, he preferred the first explanation. Somebody maybe wanted to surprise whoever changed her outfit? Who would that be? He didn’t know. Someone else was having a little fun; their own little private joke. That was OK with him. He just wanted to fuck her.

He hadn’t been disappointed when Mrs. Blaine had revealed there were no long underthings on the young woman that would impede his access to her intimate parts. He was glad that she wasn’t wearing any of those voluminous old-fashioned underthings. He’d been pretty sure he could have probably been able to manage them had they been there: pull them down enough to get in there, but they might have been like a full body fabric chastity suit, knowing those Puritans and all. Well, he knew she was of a period well past point in time that but even for a US History major “An Introduction to Women’s Eighteenth-Century Undergarments” wasn’t an available course. These panties weren’t going to prove to be any impediment at all, and… oh, yesssss! He’d just realized that they concealed the mannequin’s unrealistically smooth and featureless crotch, (just like a bikini bottom on a Swimsuit model!) making the illusion of her beauty even more real. He caressed the young woman’s hips and midriff taking in the view from panties to lovely face and smirked inwardly. “Ah, whoever you are, you think putting fuck-me panties on our colonial MILF is kinky? I’m gonna show you kinky!” 

Richard positioned himself to mount her and decided he’d leave her panties on not just because she looked better in them, but because he thought they’d actually help in another way. When he’d first realized he wanted her, he’d actually almost immediately been let down. He’d seen from her stance there in the exhibit that actually “fucking” her was probably not going to be an option. Of course, really fucking her, or any mannequin, was never an option, for obvious reasons. What was an option, though, was intercrural sex, if the mannequin’s pose so permitted. Mannequin “fucking” was all about the thigh gap. One of his previous partners had had it and oh… lubed up it had been soooo good pumping away in that cleft and giving it to her! This young woman’s legs weren’t together at all, she’d been standing with some purpose, Richard had noticed, when she had been in the exhibit. Ms. Blaine’s shoving her hand in there had confirmed that. So, he’d have to settle for a plain-old dry-hump. Either way, he thought, ultimately it was just a matter of friction and looking into a beautiful face. And grabbing some fiberglass ass when…

Knowing that he wasn’t going to get to “fuck” her, he’d left his lube at home. So he spit in his hand and wet the underside of his erection, then repeated the same a couple of times, afterwards wiping his hand on the inside of her bunched-up dress. Leaning down and forward, and resting on one forearm, he maneuvered his stiffened penis under the panties which he’d pulled to the side a bit, and positioning it as centered between her legs as he could, slid himself between them and her pelvis. They were snug, and he sighed as the underside of his wet erection slid along the pretty woman’s smooth and now slippery pubic mound and the top of his member was caressed by the soft, clinging panties. He lowered himself onto both forearms, was pleased to find that he was able, just, to comfortably place his legs outside of hers, lamented slightly their height differential which would prevent him kissing her as he humped her, lowered his chest to hers (without pressing too hard against her) and his chin to the top of her head, took hold of shoulders (so she wouldn’t escape!) and began to gently move on her.

He sighed immediately, Oh, fuck, she felt good… The snug panties kept him tight against her pubis and his spit made her slick. He humped. Fuck, it was good! Hump, hump, hump, hump…He quickly got into a slow rhythm, careful not to pull too far back and pop out from beneath her underwear (which he realized felt wonderful against his glans as he thrust… a new sensation!) and to not put his weight down on her. She was strong, but she wasn’t designed to get fucked by a 6’4” lacrosse player and he didn’t want to put his 200 lbs. onto her, at least, not until he had too… but, shit, he thought, that might be really soon! His penis was responding far quicker than he’d thought it would and he realized it must be the panties keeping him there against her mound as he …. Oh, fuck, she felt so good!

Hump …  hump …  hump …  hump … hump … hump … hump ….

He wanted to go on and on and on, but he knew there was no time for it. It had to be a wham-bam-thank you-mam kind of date. Well, she was a mam, wasn’t she? My own little eighteenth-century MILF. So he sped up his thrusts, not wanting his spit to dry up before he could finish, but not wanting to cum too soon, either. He could always make more spit:

Hump, hump, hump, hump, hump,….

Ohhh -  hump, hump, hump; ohhaahhohhhhh – hump, hump, hump, hump, hump, hump; hump, hump, hump; Oh! Oh! Oh! OH, GOD!

He slowed down a bit, but it didn’t help control his excitement and he began to feel the tension in his whole body increase as his erection continued to rub, deliciously, back and forth against her, again, and again and again. Yeah…yeah…must go faster!

Humphumphumphumphumphumphumphumphump!

He raised himself up a bit, tried to look back under him to where he was making contact with her and he saw her panties bulging as his erection rammed forward against her! He settled back down over her, looked straight ahead, zoned out, and rode her even harder:

HUMPHUMPHIUMPHUMPHUMPHUMPHUMPHUMP!

He knew it couldn’t last. He shivered as he felt himself start to pre-cum, he could feel the added wetness on her mound and in the panties at the end of his stroke. He lifted himself up fully and pressed his hands flat on the floor at her shoulders, then dropped to his forearms  and wanted to thrust even harder, now only his penis and thighs making contact with his lover below him. His erection began to start popping out now above the elasticized top of her panties at the end of his forward thrusts, and they clutched at the edge of his head each time he drew his cock back…

Ohhhh, fuuuuuuuck! He thought. “Uuuuuuuaaaaaaahhhh,” he groaned out loud.

HUMPHUMPHUMPHUMPHUMP!

There was no one to overhear his pleasure as he banged her even harder. And then he just lost it. Still thrusting, but now awkwardly, as he hurriedly lowered himself again, this time fully atop her, sliding his hands under her body now and cupping her ass in his palms.. His weight now resting on her chest, and the backs of his forearms and hands, which he realized were, as was she, fortunately cushioned by his jacket and sweater against the hard floor of the storeroom, he buried his face into his jacket, the side of his chin now just touching the top of her head, still connecting… He pulled her body up slightly and back into his pounding pelvis, the firm, smooth curves of her buttocks nestling perfectly into his hands as thrust forward on her, over and over, unable to breath now with his face pressed down hard into his clothing, trying to go even faster, the length of his thrusts restrained by both her panties holding him tightly against her and by his balls now coming up, not entirely comfortably, against the bottom of her mound and top of her thighs each time as he slammed himself against her, the feeling of her boobs and her rough cotton dress now pressed against his bare chest and the insides of her arms contrasting with the feel of their bare thighs pressing and sliding together as he clutched at her and humped.

And then he could feel it was about to happen and he was suddenly just so happy and he “uhhh-ed” and “ahh-ed” with the last of his breath in time with his final few thrusts just as he reached the front edge of his orgasm and then he shuddered and came, spasming once, then again, ecstasy each, so, so hard, his head begging to swim, his erection sandwiched between their bellies both now being soaked further by the long warm, wet spurts of his semen. He lifted his head, sucking in air and thrusting harder, frantically, through all the new, extra wetness and now too his own weight pressing his pumping penis against her, the feeling so good, hard and fast, again and again and again, still so excited! Then he cried out, helplessly, an incoherent wail of surprise and joy that quickly turned to a confused groan as the unanticipated third and final spasm of his climax suddenly shook him with pleasure just as intense as had the first two but then also with a sudden slightly painful, aching spasm deep within his groin as his body strained and with a final automatic, instinctual effort sent the last of his seed spurting out across the belly of the young colonial woman beneath him and Richard at last was able to stop moving..

It was almost two weeks later when he couldn’t take it anymore. He absolutely had to have her again.

But there were then only two days left before he had to go back to school. He was working both of them, but there was no way he could take her after work again, like he had before. Last week after he’d fucked the snot out of her and had the best cum of his life, he’d rolled off her and then as he'd nestled against her with an arm draped over her chest, he’d fallen asleep for over an hour. By the time he’d gotten her cleaned up and back in her niche and gotten himself home, it had been late. Fortunately, his sister had gone out and his mother and father were watching a movie on TV so no one had asked him where he’d been. Nor had anyone questioned him the next day about why he’d clocked out so late. He was volunteering, part of the community service his mother pursued and had always encouraged both he and his sister to do and as a history major this was more in line with his interests than working in the thrift shop had been. There being no need for a paystub, he’d thought, probably accounted for that.

He hadn’t masturbated for three days after he’d fucked her. He actually hadn’t even felt horny. For the rest of that night and all through the next day, he’d felt so remarkably relaxed and calm in a way he’d never remembered having felt before. He’d wondered if the pain he’d felt as he’d shot his final load onto her had meant he’d “broken” something inside, but he thought it was just because he’d milked his orgasm for so long that he’d actually cum a second time, maybe? He’d never come that long before, he didn’t think. He’d certainly never cum twice before without stopping to rest, first. By the third day, he felt more or less himself, but was still just not horny. And that made him start to worry that maybe he really had done… something to his reproductive parts. But the fourth morning as soon as he’d woken up he’d felt horny and then he’d masturbated in the shower, quickly getting excited and even more quickly cumming hard and pain-free into his conditioner-slicked fist.

By lunchtime the next day, he was thinking of fucking her again. By the time he left work that Friday, he couldn’t stop thinking about fucking her again. That night he masturbated in his bed in the dark, desperately, not caring if his parents or sister, all still awake, heard his lube-wet hand working himself or the sounds of his bed creaking as he shuddered and thrust his hips in the midst of his orgasm.

After he’d cum, lingered in the afterglow, then cleaned himself up, he decided that he’d save the next one for her.

The day before his last day finally came. His last day they’d take him out to lunch he’d been told. So that had left only lunchtime today for a quicky with her. He’d often brought his lunch and would read a book rather than going out with colleagues, as much to save money as to read; he could do that at home, so staying behind today was nothing unusual. Everyone but one of the administrators was out for the lunch hour, from 1:00 to 2:00 when the Society was closed, and she was in the lunchroom and wouldn’t have any reason to visit the basement, or have any idea where he ought to be, not that there was any where he couldn’t be.  

As soon as his other colleagues had all left for lunch, Richard crept down to the basement. Just seeing the young colonial woman again for the first time since fucking her he was shocked at how strongly he felt… desire. Not so much simple attraction as he had before but a deep longing to have HER again, to have HER make him feel what he’d felt that time, to be with HER one more time. He knew it couldn’t be like that first time again, of course, not quite. But he was going to do her. He looked around and found a box of the right height, an armload of books, then a blanket, then two to drape over an antique upright bureau. Yes, this was going to work! He gently lifted the young colonial woman from her niche and holding her up against him gently kissed her for a minute, then two. Then he carried her the few steps to the bureau, turned her to face it and set her on the low box he’d placed in front of it. He was happy to see he’d been right about the height. He lifted her off the box and rested her against the wall. He adjusted one of the drawers in middle of bureau, placed books in it in such a way that it could not close, draped the blanket over the bureau, moved the box slightly and returned the mannequin to her platform and after making the slightest adjustment to the drawer and box, was satisfied with her positioning.

She was standing on the low box facing the blanket covered bureau, her back to him, leaning just slightly forward so she wouldn’t rock once he got started on her. The partially opened drawer rested against her stomach, keeping her breasts a few inches from the piece of furniture. It was a relatively stable position, so long as  Richard didn’t get too vigorous, and would leave her body fully accessible to his hands. He stepped up behind her, undid his belt, dropped his pants and briefs and taking the small bottle of lube he’d this time brought with him from home and had set atop the bureau, squired some in his hand and liberally lubed the underside of his penis which, being already semi-hard, quickly attained full erection, his motions almost like masturbating arousing him instantly. He replaced the lube bottle on the bureau, in reach in case he should need it again. Then as before, first employing the inside of his partner’s dress to wipe the clear liquid from his hand, he hiked up the rear of the young woman’s skirts and with them now resting on his forearm, found the bottom edge of her panties with his hand and while holding them out, with his other hand, using just two fingers so as not to wipe off any of the lube, guided his cock under the fabric and up against the indented butt-crack between her cheeks. Stepping forward slightly, his penis slid all the way up against her smoothness, nestled in the molded little valley the seemed so perfectly fitted to him, his head slipping just once above the waistband of her snug panties, just as he’d hoped it would

He took both his hands out from under the clothing, her skirts falling back partially between them, took hold of her hips, and began to thrust. His penis, slick on the bottom, slid effortlessly up and down in the cleft of her ass cheeks, her panties gently caressing its top as he slid beneath them, her heavy skirt pressing them down against him as he steadily pumped on her. He fucked her hard, smooth ass softly, almost tentatively, not yet going so far up her on his forward stroke to pop out the top of her panties, no, oh, no… not yet.

On top of the books he’d stacked in the lower drawer, held in place at the bottom by drawer’s blanket covered lip and its top edge resting against the blanket covered bureau’s top drawer, he’d placed a mirror which enabled him to see the young woman’s face as he fucked her from behind. He took her slowly, savoring the feeling of her cool, wet ass against is dick, her hips beneath his hands as he held her in place to accept his thrusts and watching the movement of her face in the mirror as he rode her.

He never took his eyes off her as fucked her, though he looked from her face in the mirror to the back of her head where the blond hair of her wig falling out below the edge of her bonnet in the back moved gently in time with his thrusts. Resisting the urge to slow down or even stop to prolong his pleasure, he moved his hands from her hips to her breasts, and leaning forward so he now hovered partly hunched over back he worked the box just a couple inches away from the bureau with his feet, still tangled in his pants, leaned the young woman slightly more forward, pulled the drawer out to account for her changed position (noting with satisfaction that the mirror slid down just a bit but stayed securely positioned) adjusted his feet, stepped himself forward a bit, and then shoved himself against her, hard, his pelvis now pressed into her butt, the head of his penis coming out from under the waistband of her panties and onto the small of her back.

Richard knew he had to finish now. He began to rapidly, then frantically, fuck her. He clenched her upper body between his forearms like a dog on a bitch as he grasped her breasts from beneath and now desperately worked his cock against her ass. Despite the strength of his thrusting, her panties’ snug waistband caressed him gently and the feel now too of the head of his penis seeking and with some thrusts succeeding in sliding between the tight dress and what, if anything, she wore beneath and her lower back. The feeling he was getting from his cock were extraordinary. She and her clothing completely surrounded him in sensations: wet, soft, smooth, rough, hard, yielding… and the feel of his pelvis slamming into the solidity of her buttocks with each thrust and the feel of her whole body in his arms jerking with him as he banged away at her was a new and remarkably satisfying experience, almost as though he was masturbating with his whole body. He knew he’d never be able to last at it and he didn’t. He took a last look at her face rocking in the mirror in time with his thrusts and still hunched over her, moved his hands back to her hips and began to move her, gently though, forward and back in time with his pumping penis.

And that’s all it took. His orgasm arrived almost immediately and only at the last minute did he realize that he might not be able to clean her if he unloaded on her with the tip of his cock all the up on the small of her back. So, stepping away from the bureau, he pulled her off the box and switching his hands from her hips once back to her breasts, he lifted and held her there from beneath them, almost vertically against his body, widening his stance slightly, then moving her up and down on his cock like he was jerking off with her while trying to continue his thrusting. He managed to stay like that, still driving his erection against her butt-crack and under her panties for the next few moments and then he just exploded there, silently, thrusting stopped, mouth agape, in one continuous, intense, shuddering, rush of blissful orgasmic release as he soaked her ass and panties and his now still penis with a week’s worth of pent-up seed in what felt to him like just one amazingly long, pulsating stream.

When he’d finished and began to catch his breath as he returned from the orgasmic haze that had overtaken him, he found her, for several moments, suspended in front of him, in no small part actually, by his still erect penis, trapped beneath her panties and the top of her skirts, her body just stabilized by his hands underneath her breasts. Standing there holding her, it was not lost on him that this had been the second time that his orgasms, both with her, had been just so much more in any way he could think of them than any he’d ever had in his hand.

He pulled off and away from her then, lifting her up as he withdrew from beneath her skirts, still mostly hard, red and glistening. Setting her again upon the box and the bureau as he fumbled to compose and dress himself he realized that of all things, he’d forgotten this time to bring anything with which to clean them up. Stepping up to her he lifted her skirts and on their lining wiped all the lube and cum off his penis and then did the same to his hands before pulling up his pants and buckling his belt. He quickly moved her then back against the wall where he’d rested her as he’d set her supports for their tryst. He looked at his watch and it was already 15 minutes to 2:00; he’d fucked her for far longer than he’d thought and he hadn’t yet cleaned her up! Having no choice, he rushed up the stairs, quickly looked around, then listened to be sure no one had returned, bolted for the maintenance closet, filled a bucket with water, grabbed some disinfectant spray, stumbled back down the stairs, lay the mannequin down, removed and pocketed her sodden panties, then frantically washed off all of the lube and cum with which he’d covered her. He then returned her to her niche, got all the cleaning supplies back into maintenance closet and took himself to the washroom to clean up. He was just exiting when the staff returned from lunch.

The rest of his day was uneventful. He did not feel though, anything like as calm and relaxed as he had after he’d fucked her the first time, though his experience had been nearly as profoundly orgasmic as had his first with her. He had to get her panties cleaned and back on (and he no idea how he’d manage that) if not, there was going to be a problem. Or was there?  The idea of being a panty thief was not one which he relished. Once his parents and sister had gone to bed, he'd quietly made his way to the laundry room and keeping the light off, as quietly as he could, ran the water in the sink and hand washed the panties, brought them back to his room and hung them in his closet to dry, out of sight but with the door open. They were dry in the morning and he put them in his jacket pocket and went off to work.

When he got to the Historical Society everything seemed fine. He finished up his tasks in the morning, and as he’d expected, he and the staff went out to lunch as he and a couple other volunteers were headed back to school. That afternoon when they all returned he didn’t have any tasks and Mrs. Blaine and other administrators had a meeting off in the office wing, so he simply went down to the storage room, again gently laid the colonial woman on the floor replaced her panties, and returned her to her niche,

He’d done it, and no one had been the wiser. He began to feel… pretty darn good.

He went home. Had dinner with his parents and sister. Packed up his stuff for school. Later that  night in bed feeling content and, yes, a little bit horny, he put down his book, clicked off his light pulled down his sheet and comforter and then his boxers to masturbate one last time in his own bed. Reaching into his nightstand drawer he suddenly had a terrible, sinking feeling…

Where the fuck was his little bottle of lube?