My Friend Caught Me Masturbating on Her Sofa

I’m going to tell you about something that happened to me quite a few years ago and that, for no reason I can explain, came back into my head last week and hasn’t left me alone since. I’ve gone over it so many times that I decided to write it down here, hoping that by getting it out I’ll stop reliving it every night before I close my eyes.

At the time, I was doing a distance-learning master’s degree, and when the final exams came around I had to take the train to Barcelona to sit them in person. The schedules were spread over two days, so I needed to stay there overnight. Luckily, I had a friend, Carla, who lived in the Sant Antoni area. I called her a week beforehand, explained the situation, and without thinking twice she told me she had a spare sofa and that it would be absurd for me to spend money on a hostel when I could use hers.

Before I go on, I should say something about Carla, because without that context the rest won’t make sense.

Our friendship had never been entirely innocent. One night, several years before that trip, we went out with a group to a club near the port and got spectacularly drunk, the kind of drunkenness that leaves a permanent mark on your résumé. According to what I was told the next day, we had been flirting all night and ended up both in the upstairs bathroom. There, also according to her, she unzipped me, pulled out my cock, and got down on her knees to suck me all the way down. I say “according to her” because my memory of that night is practically a black hole. I remember the first drink, I remember going up the stairs, and not much else. The joke became a permanent fixture between us.

Nothing similar ever happened again. Whenever one of us was single, the other was in a relationship, and vice versa. But the tension was still there, right on the surface, showing itself whenever we let our guard down a little. Every so often the bathroom episode would come up, and I would lament not remembering it while she took great pleasure in saying that it was a real shame, because she knew perfectly well what she had been doing, that she had sucked me eagerly, and that mine, she always added with a mocking smile, had been much more to her liking than it should have been. “You had a gorgeous cock, man,” she told me once in front of another friend, laughing her head off. “Too bad you didn’t know about it.”

With that said, I arrived in Barcelona first thing in the morning. I spent the whole day shut inside a windowless classroom, with my mind everywhere except on the exam, and afterward I went with two classmates to have a beer at the first bar we found. The conversation was the usual one among defeated students: discussing the questions, realizing the blunders we had made, and cursing the day we had enrolled.

I reached Carla’s place around nine. When she opened the door, she gave me a long hug, one of those that lasts a second longer than good manners recommend. She smelled of a different perfume than the one I remembered. She was wearing a very tight pair of cotton shorts, so short that the crease of her ass showed beneath them, and an old T-shirt with the logo of a band that no longer existed, without a bra. Her hard nipples were perfectly visible through the thin fabric. She had ordered pizzas, brought out two cold beers, and put on some soft music in the background. We ate at the low table in the living room while talking about family, my master’s degree, her new job at an advertising agency, and a thousand silly things I no longer remember. It was an easy, comfortable conversation. And yet, every so often, there would be a silence that weighed a little too heavily, and I couldn’t stop looking at her tits whenever she leaned over to take another slice.

When the clock passed midnight, I told her I was exhausted and would rather go to bed early. We half-cleared the plates and she handed me a couple of sheets and a pillow. The guest bed—as she had warned me by text—was the living-room sofa. I didn’t mind. Anything horizontal was a luxury after the day I’d had.

I changed clothes, opened my laptop to check an email from work, and when I looked up she was already leaning against the hallway doorframe, wearing her pajamas. Short pajamas too, with shorts and a camisole, leaving her legs bare all the way up.

—Good night —I said.

—Sleep well, handsome. —She smiled in that way I had never quite learned to read—. And hey, don’t forget tomorrow’s syllabus; we both know your head has a certain tendency to forget important things…

My face must have been a picture. Without asking permission, the frayed images of that night in the club bathroom began appearing in order. Her knee on the floor. Her hair tied up in a bun that was coming undone. Her hand on my thigh. My cock going in and out of her mouth. A low laugh between sucks. I had spent years trying to reconstruct that scene, and at that exact moment my brain decided to cooperate.

—Don’t be naughty; you have a partner —I managed to answer.

—I’m not being naughty. I’m just stating the obvious. Kiss you, sleepyhead.

She went into her room and closed the door with a soft click.

I was left alone in the living room, the desk lamp on and an erection I couldn’t justify any other way. My cock was hard as a rock beneath the thin pajama fabric, throbbing against it. There was no way I could read the email. There was no way I could think about anything else. My mind kept going back to that bathroom, to that knee on the floor, to a sensation I didn’t remember but that my body seemed to have filed away somewhere: her lips closing around my glans, her tongue working underneath it, saliva running down her chin.

***

I tried. I switched off the desk lamp and lay on my back. I counted to a hundred. I counted to two hundred. I imagined the next morning’s exam, the pages of the syllabus, the names of the authors I had reviewed on the train. Nothing worked. My cock wouldn’t go down. On the contrary, every time my hip rubbed against the fabric, it got even harder, until the tip began soaking through my pajama pants from all the pre-cum.

With the utmost care, I pulled my pants down to my knees. The cold sofa fabric against my bare ass sent a shiver through me. I spat into my hand and gripped my cock at the base, squeezing it. I started jerking off slowly, hardly moving, alert to every sound from the hallway, sliding the foreskin up and down, feeling my glans swell and turn purple with every stroke. For a moment I tried to convince myself I was going to stop right away, that I only needed to ease the tension, come quickly, and go to sleep. But my mind wouldn’t let up. It stayed in the club bathroom, on her unraveling bun, on how I must have pushed my cock all the way to her throat, on a laugh I could only hear in fragments.

I closed my eyes. I sped up. I ran my thumb over my glans, smearing it with the sticky fluid that kept leaking from me, and went down again with my hand closed tight. In the silence of the living room, my own breathing sounded far too loud. So did the noise of my hand pumping my slippery cock. I thought my friend might hear me, and instead of stopping, that thought was what finally pushed me over the edge. I fantasized about her peeking out, opening the door without warning, finding me like that, my hard cock in my hand and my cum about to spill out. It would be humiliating. It would be ridiculous. And yet it was the only thing I could think about. I imagined that instead of scolding me, she would kneel between my legs, push my hand away, and take my entire cock into her mouth, just like that night I couldn’t remember.

I opened my eyes to shift position, and something in the room didn’t fit. It took me a second to process what. There was a silhouette in the entrance to the living room that hadn’t been there before.

Carla, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, wearing her usual pajamas, staring at me without blinking. Staring at my cock in my hand, swollen, glistening with saliva and fluid, pointing directly at her.

My heart gave a hard thump in my chest. I wanted to pull up the sheet, cover myself, stammer out any excuse that might work. I did none of those things. I remained motionless, my hand still closed around my cock, trying to make out in the half-light whether the expression on her face was anger, embarrassment, or something else I didn’t dare name.

She wasn’t angry. I understood that after a few seconds, when I saw her shift her weight slightly, uncross her arms, and let her eyes drop without disguising it. She wasn’t looking at my face. She was looking at my hard cock between my fingers, without taking her eyes off it, her mouth slightly open.

—Keep going —she said very softly, almost a whisper—. I didn’t see you stop.

I swallowed. My hand moved on its own, slowly, unwilling to break the moment. I began stroking up and down again, very slowly, feeling the foreskin pull back to expose the glans and then cover it again. I watched her walk through the darkness of the living room and sit at the other end of the sofa, her legs tucked up and her shorts riding high enough to nearly show me her groin. She switched on the little lamp beside the table, just enough for us to see each other’s faces. And enough for her to see my cock perfectly illuminated, without shadows.

—It’s exactly the way I remembered it —she murmured, without blinking—. Even bigger. Fuck, what a cock. No wonder I couldn’t get it out of my mouth that night.

I couldn’t speak. Testosterone had disconnected me from language. I sped up without thinking, almost on reflex, and then she raised her hand and placed it on my wrist to slow me down.

—Slowly —she asked—. I’m in no hurry, and neither are you. I was going to get some water and almost went straight back to bed without looking out here. Good thing I didn’t.

I nodded. It was all I could do.

—Slower. I want to look properly. I want to watch you work yourself.

***

I obeyed. I shifted to a rhythm that was almost a caress, squeezing hard at the base, moving up to the head and then slowly back down, trying to hold out past the limit that was already upon me. Carla bit her lower lip and leaned a little closer, her back bent toward me. She smelled of the same different perfume from dinner, mixed with something else, something darker and more intimate that rose from beneath it. Her pupils were dilated, and her nipples showed through the camisole, so hard they lifted the fabric.

—My God —she said, almost to herself—. What a shame I can’t suck you now like I did that night. Though look, I almost prefer it this way. I want to watch you. I want to keep this image. I want to give you a memory that won’t vanish the way the other one did. Show me how you jerk off when you’re alone. Stop for a moment.

I stopped. My cock throbbed in my hand without being touched, so tense it hurt. My body trembled from the effort of not coming right there. She leaned even closer, until her face was barely a foot from my cock, and without warning let a generous amount of saliva fall from above, a thick strand landing directly on the glans and running down the entire shaft. Then she leaned back again, perfectly calm, as if she had just handed me a glass of water.

—Keep going. Spread it around properly. Imagine I’m the one sucking you. Imagine that night. This time you can’t forget.

I closed my hand around my cock, wet with her saliva, and started again, now with a wet, obscene sound that filled the entire living room. My fist slid from the base to the head without any resistance. Carla watched me with her mouth half open, breathing hard through her nose and squeezing her thighs together.

—That’s it, you filthy boy, just like that. Jerk it for me. I want to see you come —she whispered—. Tell me what you think about when you jack off.

—Your mouth —I blurted out without thinking—. That night. Shoving it down your throat.

—Good boy. —She smiled crookedly—. I remember too. I remember how I drooled, how the saliva ran down my chin, how you shoved it in until I almost threw up. I swallowed the whole thing that night, man. The whole thing.

—I’m going to come —I whispered, my voice breaking.

—Not yet. Stand up. Stand right here in front of me.

I stood up. My legs were shaking more than I was willing to admit. I ended up in front of her, stiff as a candle, my pants around my ankles and my cock pointing toward the ceiling, shiny and throbbing, with a fat drop of fluid hanging from the head. It felt unreal, as though I were living through something that only ever happened to other people. Carla looked up at me with the same expression someone might wear while gazing at a forbidden dessert in a shop window.

—Pull the whole foreskin back. I want to see it free, with nothing covering it.

I did. I pulled the skin all the way down, leaving the glans a foot from her face, purple, swollen, and dripping. And then she did something I haven’t been able to erase from my mind since that night. She leaned in very slowly, without touching me with her hands, and placed her nose against my cock, just beneath the glans. She didn’t touch me with her lips or her tongue. She only breathed. Deeply and slowly, sliding her nose along the entire length down to my balls and back up again, as if she wanted to memorize a scent. Her breathing quickened. One of her hands slipped beneath the shorts of her pajamas, and from the wet sound I knew perfectly well what she was doing. She was rubbing her soaked pussy while she smelled my cock.

—Fuck, you smell exactly the same as you did that night —she said thickly, her nose still pressed to my balls—. Like sweaty cock, like semen about to come out. I don’t know why it drives me so crazy. But it does. I’m dripping, man. Touch me here if you don’t believe me.

I ran my hand over the back of her neck, not daring to do more. She took it and pushed it inside her shorts. My fingers sank straight into a soaked, swollen pussy, her clitoris hard as a marble. She moved against my hand while continuing to breathe in the scent of my cock an inch away.

—Keep going with your cock —she panted—. Keep jerking it in my face, right here. I’ll take care of myself.

I resumed the movement with my other hand, this time without holding back, almost brushing her cheek with the head. Every two or three strokes, a drop escaped and landed on her chin, her lip, or her nose. Carla closed her eyes and stopped talking. Her other hand clutched the sofa cushion while mine worked between her legs, pushing two fingers all the way inside her and pulling them out soaked in her juices. She was so wet that it made a sound, a sticky, filthy noise that mixed with the sound of my fist on my cock. She began moaning softly, restraining herself out of habit, trying not to wake anyone in a building that was already asleep. I heard her panting, contracting around my fingers, curling in on herself with a long shudder, biting the back of her other hand so she wouldn’t scream as she came. I felt the walls of her pussy squeezing my fingers in spasms, one after another, while her mouth remained open against my thigh, breathing as if she had just gone running. I wanted to tear off her shirt, I wanted to lay her down on the sofa and fuck her, I wanted to sit on her face, I wanted a thousand things I didn’t dare do either.

When she caught her breath, she looked up at me with glassy eyes, my fingers still inside her. She pulled my hand out and sucked my fingers one by one, cleaning them of her own juices while staring fixedly at me. Then she brought both hands together at chest height, forming a bowl, and smiled crookedly.

—Here. Empty yourself here. I want to watch it fall. Don’t you dare fill my face, though; I have a presentation with the director tomorrow, and I’m not showing up with marks from your semen on my skin.

I laughed, or rather made a sound that resembled laughter. I gripped my cock with both hands and sped up. I barely lasted a few more seconds before exploding. I felt the first jet shoot out with enough force to nearly double me over, a thick white stream landing squarely in her cupped palms. Then another, and another, and another. I emptied myself in long spasms, unable to stop, over her cupped hands, onto the pajama shirt at the level of her cleavage, across the backs of her fingers; even a few drops reached her chin. More than I would have thought possible. Her eyes were wide with fascination, her mouth half open, a smile revealing everything.

—I told you not to fill my face —she murmured, looking at her overflowing hands—. You’re a disaster. Look what you’ve done to me.

—Sorry —I managed to say, nearly voiceless now, my cock still throbbing between my fingers and dribbling the last drops.

—Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.

Carla stood up slowly, keeping her hands together so she wouldn’t lose anything along the way. She brought one wet finger to her mouth and sucked it slowly, closing her eyes for a second as she savored me. Then she ran her tongue across one of her palms with such shamelessness that it left me stunned, licking up the semen in long strokes. Without taking her eyes off me, she went to the bathroom, licking her lips. I dropped back onto the sofa. The living room was dim, the little lamp was still on, my cock was still half-hard on my thigh, and my body was spent. I felt as though I had been outside myself for an entire hour, though no more than fifteen minutes had passed on the clock.

When she came back from the bathroom, wearing a different shirt and with her face washed, she stopped for a moment in front of the sofa, bent down, gave me a brief kiss at the corner of my mouth that tasted faintly of me, winked, and with a calmness I had never heard from her before, wished me luck on the exam the next morning.

—We’ll talk about this another day. Next time you can eat me out, and maybe I’ll let you repeat what happened in the bathroom. Now go to sleep, you filthy boy.

And she went into her room without another word.

It took me quite a while to come down. That night I discovered how much it turned me on to be watched while I jerked off, an idea I had carried inside me without ever giving it a name. And I also discovered that there was a conversation pending between Carla and me that went far beyond the bathroom in that club.

But that part, if I’m allowed, I’ll tell another day.