Masturbation Monday: Retrieval Mishap

Welcome to another entry for Masturbation Monday! I hope you’ve enjoyed the short stories I’ve shared here and that you’ll continue to visit. A bastard ex-husband sends in a retrieval expert to get his signed Babe Ruth baseball. It’s not where it’s supposed to be and… well, read and find out what happens.

I watched as I took slow, deep breaths, through the slats of the closet door. I had watched and waited for three weeks before pulling this job. I would’ve waited another three weeks but the husband was adamant that I get his signed Babe Ruth’s baseball back right fucking now. I added another twenty-five percent onto my fee. I was still shocked that he agreed to it. The idiot was really freaked that she was going to sell it before he could get the courts to divvy up their property.

So, here I was, stuck in the fucking closet on a Tuesday fucking afternoon. The last two Tuesdays had proven perfect. Unfortunately, the pattern hadn’t kept. For the last two weeks, I’d been watching Sasha as she left for work, ran errands, and returned home. I had detailed notes.

Now I was a fuck-up away from being caught.

She’d come home not ten minutes after I finished searching the rest of the house for his precious baseball. It hadn’t been in the office where he told me, but I could see it from the closet. It was sitting on top of the dresser. Sasha stood in the center of the room, a hand on her hip, her head cocked slightly to the side as if she were listening. And she probably was listening. For signs of an intruder.

The locks were easy to pick. The house alarm had been laughingly simple. But now there she stood, sure she’d heard someone. I knew there wasn’t a scent trail. I had no cologne, no scented soaps, no scented laundry detergents. She must have heard the closet door slide closed, but perhaps not. She hadn’t checked in here yet.

Sasha shrugged, shook her head as if clearing her mind. The strawberry curls bounced as she shed her suit jacket and tossed it to a chair. Then came the blouse. She stripped off her work pants as if she knew someone was watching. Sasha bent – folded herself in half almost as she lowered the waist of her pants. I gulped, my mouth opened and I took a breath.

A loud breath according to my ears.

In moments, she was stark naked. Her skin was that pure alabaster. It looked like cream, smooth and freckle-free. I couldn’t believe it. Not a freaking mark. I rubbed my chest when I realized my heart was pounding like an out of control drummer.

Sasha rubbed her breasts, a thoughtful look on her face. They were full and the nipples perked right up. I licked my lips. I shouldn’t be watching this. It was stupid. I should close my eyes and go into a meditative rest. I should wait until she’s gone to grab the ball. What if she wasn’t leaving anytime soon? Unless she had already eaten, I was fairly sure I wouldn’t be stuck in the closet all night.

I couldn’t stop watching though. My eyes wanted to take in every inch of her. I had wondered if she was a natural strawberry blonde and the proof was right there, trimmed neatly between her muscled thighs. Harley had warned me she was an excellent shot and I had seen the targets downstairs stuck to a cork board to prove it.

Sasha rubbed the back of her neck, then slid her hands back to her breasts. She pinched her nipples and I wondered if she was biting back a moan with the way her teeth sunk into her lower lip. I wanted to bite her lip and her nipples, her neck and her thighs. My pants were getting uncomfortable. She wasn’t close enough to hear me breathe but she may be close enough to hear me adjust myself. I needed her to move further away.

I tried to focus better on my breathing to control my cock but it wasn’t having any of it. When Sasha stepped closer to the closet, I almost gave myself away by rearing back. Years of hard-earned self-control kept me from moving, kept me from breathing. Then she paused, snapped her fingers as if remembering something, and walked back to the dresser.

She bent over and I unzipped my pants.

My cock felt much better now that it was free of the tight confines. I wanted to suck, lick, and bite her on that white ass of hers. I wanted to know how many smacks it would take before turning cherry red. Probably not that many. I wondered how many smacks she could take before begging me to stop.

She pulled out a box from the bottom drawer and set it on the bed. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but her moans drove my pulse through the roof. I was breathing harder now, but she was all the way across the room. My cock pulsed with need while I watched. I wrapped my hand around my cock and squeezed rhythmically.

When Sasha turned around, she had nipple clamps on. I almost lost my load on her closet door then and there. I clamped my lips together and breathed in deep. The scent of her detergent filled my sinuses and I breathed out slow, counting as I went. I hoped not to sneeze because that would be bad.

When she laid back on the bed, heels on the edge, thighs spread wide open, my heart tried to fly out of my chest. She caressed her thighs and rubbed her hips, which caused her legs to widen even more. After a few moments, she put her hand in the little box and pulled out a toy. “Oh, yeah, now we’re getting somewhere.” I barely breathed.

She turned it on and placed it against her pussy, pressing it where her clit hid. A moan that sounded like relief swept through her. I watched as her pussy grew moist and started to glisten. The sounds coming from Sasha grew louder, I could see her head thrashing back and forth, the nails of her free hand dug into her thigh. I stroked faster as she slid the toy down and fed it to her sopping wet hole.

The nipple clamps came off one at a time.

Sasha was thrashing on the bed, moaning loud enough to annoy the neighbors if any had been home. She rocked back and forth, nails digging into her side, her breast, and back to her thigh. I grunted, biting my lower lip and coated her door in white streams. I placed my arm against the door jam and watched while she caught her breath. Sweat had soaked through my t-shirt. I kept watching as she calmed and put my clothes back together.

Sasha stood and cleaned her toy. Everything went back into the box and then she bent over showing off that apple-bottom ass again to put it back in the bottom drawer. I watched while she walked over and paused in front of the closet. I held my breath and stared at the nipple I could see through the slats. After a few moments, she continued into the bathroom and closed the door.

I heard the shower turn on and music followed. As soon as I heard the change in the water, I slipped out of the closet, strode over to the dresser and grabbed the Babe Ruth ball. As I left the bedroom, I heard the bathroom door open and I froze on the stairs trying to listen but I couldn’t tell where Sasha was in the room. Taking a chance, I went as quickly as possible down the stairs and out the back door.

I pulled out my cell phone and texted the bastard that I had the ball. I’d wait a few weeks and keep watching Sasha, bump into her a few times, and then ask her out.

Sometimes what someone tossed away was another person’s treasure.

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