Damon lay back on his bed, the blue pool light still cutting a thin stripe across the dark room. His pants were already shoved down around his thighs, with his cock standing rigid and leaking in his fist.
The phone rested on the pillow beside him, screen glowing, playing some random MILF porn at low volume — wet sounds, breathy moans, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin.
The background noise was just a perfect sound stimulator.
He started stroking slowly at first, eyes half-lidded, replaying the window scene in his head with Camila standing there in that white blouse and pale green skirt, tugging it down over her ass.
The memory of that blue lace thong he’d seen for those few seconds, framing her round cheeks, made his hand speed up.
But his mind didn’t stay there long.
The plain window version got erased, overwritten by something hotter his imagination cooked up in seconds:
Now she was bent over her makeup table with her green skirt shoved up to her waist with her ripe round ass pushed back toward him to fuck her from behind.
Camila, his mother’s assistant, the hit mature woman from the second floor, offering herself in his imagination like she knew exactly what he wanted.
In that fantasy he didn’t bother taking her panties off. No time for that.
This was a quick, desperate fuck she had just begged him:
He just hooked two fingers under the blue lace and yanked it roughly to the side exposing her puffy; a shaved mound and the wet pink folds of her honeyed cave beneath.
In his mind, Damon slid his cock deep in her on the first thrust and buried to the hilt in her tight, wet soft sheath.
"Fuck..." he breathed out loud, his hand pumping faster.
His hands roamed up her body in the fantasy before he grabbed her heavy D-cup tits from behind, squeezing the soft flesh, then pinching her hard nipples between his fingers and tugging just enough to make her gasp.
She’ll then push back harder against him and he’ll slap her fat wobbly ass with his other hand — sharp, loud cracks that made the soft cheeks ripple and jiggle.
Once. Twice. The third slap landed harder.
The instant he does it, her puffy mound would clench around him like a velvet fist before her soft inner walls squeezes and flutteres along every inch of his cock, gripping him so tight it felt like she was trying to milk him dry on the spot.
The sensation in his head was so vivid his real cock twitched hard in his grip.
He groaned deep in his throat, hips bucking up into his own fist. "Shit— Camila—"
The fantasy kept going:
He kept pounding her from behind, skirt bunched at her waist, panties shoved aside, one hand mauling her tits while the other kept slapping that fat ass. Every thrust would make her moan his name like she couldn’t help it. Every slap would make her pussy clamp down tighter.
The porn on his phone kept playing — some older woman getting railed on a couch — but it was just noise now. Background. Damon had stopped getting off to actual porn a long time ago. It was always the same scripted shit, the same angles, the same fake moans. Boring. Predictable.
But imagination? That was infinite.
Especially when the real inspiration lived right upstairs in the same house.
Camila was the perfect example; his mother’s assistant, always around and always in those tight skirts and low blouses. Two years of daily jerk-off sessions fueled by stolen glances and moments exactly like the one at the window.
That was two years of experience talking right now.
His hand moved faster, slick with pre-cum.
The fantasy hit its peak — her pussy squeezing him hard as he slapped her ass one more time and buried himself deep.
"Fuuuuck—"
The groan tore out of him as he came. Thick ropes of cum shot across his stomach and chest, pulsing hard with every spurt.
His body jerked, back arching off the bed before he collapsed backward, chest heaving, hand still loosely wrapped around his twitching cock, the phone kept playing beside him with the MILF moaning in the background like it knew exactly what had just happened.
Damon stared up at the dark ceiling, breathing ragged, cum cooling on his skin. A lazy, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips.
’Yeah. Imagination beats porn every single time.’
It was strange, wasn’t it?
The whole thing had started back in school:
Every time Damon caught sight of one of the hot female teachers with the tight blouses and skirts that hugged their ass curves just right — his cock would go instantly rigid with no warning or control.
Just that sudden, throbbing hardness that refused to go down.
The first week he’d tried resisting. It worked for a little while:
He’d grit his teeth, think about anything else, cross his legs under the desk and pray.
But by week two the resistance turned into real pain of a deep, aching throb in his groin that wouldn’t quit.
Endless pulsing that made it impossible to focus.
He’d had no choice but to slip into the bathrooms between classes, lock the stall, and jerk off as quietly as he could just to get relief after he learnt how to.
From then on it became a rule he couldn’t break. If he missed his daily "quarter" — that quick, necessary session — the pain would come back sharp and cruel, groin aching, with his cock throbbing nonstop until he finally gave in.
After five months of this secret routine he’d naively brought it up with his mother.
’The conversation had been mortifying thing I have ever done.’
His face had burnt with cracking voice, he’d tried to explain the random pain and the constant need without sounding like a complete pervert. She’d gone pale, then straight into mom-mode of doctor visits, specialists, blood tests.
’Every kind of check-up imaginable.’
To everyone’s surprise, the results came back clean every single time:
Damon was perfectly healthy with now medical condition whatsoever or hormone imbalance.
Nothing wrong with his body at all.
The doctors had even noted, with a touch of awkward humor, that he was "as good as a virgin" — his cock showed zero signs of wear despite the daily masturbation for five straight months. He never ran out of cum either.
It was weird to think about, let alone say out loud, but it was the truth.
Even now, at eighteen, he was still perfectly healthy.
His body just... kept producing.
Kept demanding.
His mother had wanted to keep pushing for more hospitals and specialists before Damon lied a week later, telling her in a surprised voice that he was perfectly fine now, the pain had stopped.
She’d been so relieved she hadn’t questioned it since then.
’One year and seven months later I am still going at it every single day.’
And the strange part? It had never gotten less pleasurable. If anything, it kept getting better. Stronger. More intense. His cock had even grown two full inches from its original seven, making him a solid nine-incher now.
He was quietly proud of that, even if he’d never say it out loud.
The daily release had become more than habit. It was necessary. And with real women like Camila walking around the house in those skirts and blouses, the fuel for his imagination never ran out... if it did, there was Onlyfans and he had money although he refused to buy sex.
Especially not for his first time!
Damon sighed, the post-orgasm haze settling heavy over him. He reached over, cleaned himself, closed the phone screen, and let the random MILF porn cut off mid-moan. The room fell quiet except for the faint hum of the mansion’s systems.
He closed his eyes.
And fell into oblivion.
Damon jolted upright like someone had electrocuted his balls.
[DING! DING! DING!]