Missionary's Solitary Pleasure

The relentless African sun beat down on the mission compound, a constant reminder of the isolation I felt. Amsterdam, with its bustling streets and endless entertainment, seemed a distant, almost unreal memory. My days were filled with routine, punctuated only by the occasional visit from our benefactor, Mr. Henderson, and the monotony of my work. But within this quiet existence, a strange, unexpected pleasure began to blossom – a liberation of my own sexuality, fueled by boredom and a desperate need for connection. The lack of readily available distractions, like the endless streams of pornography I was accustomed to in the city, forced me to confront my desires head-on, leading me to explore the depths of my own pleasure.

It all started with a story I stumbled upon in my inbox, sent by Mr. Henderson himself. It was titled “Tearing Down the Fence,” and it depicted a woman navigating the complexities of marriage while expanding her understanding of her own sensuality through self-exploration. The narrative resonated deeply within me, particularly the concept of gratitude for the man God had provided. I found myself captivated by the idea of honoring my husband, Hans, through intimate moments, and the suggestion of mutual self-pleasure ignited a spark within me. As I watched Hans diligently working on his literacy mission, assisting the local children, my thoughts inevitably turned to my own needs, and the desire to expand my boundaries grew stronger. The more I observed his dedication, his tireless work ethic, the more intensely I felt the pull towards exploring my own body, pushing the limits of my comfort, and embracing the freedom of sexual expression. It was as if his very essence, his quiet strength and unwavering commitment, fueled my own burgeoning desire.

That evening, after Hans had left for the night, I found myself drawn to my vanity, the scent of his aftershave still clinging to the air. My skirt had slipped down my waist, revealing the lace trim of my underwear, and my hand instinctively moved to caress my breasts, lightly squeezing my nipples. The aroma of my arousal filled the room, a heady mix of sweat and anticipation. I continued to watch Hans through the window, his silhouette a dark outline against the fading light. But as my body responded to my own touch, my focus shifted inward, lost in the sensations of my own pleasure.

A wave of inhibition washed over me, but this time, it didn't hold me back. Instead, it fueled my determination to explore, to learn, to become comfortable with my desires. I wanted to connect with Hans on a deeper level, to share this newfound freedom with him, and experience the joy of shared intimacy. The thought of him working tirelessly, providing for us, and still managing to find moments of pleasure within himself was both intoxicating and inspiring.

As I continued my self-exploration, my body grew increasingly aroused. My pussy grew wet, and I felt a surge of excitement as I moved my hand inside my sex-soaked panties, feeling the rough texture of the fabric against my skin. The scent of my arousal intensified, adding another layer of pleasure to the experience. My mind raced with fantasies, fueled by the sight of Hans at work, his dedication and strength a constant source of stimulation.

Suddenly, I realized I was on the verge of an orgasm. I slowed down my movements, savoring each sensation, allowing myself to fully immerse in the moment. As my body reached its peak, I pulled my panties off my face and crumpled them, pressing them against my pulsating pussy. The damp fabric clung to my skin, intensifying the feeling of arousal. I wanted my panties to reek even more of my scent, a tangible reminder of my own pleasure.

After the wave of intense pleasure subsided, I settled down, a sense of calm washing over me. It was then that I realized what I truly desired – to be perpetually horny just by witnessing Hans working, to find satisfaction in his dedication and hard work. It wasn’t about the act itself, but the feeling it evoked within me, a primal connection to his essence.

The next evening, Hans arrived home late, his clothes covered in dust and sweat. The literacy mission had demanded a great deal of his time, and he looked weary but satisfied. As he set about his tasks, preparing dinner and going over his lesson plans, I couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation.

I was sitting on the couch, listening to the tick-tock of the clock, my eyes glued to Hans as he worked. I watched his focused expression, his determined movements, and a wave of intense arousal washed over me. Without thinking, I slipped my fingers under my skirt, my hand instinctively moving to caress my pussy. The feeling was undeniable, a potent combination of desire and admiration.

As I continued my self-pleasure, I thought about how fortunate I was to have such a hardworking and devoted husband. His father, a man of similar unwavering dedication, and his own relentless work ethic filled me with a strange kind of jealousy. But I knew that my love for Hans was genuine, rooted in his strength, his compassion, and his unwavering commitment to both his work and his family.

The more I watched him, the more intense my arousal became. I found myself drawn to his back, his broad shoulders, and the power in his physique. I wanted to feel his strength, his energy, his very presence. As my body reached its peak, I realized I couldn’t contain my desires any longer.

“How is the work going?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“Not too bad,” he replied, without looking up from his papers. “What are you doing?”

“I’m masturbating while watching you work,” I confessed, unable to conceal my excitement.

He paused, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You are one horny girl, Jenne,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“You are one hard working man,” I responded, my voice laced with a playful challenge.

“I thought you said you hated working so much,” he pointed out, a curious expression on his face.

“You do and don’t stop; you drive me crazy watching you work,” I admitted, letting my body relax further, succumbing to the intense pleasure.

“Jenne, I do not understand a woman,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “How can you hate and love the same thing?”

“It's complicated,” I replied, my gaze locked on his back.

As if sensing my intentions, Hans slowly turned around, his gaze meeting mine. And there it was – the bulge in his trousers, a silent invitation that sent shivers down my spine.

“I want you to come over here and pound me,” I commanded, my voice filled with a desperate longing. “After you cum, I want you to suck me clean. Then I want you to go right back to your work. I do not even want to be kissed tonight.”

Without hesitation, I pulled my skirt down, my legs spread wide, offering myself completely. Hans didn't waste a second, reaching for me and plunging deep into my waiting cavity. The pleasure was immediate and overwhelming, a torrent of sensation that left me breathless. I arched my back, intensifying the experience, allowing myself to be consumed by the moment.

As Hans continued his assault, I focused on the rhythm, the heat, the sheer intensity of the act. My body writhed in ecstasy, lost in the pleasure of his touch. And as he reached climax, I let out a moan of pure release, surrendering to the moment.

After his load had been deposited, Hans pulled away, his face flushed with exertion. He stood up, brushing himself off, and moved to sit next to me, a silent invitation to continue. But I declined, rising to my feet and heading back to my room, leaving Hans to return to his work. As I closed the door behind me, I knew that this experience had changed me, opening my mind and body to a new level of pleasure and desire. I had found a way to connect with Hans on a deeper level, to share in his dedication and hard work, and to experience the joy of shared intimacy. And as I slipped back into bed, exhausted but satisfied, I couldn't help but smile, knowing that my life in South Africa was far from monotonous.

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