One of my favorite things to do is to watch Molly make herself come. Although sometimes she pretends to be shy about it, she likes me to watch. Maybe it even helps her get off.

The first time she did it we were at her parents’ house. We weren’t married yet. In fact, that afternoon we’d told her parents we planned to get married in a year. They were very happy for us. They ordered pizza for carry out, and while her dad was picking it up, Molly showed me her bedroom.

No sooner had we climbed the stairs and entered her bedroom than I whispered, “I want to fuck you in your little girl bed.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be right.”

“Why not?”

“It just wouldn’t, okay?”

“Okay, then show me how you used to touch yourself.”

“I can’t.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Pretty please with sugar on top.”

She relented. “Stand in front of the door,” she told me.

“Why?”

“In case my mom comes up. You can keep her from coming in.”

“Would she come up?”

“No, but just in case.”

I stood in front of the door. Molly took off her clothes. She rummaged in her dresser and found what looked like a very short skirt. “My old sleeping pants,” she said.

She stepped into the pants and lay on her bed on her back, her head on one of the pillows. The other pillow she placed between her legs.

“Sometimes I’d just squeeze the pillow,” she said. She demonstrated, but only for a few seconds. “Is that enough?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “Did you do that until you...?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “I’d usually have the covers over me, but I don’t want to mess up the bed.”

“What would you think of while you were doing it?”

Molly frowned.

“Tell me.”

“I will. I’m trying to remember.”

“I think you remember.”

“Okay. I thought of cocks. Of boys touching their cocks. Stroking them. Big and hard.”

I unzipped my pants. My cock was big and hard. “Does this help?” I said.

“Uh huh,” Molly said. Her hand moved between her legs, pushing the tiny pajama skirt away. She moaned. The pillow fell away.

Mostly she used two fingers, pressed tight together, rubbing to the top and sides of her clitoris. Her other hand rested on her belly. She seemed to be applying a rhythmic pressure with that hand. The first hand circled her clit, the rhythm somewhat irregular, herky-jerky. From time to time a little moan, more like a purr, escaped her lips. The purrs were almost like little questions, “umm? umm? umm?” I could also hear the small sounds of friction her fingers made on her sex skin. Her little purrs became louder, more insistent, more demanding. Every now and then a breathy “oh.” Her sex lips, pale pink at first, darkened perceptibly. Her fingers circled faster, rubbed harder. More and sharper “ohs” escaped her lips. Her face tightened. Her lips parted. Her eyes squeezed shut. A scant stream of translucent, milk-colored fluid seeped from her sex.