“Yeah.” I clicked the little X in the corner of the screen, hurriedly brought up a favorite bookmark... oops, not that one. Click to another page and trying to look as though I was thoroughly engrossed in... whatever celebrity nonsense this is. And all the time my mind was whirling. I don’t think I’d ever seen such a beautiful….
My boyfriend Mark walked into the room, a beer in one hand and a curious grin on his face. “You sounded like you’d seen a ghost.”
I lied as quickly as I could. “No, I think the cat startled me.” On the other side of the room, Tiger lay asleep, but one eye opened as he heard his name, and he fixed me with a baleful glare. “That’s right, blame me for everything.” Then he went back to his slumbers, Mark went back to the television and, as I heard him settle into his chair, I reopened the e-mail that had caused me to gasp.
Because I did gasp, louder than I realized, and certainly louder than I hoped. I mean, if Mark had heard me above whatever he was watching, and he’s not the world’s quietest TV viewer, then it was probably more of a squeak than a gasp. Or even a scream. A scream at the thought of what that cock could do to me. Or I could do to it.
I’ll back up for a moment. Ever since I started writing stories on this site, fans (and now, sometimes, friends) have sent me photographs, sometimes their face, sometimes their body, and sometimes – and don’t think I can’t tell the difference between a genuine photo and a movie set – scenes from their favourite porn movies or clips. I love them, it’s one of the perks of the job, and they’ve probably ignited more fantasies (and one or two stories) than anything else I can think of.
But this one… well, for a start it was tasteful. I love a good cumshot as much as anyone, and there is nothing so wonderful as opening an e-mail and seeing a cock shooting boldly, or a pussy dripping cum, staring back at you first thing in the morning.
But there’s also something exciting about not knowing exactly what you’re looking at, just a bulge in a pair of boxers and it could be absolutely anything… a cock, you hope; a vegetable, you suspect; a third arm, you fear.
This was definitely the first one. For a start, it wasn’t exaggerated. For seconds, it was in the right place. And for thirds – shit, a girl knows these things, and looking at the photo, I knew something else. I wanted it.
I reread the two sentences that accompanied the picture. The writer liked my stories, and this is what they did to him. I hit reply, barely trusting my fingers to type the words.
Keep it light, I counselled myself. Keep it light. “Nice bulge.”
Two minutes later, my e-mail pinged.
“Would you like to see more?”
Hit reply. “Yes please.”
And back it came immediately. The same body, the same briefs. But this time a thumb was tugging down the waistband… not much – I’d have had them down a lot faster. But just enough for a meaty helmet to protrude, thick above the fabric while the shaft still lay hidden under his clothes.
Reply. “Tease. Is that all?”
Reply. “You want more?” and without waiting for an answer, there it was. Same body, same briefs, only now his prick was standing straight, still shrouded at the root by those cursed underpants, but reaching out and at me now, so hard that I could almost feel its heat, and so proud that, when I blew the picture up to screen size, I’d swear its one eye winked at me. As if to say…
“Suck me.” In bed that night, Mark had been ready to sleep, but my mind wouldn’t rest and nor would my hands. I was sex-toying with his balls for what felt like ages before he finally spoke, running my bullet over the taut skin and tonguing his nipple for even longer before he sighed out his demand. So I did what he asked, and I enjoyed every minute; crouching and plunging him into my mouth, feeling his movements growing faster as I sought out his rhythm and rode with him. In and out he flowed as I placed both hands on his hips, allowed him to sink as deep as he could into my throat, and taking him in my hand only when I needed to catch a breath.
I held the tip of his cock to my open lips, cradled it on my tongue, jerking his shaft with one fist, while the other reached for his chest, tweaked his nipples. I lapped at his leaking hole, and his hand fell onto the top of my head, holding it still for a moment, before pushing back into me, harder than ever, so that I never lost the tantalizing taste of his knob-end for a moment.
I could hear myself moaning as he plunged, little cries of shock and pleasure that accompanied every thrust. I wanted his seed sliding down my throat, and I wanted it now. I squeezed his balls, slipped a finger up his ass, and the first twitch and spurt of the meat in my mouth sent a telegraph ringing all the way down my spine, to explode in a flood of sensations in my pussy.
I swallowed hard, but his cum was still spraying, in my mouth and onto my cheeks and chin; my face was plastered in it and, as he slapped his cock against my hungry tongue, more leaked out, to coat my teeth, my gums, my tonsils. And when it was over and I raised myself up, I wished for a moment that I hadn’t turned the light on. Because it wasn’t Mark’s cock that slid in and out of my mouth, or his cum that filled me with such delicious familiarity. And it wasn’t Mark’s face that I wanted to see, smiling contentedly on the pillow. It was the stranger who e-mailed me, who sent me those pictures, and who didn’t stop after the first few.
The next one arrived, and there were no briefs at all, just a length of hot flesh that called out for me to touch it… so I did, tracing a finger across the image and imagining how wonderful it would feel to do that for real. In the next, he had his hand around it, a big strong hand that gripped it tight, and still left so much more on display. And in the next – at first, I thought that his bands must be shaking, the picture was not clear at all.
But then I noticed the little arrow beneath it, the universal symbol for “press to play the video”… so I pressed, and it played, four glorious minutes of my mystery lover jerking himself off onto a photograph – of me. He’d downloaded and printed my picture from this website, and now he was beating his meat to my beat. I watched, fascinated, as the tempo increased; gasped (but this time, silently) as I saw the pre-cum drip from the tip.
How I longed to lean forward and stretch out my tongue, through the glass of my laptop screen, through however many miles of cyberspace there might be in between us, and to lick that liquid off his cock, feel it dancing tart upon my tongue before my mouth swept open and down his shaft, drawing him deeper than I’d ever sucked before, while my hand lay on his as he pumped at his flesh… and when he came….
When he came, it was amazing. When he came, it was beautiful. When he came, I came, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out as wave after wave of exquisite joy swept over me, and I fought to keep my eyes open and focussed, so I could watch his cum flying out towards the camera, and then splashing down onto my photographed face. It was in my eyes, and I blinked. It was on my cheek, and I reached my tongue out towards it. It was on my lips, and I licked them. And it was in my mouth and I was swallowing hard as it flew down my throat, hard but gracefully, gratefully too. Fill me, choke me, drown me in your cum and, though the movie stopped there, it played on in my mind, his cock slowly softening as I wrapped my mouth around it, sucking the last precious drops from deep inside, and wondering when we could do it again.
“Jesus, that was amazing.” Mark sat up, his hands in my hair as I suckled at his softness, my tongue tracing highways across his balls and cock.
“It was,” I agreed; then, once he was asleep, I crept back into the living room, signed on and hit “reply.” I’d just made a little movie of my own, you see, and I wanted my new friend to see it while the cum was still hot. I attached the clip to my e-mail, then typed a few lines.