Eggo absentmindedly strokes his cock. “Sure, but first I want to watch you come. Okay?”
“Why the fuck would I say no to that?”
He laughs. “Turn over. Lie on your back. Do you have any lube?”
“Bottom drawer, on the left,” I reply, pointing to my bedside table.
He fetches the bottle and squeezes a little onto the fingers of his right hand, then he takes a dollop and thumbs it over my hole. I bring my knees up so he has better access.
“Have you ever touched yourself here?” he asks.
I have to remind myself he means fingered, not literally touch myself there, which I do every day in the shower when I wash. I shake my head. “Have you?”
“Sometimes when my girlfriend gives me a BJ, she’ll slip a cheeky finger in the back door.” The words should be cringe. I mean, they are cringe, but he says all of this without the slightest trace of embarrassment. “Honestly, pard, you . . . are not ready for how good this feels.”
I don’t respond. Don’t know what to say.
“Fuck your hand,” he says. “Let me watch.” His eyes unashamedly home in on my cock as I begin stroking myself, and I drink in his greedy face.
His finger circles my hole and nudges inside, and I can no longer keep my eyes on him. He’s saying shit like “Don’t hold back,” and “You’re doing great,” and “One day I’m gonna fill you with my cock and you’re gonna take it so well,” and it’s doing something for me.
How was I supposed to know I had a thing for praise? But I guess with all things considered, it makes a lot of sense.
Eggo curls his finger or adds another, I’m not sure, but that one movement is enough to shunt me dangerously close to an orgasm. I moan and bite down on my forearm to stem the noise.
“Don’t stop, baby. Don’t cover your mouth. Let me hear you.”
I shake my head, leave my arm where it is. I’m hanging on by a thread, edging myself, willing myself not to come too quicklyso Eggo doesn’t think I’m a loser. Though, I’m losing this battle right now, and I can’t even slow my own pace.
There’s something so deliciously perverted about masturbating with an active audience.
“Fuck, Pi, this is so fucking hot. I wish you could see yourself from this angle.”
I feel my orgasm building, feel myself free falling into that no going back zone. “I’m gonna come.”
“Yes, princess, come for me. Let me watch.”
Princess?
Oh, fuck, I think I like that.
I stop jerking myself, and warmth erupts across my belly. I don’t look at Eggo, but I sense him watching me, and it’s fucking hot. My orgasm goes on longer than it ever does when I’m by myself. Eggo continues massaging my P-spot whilst stroking himself. Then he removes his finger, leaving me hollow and desperate for more contact, but I don’t have long to mourn his absence. He cages me with his thick, hairy arm, and fucks his other hand until only seconds later, ribbons of silky cum spatter my chest.
I watch his face as he watched mine—eyebrows furrowed, jaw jutting forward, mouth open. He’s loud when he climaxes. So fucking loud. There’s no other way to describe it except that I’m in awe of how unashamed he is of . . . well, everything. The noises he makes, the faces, the way he seems to live in the moment without a single concern that someone might think he’s weird or embarrassing.
It’s glorious. He’s glorious.
“Princess?” I say when he opens his eyes.
He laughs. “That was an accident.”
“I liked it.” I glance down at our joint messes mixing on my belly. There’s no way to tell what came from me and what came from him. “Call me princess again.”
He lowers himself to me, sandwiching the jizz between us, not giving a single fuck it’s now all over him, and he kisses the tip of my nose. “Princess.” Then he licks my face, and I remember his tongue has recently been up my butthole.
“Do you want to stay . . . tonight? I could make you some food or something? Pizzas?” I say.
“Uh . . .” Eggo pushes himself off me. “I should go, actually. I need to pick my girlfriend up from the airport really early tomorrow.”
