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In my mind, I squeeze her throat again, watching her face as a hint of fear and arousal floods her bloodstream. She likes it. Loves being used. Loves being the thing I use to get off.
My imagination paints the picture of her in her bed just now, getting herself off to the video of us, and I nearly come right away.
Then another text from her pops up on the screen.
Uh-oh. You’ve gone quiet.
What are you doing???
I let out a groan. The head of my cock is tight, throbbing as a drop of precum slips from the tip.
“Oh fuck,” I mutter as I squeeze on the upstroke as if just a text message from her is enough. I’m so close. But as the vision in my head starts to fade, I text her back.
I’m watching our video.
Right now?
Yes.
My hand is moving fast now but doing just enough to keep my climax at bay, dragging out the inevitable and enjoying every torturous second. While I wait for her text response, I open the video again. Instead of watching, I hold the speaker close to my ear and focus only on her moans and cries. Then, I let my imagination take over again.
She’s on my lap right now.
The hard bud of her nipple is in my mouth, and her wet heat is snug around my cock instead of my hand. With every thrust, she’s getting closer, and when I feel her pulsing with her own orgasm, I unload, filling her up as I come.
You want me to fuck you like I hate you?
My ears are buzzing like static as my own voice replays on the video again. Closing the app, I drop my phone on the sofa and stare down at the mess I just made.
“Jesus.” There are white globs of cum all over my shirt, nearly up to my neck and covering the hand still wrapped around my cock.
I desperately need to get laid. But oh yeah…I can’t.
“It’s going to be a long three months,” I mumble as I grab a tissue from the end table and wipe up the mess from my hand. It’s not like I was having so much sex before, but with all of this foreplay, it’s going to be that much harder.
My phone buzzes with a text. Smiling, I pick it up and read her response.
Are you done?
Did you record it?
The girls would pay good money for that.
I laugh as I type up my reply.
Seriously?
Would you?
Oh, hell yeah. That shit is hot.
With a scoff, I shake my head. It seems hard to believe that that’s what women want.
Standing up, I tear my shirt off and throw it in the laundry room on my way to the sink to wash up. Just as I’m drying my hands on the towel, there’s a heavy bang on the door. My heart nearly flips its way up through my throat as I stand there in shocked silence.
“Adam, open up,” my father bellows from the other side.
As I make my way toward the door, I prepare myself for what I know is coming. The likelihood that he’s here for a casual conversation is pretty slim.
