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Me: I won’t choke. My gag reflex has had a lot of training. I want to run a finger through your crack. Collect the spit pooling at your base and balls and spread it around your hole.
My own balls are heavy in my hand as I roll them, pushing onto my knees to get a better grip. It’s getting harder for me to type out responses, propped up on one arm with my other working my junk.
A: That feels weird.
Me: Are you touching yourself?
A: Just a little. I’ve never felt around down there before.
Me: It can be weird to start, and if you’re being fingered it can hurt a little. But there’s tricks to making it better. Helps if the person doing it is experienced.
A: Is that what you want? To finger me?
Me: If I say that finger-fucking you and sucking your dick is what’s getting my rocks off, would you judge me?
A: Hell no. You fucking your fist yet?
Me: Jesus. Dirty mouth.
A: It’s fun. Sorry I’m not a more active participant.
Me: I can’t believe you wanted to do this at all.
A: Am I making you uncomfortable?
Me: No. Just making it hard to type.
A: Then send me voice chats. I’ll pop some earbuds in so I don’t disturb the roommate. Sorry, I can’t return the favor, though.
My hand stills where it’s been languidly stroking along my shaft, and I read the message over again as I force my heart rate to settle. I’ve never actually talked to any of the helpline people, but it’s not like I’ve ever sexted with them either.
I lean my head on my arm and tap the microphone icon, speaking quietly to avoid bothering Noah and knowing that I’m out of breath.
“I want to push inside of you. I want to sink my finger in, and I want to bury you so far down my throat I can barely breathe—Ah—” I wrap my fingers around my cock as it aches and twitches between my legs. “If you bear down, it’ll be easier. And I’ll be slow. Stroking your walls and bobbing on your dick because I want you to feel good.”
I tap the send button without listening to it back, not wanting to hear my own ragged voice. It’s been weeks since I’ve been hit with need this strong, with the desire to shuttle my hand over my cock like the orgasm will run if I don’t catch it in time.
Maybe I’m pent up. Maybe all of the stress is getting to me. Maybe I have a stronger need for what A is offering me than I ever thought possible.
“A, I’m going to come,” I warn, not even checking for a message. “I’m going to hold you in my mouth, and I’m going to trace every fucking ridge of your dick with my tongue as I suck it slowly and rhythmically with every shockwave from my orgasm. Oh shit, oh shit.”
I don’t even manage to end the recording as the orgasm rushes through me. It tightens in my gut and spurts from my cock in heavy pulses, drawing moans and curses and even a sob from my throat with how overpowering it is.
Several seconds of catching my breath and milking the last drops of cum from my spent dick until I’m shaking with oversensitivity are what he gets at the end, before I hit send and flip onto my back.
The come down period is slow, and I feel the phone’s vibration on the bed beside me for several minutes before I have the energy to open my eyes and check it.
A: I think that is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m no stranger to listening to people get off. That’s not a kink or anything, I just live in a dorm with lots of horny queer kids.
Me: I think right now I count as a horny queer kid. Goddamn that felt good.
A: Glad you enjoyed yourself. I’ll be honest B, I’ve never had a girl suck me with as much enthusiasm as you just pretended to.
If we’re being honest, I don’t think I’ve actually sucked off a guy as enthusiastically as I thought about doing for A. I’d say I need to get laid, but I don’t think that’s it. I need more than to get laid.
I need this. What we just did. But for real.
Tears burn in the corner of my eyes, and I throw my arm over them just as my mouth starts to quiver.
