I’m not long awake. Eyes open but not feeling alert yet. That still-sleepy way. Tousled, messy hair. Soft, warm skin. And I’m naked, on my way to take a shower but haven’t quite made it that far yet.
I haven’t made it all the way to the bathroom because you distracted me. I remembered we’re chatting and I stopped to check for a message. You wanted me to read your stories. So I did. I read two. The first about seducing (or being seduced by?) another woman in the showers at the gym, and the second about fucking a stranger on a train.
And now I’m even more distracted and I’m turned on and I’m not even thinking about going in the shower just yet. Instead I’m in the spare bedroom, getting comfortable on the bed, and thinking I’ll read your third story now.
It’s warm - very warm. And sharp, angled rectangles of morning sunlight are streaming in through the windows, making shapes on my naked body. On my thighs, across my stomach.
Holding my phone in my left hand, I find your last story. It’s about being on your knees, under your partner’s desk, and secretly sucking his cock.
You write about feeling his bulge through his trousers and ‘unwrapping’ him. And as you talk about feeling him get hard - soft skin and hardening tissue - I squeeze my own cock with my right hand and I feel myself doing the same. Responding to your words, getting harder by the second.
You describe finding precum and as I read that I look down. There’s a clear drip of it from the tip of my cock, shining like glass in the morning sunlight. I take a pause. Catch the drip between thumb and forefinger. Bring it up to my mouth, and taste it.
I go back to my phone, to your words. Except now I’m reading it as though you’re describing going down on me. It’s our story now. I’m in it. You mention reaching up and loosening my tie, and that breaks the spell for a second - I never wear a tie - but I’m soon drawn back in, as you talk about stroking your hair and bringing me to your lips.
I’m scrolling down, then dropping my hand back down to my cock. Tracing fingertip lines up and down the shaft and around the head as you write about doing the same with your tongue. There’s precum pooling on my stomach, but I don’t care - leaving it there. You describe stroking my balls and it inspires me to do the same. Cupping them in my palm, feeling their weight, and the slight stubble that tells me they need a shave this morning.
My cock is fully hard. Straining away from my body slightly, and it feels good in my hand. You’re writing about taking it deeper into your mouth, lips sliding down the shaft further each time until your nose touches my belly and you feel the tip at the back of your throat … and as I read that I’m gripping myself tighter, enjoying the stiffness and the release as I pull the skin down and then up, down and up. Slowly squeezing out precum and watching it drip from my tip, seeing how the veins stand out as I hold my cock by the base, feeling the muscles twitch as I stroke fingers around the head, smearing that precum around like lube.
Your story is getting faster. Sentences shorter. You describe that precum dripping down your throat as you gaze up at me. And that’s it. The open-ended ending.
I let go. Take my hand off my cock. Press send as I stand up, and head for the shower. |
