His fist keeps going up and down.
Most of his face is out of the frame, but not entirely. His lips part and curl into a teasing smile as he slowly strokes his dick.
I’m so tense I could burst a blood vessel. I lick my lips, hopelessly trying to replenish the moisture. His body and hands whip up a storm of lust in me.
It strikes me as pure art. The way his hand slides up and down. And the way he moves his body. Everything is done deliberately slowly to pull his audience into a trance, and make them feel exactly what he feels, yearning for that deep lust coursing through his blood.
I shift my phone from one hand to the other, its frame sliding through my sweaty fingers. Without tearing my gaze away, I run my hand over a towel to dry my skin.
He tilts his hips up, the pleasure surging through his body. I’m tense and hot. His chest heaves, and so does mine.
Slowly, he slips into a different world and doesn’t mind the camera or the intrusive eyes of the strangers indulging.
It’s only him, his pleasure, and his playful mind.
Soft sounds fall from his parted lips––and a string of heavy breaths–– sending more pleasure through my body.
I prop myself against the sink, my legs no longer steady.
His hips push higher, thrusting and sliding his erection through his fist while I squeeze my thighs, wet between my legs.
His hand moves rhythmically, polishing the crown and then rubbing his shaft.
Mesmerized, I watch his cum spill over his abs, his sensual groans giving me gooseflesh, my puckered nipples poking at the air.
I’m seconds away from fingering myself.
Annoyed, I turn off my phone.
I’m hot and sweaty, and all that tension morphs into choking anger. I toss the towel to the side and dash out of the bathroom, heading straight to the closet.
From inside a garment bag, I pull out a different set of clothes and slip them on.
Moments later, I examine my reflection.
Perfect.
I glance at the time.
I’m late to my birthday party, yet I can’t fight the temptation and slide my finger over the screen one more time and log in to his website.
I scroll down to the video clips section and sift through the gallery.
Rushed, I tap on a few of them and get a quick glimpse of the recordings. I make a mental note to review them later when one of them snags my attention.
I tap it, and a full screen comes to life. My heart sinks.
Two silhouettes come alive against the dark background.
The man leans against a wall while the woman sits on her knees at his feet.
A mane of long, blonde hair cascades down her back.
He’s shirtless, his fly open, his jeans sitting low on his hips.
Naked, she has her fingers wrapped around his hard meat, the sliding motion of her hand in perfect synch with the bobbing of her head against his groin.
I can only see her face, but it’s enough.