I whimpered and unzipped my fly. Was it creepy to do that without him knowing? No, surely we were officially having phone sex by this point; he was touching his cock too and knew what I was doing. I slipped my hand into my briefs and gave my cock a squeeze to relieve some of the pressure, imagining his body on top of mine. Minnie made what I was sure was a noise of disgust and jumped from my shoulder to the back of the couch, and then down to the floor with a thump. Kellogg, attention caught by the noise, stood up, stretched, and jumped off the couch as well. Honestly, I’d mostly forgotten the cats were there, but suddenly being free of them made it feel like I was now free to really go to town with Hen. “I’d be breathing in your ear,” I told him, giving my cock another squeeze and then a stroke. “Hot little pants every time you thrust in and out of me. Little moans when I tightened around you.”
Hen’s chin tipped up, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling. His phone juddered as if his whole body was shaking with the movements of his hand.
“Are you stroking your dick?” I asked roughly. “Is hearing me describe what I’d be doing if you were here making you hot?”
“Yesss.” He hissed. “Can’t stop.”
“Don’t stop,” I ordered, tightening my grip on myself and stroking a little faster. “But lick your palm. I want you slick for this.” Demonstrating, I paused to lick my own hand and then dropped it back to my cock.
Obediently, he lifted his hand to his mouth and licked a stripe up his palm, then dropped his hand back out of sight. I considered ordering him to point the camera at his crotch so I could see what he was doing, then decided I was having too much fun watching his face. “Oh my god,” he panted, face tightening.
I matched the movement of my hand to the rhythm I could see his shoulder moving in, imagining it was his hand on me. Another whimper escaped my throat. “You close?” I rasped. “Gonna come for me? Gonna make a mess of that ratty old t-shirt, dirty it up with your cum? Since I’m not there to lick it off you, you might as well.”
Hen’s breath hitched and his face tightened, lips dropping open at the same time his eyes squeezed shut. “Oh my…shit. Fuck.” His body shuddered and for a moment the view from his phone dropped just enough that I could see a spurt of cum hit the top of his chest before he caught himself and raised the phone back to his face. He was panting, his cheeks brightly flushed. “Holy shit, Jamie.”
“Mmm.” I stroked myself faster, imagining I could feel his orgasm against my skin. My balls tightened and my ass clenched. “God, you’re hot when you come,” I moaned.
“If I were there,” he said in a deep, rough voice I’d seldom heard from my soft-spoken boyfriend, “I’d drop to my knees and put my mouth on you. Suck you in, show you how good you were and how hot you made me. How hard you made me come.”
A shot of heat burned through me and I gasped.
“Flick my tongue against your slit,” he went on, driving me higher. “Lick up the little beads of precum you’d be leaking. Push deeper until you hit the back of my throat and I gag…”
That was it. I was done. I threw my head back and held my breath as I was wracked by a powerful orgasm. I had just enough presence of mind to hold my shirt up out of the way - it was not laundry day, and I didn’t feel like doing an extra load - before I unloaded hard on my stomach. A loud, drawn-out moan escaped me and for a long moment I could only lay against the back of the couch, trying to catch my breath.
“Holy shit, that was hot,” Hen breathed from the other end of the phone. I opened my eyes to find his eyes wide on me. “Pretty sure if I could come again that fast, I just would have. Damn, you’re gorgeous.” He shook his head like a dog trying to fling off water droplets. “Shit.”
“‘Shit’ is right,” I managed to get out. “God, I miss you.”
He smirked. “You just wish you’d just come all over me rather than yourself so you didn’t have to worry about how to clean up without getting it all over your shirt.”
I mean, no, that wasn’t my main focus, but, well…he wasn’tentirelywrong. “Shut up,” I harrumphed.
Laughing, Hen pulled his shirt off and balled it up, avoiding putting his hands in the spot of cum. “The benefit of my ratty t-shirts: I don’t care if they get gunked up.”
Moving carefully, I pulled off my shirt and reached for the box of tissues that sat on my coffee table and started wiping up the puddle of cum pooling in my belly button. “Rude. Just because my clothes aren’t more hole than fabric…”
“Mmm, I’m not rude, justreallysatisfied,” he crooned. “How do you feel?”
I considered that for a moment. “Can’t feel my feet,” I admitted. “That was hot as hell. Not as hot as it would have been in real life, though.”
He smiled softly. “Friday. Two days. And then I’ll fuck you all night, until you’re coming dry and begging for a break.”
Whoa. I blinked at him. “You’re suddenly very hardcore.”
His smile turned sleepy and a little sheepish. “I think my brain-to-mouth filter has turned off for the night.”
“Oh, ho.” I grinned, my attention caught. “So now I’m getting the dirty thoughts before they get filtered through your anxiety? I like it. Keep that filter turned off for me.” I shuddered theatrically. “Coming dry and begging for mercy. Yes, please.”
Hen yawned, covering his mouth a second too late, then flushed. “Sorry.”
Ah, the post-nut relaxation was kicking in. I gave him a smile. “You should get to bed before you pass out on the couch.”
“But I’m talking to you,” he protested. “And the show - oh.” We both looked at our tvs and realized simultaneously that Netflix was paused on the “Are you still watching?” screen. Damn, how long had we been going at it? “Nevermind that part, I guess.”
“Bedtime for woodworkers,” I insisted. “Go dump your shirt in the laundry and go to bed. Pet the cats for me.”
“Mmm.” His eyes drooped a little more. “Miss you.”
