The camera pans up, revealing Rooke’s knees, then his thighs.
When I see the bunched up fabric of his sweatpants, my throat tightens and my chest closes up.
But I can’t look away.
My entire body starts buzzing as his cock comes into view and he gives himself a long, slow stroke.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him wear a watch, and even though I can only see the strap, I know it’s the same one as his profile photo. His top is a thick, dark fabric that looks identical to the black hoodie.
Did he set up a fake account just to fuck with me? Who does that?
He still says nothing. The only sound is that faint, slick rhythm. My own matching it. His cock glistens like he used lube…or spat on it.
I don’t have lube handy.
Spit I’ve got a lot of…and unless I stop jerking off, I’m going to need something wet on my dick.
I try not to make a sound as I spit onto my hand, but I nearly groan out loud as I wrap my wet fingers around my shaft, the difference immediate and fucking insane.
“There’s my boy,” Rooke rumbles in a low voice.
I freeze.
“What would be the point of stopping now? You’ve already crossed the line.”
My jaw clenches so hard, I hear my enamel squeak. Rooke strokes his cock with the same slow, steady rhythm as before, each vulgar pull up his shaft dragging over rock hard flesh.
“Be a good boy, and see if you can keep up.”
I want to let go.
Iwantto end the video call.
But I also need to come more than I’ve ever wanted to in my entire fucking life. No stimdick from the molly this time. Not enough booze to affect the blood supply. More than enough weed to amplify the forbidden craving flooding me to new, stratospheric heights.
Biting down on my lower lip, I tighten the grip on my cock and try to match Rooke’s strokes.
“That’s it. Nice and slow. I want you to feel every inch, boy.”
I hate that my eyes are locked on his hand like it owns the fucking world.
I hate that I’m following his instruction like we’re back in class.
I hate that it feels so fucking good.
It’s taking everything in me not to nut straight away.
“Goodboy.” He drawls out the praise like he’s tasting it. Tastingme.
For a second, I think about shoving my dick into his mouth. Forcinghimto suckme.
He’d be good at it, I know he would.
My face goes hot, my body cold, and I shove out the thought as quickly as it arrived.
“She looked good in those ropes, but I think you’ll look better.”
Like he has direct access to my mind, I get an image of him lashing my wrists to his bed. It’s gone as quickly as the previous thought, but my cock caught every second.
