Now in my room, I lean my forehead against the wall, unable to hold back a groan as I imagine Jazz shoving me to my knees and covering me in a sticky, sugary, freezing cold mess.
My cock throbs painfully and I reach down to rub my palm over the front of my jeans, groaning at the incredible friction. On impulse I snap a picture of my jeans-covered erection and send it to Jazz.
Me
You might be onto something
[Photo]
For a moment, I feel a sense of relief; I’m still not exactly over the moon to be turned on by something so gross and demeaning, but it’s better than another guy’s cum…right?
But then a thought hits me; this cum thing isn’t just about last night. I’ve been curious ever since Jazz so casually threw it out there while brazenly invading my privacy last Friday; and if I’m being really honest with myself, it was the thought of him shooting his load all over me that got me to my climax.
Jazz Grimsay
Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?
Me
I’ll be happy after you help me get off
His response is uncharacteristically slow in coming and as my impatience gets the better of me I slump onto the sofa and start to grind my palm more insistently against my raging erection. I hear Jazz’s words from last night echo in my head… “you want me to make you come like this and send you home with a wet spot for everyone to see…”and I can’t help whimpering in desperate, burning need becausefuckI want that so badly.
Hot shame burns through me as I imagine sitting down to dinner later still messy from my orgasm. Obviously I’d never actually do something like that, but the fucked-up fantasy has twisting, mortifying arousal blazing through me all the same.
Thankfully my phone buzzes before I can reach my climax, a fresh wave of shame and mortification hitting me as I claw my way out of the pit of depravity and back into the real world. Fuck, I’m not sure I’d have been able to look anyone in the eye at dinner if I’d actually gotten off to that fantasy.
Jazz Grimsay
I’ll be glad to help once you come to terms with everything
I groan in frustration, my head falling back against the top of the sofa. How the hell am I supposed to come to terms with twisted fantasies likethat?
My annoyance only grows when I remember what turned me on in the first place. I was fine until he mentioned the thing about the root beer float.
Me
That’s hardly fair seeing as how my current situation is all your fault
Jazz Grimsay
I can’t be held responsible for boners you spring during normal conversation. If I tried to censor myself to avoid turning you on I’d never be able to speak
My cock pulses and I flush with heat, instantly proving the accuracy of his words.
Despite therejection I’m not ready to give up just yet; the tension from earlier has seeped in again, compounded by my current state of frustration and the unavoidable sense of shame that’s taken root in the pit of my stomach. It would have been one thing to duck out for a run like Blake suggested, but when the fuck did I become the kind of person who takes time away from my kids to send dick pics—albeit a rather PG-13 one—to my boss and fantasize about filthy, degrading, fucked-up shit?
My head is a freakin’ mess and I need…something. I can’t explain it; there’s just some instinct telling me Jazz can help.
Me
Please? I really need this
Basedon his previous texts I’m expecting a quip about me taking care of things myself, so I’m surprised when my phone starts buzzing with a FaceTime call. I’m even more surprised when I answer to find Jazz jogging, his pale face flushed and dark hair damp with sweat.
“What’s going on?” he asks by way of greeting.
I just stare at the screen for a moment, still trying to reconcile the picture in front of me with the recent text exchange. “Are you jogging right now?”
