I did, and the pleasure got worse—or better. It was hard to tell.
“Love that. Love watching you get yourself all hard and needy for me,” he murmured. I could hear him shifting, and then I heard something like a zipper.
“Fuck. Are you?—”
“Yes,” he told me. “I am.”
Bowing my head, I pressed it against the wall above the toilet. It kind of smelled like piss, but it was hard to care right then. I’d shower it all off at the hotel. The only thing that mattered was Alexio’s voice in my ear telling me what to do, and the ambient sounds of him making himself feel good.
Of him getting off because he was watching me. I was hot all over. The tables had been completely turned, and I was so fucking into it.
“You’re n-not at my dad’s, are you?”
“Christ,” he grunted. “No. I’m not a total monster.”
He’d said that before. Quite a few times. In the back of my head, I wondered if someone had made him feel that way. I wanted to know who, because although he was an asshole, he had no business thinking he was a bad person.
I didn’t have time to think about that though. I was too fucking horny and so pent-up that I was going to come. Fast.
I could hear a soft fapping noise now, and I realized he was matching my pace.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
I was too far gone to protect my tender spots, and honesty tumbled from my lips. “You. Wish I was there. Wish I could put my hands on your dick and see you jerking yourself off to me.”
“You like that you get me hot?” he asked. His accent was a little thicker now. Then he said something in his language.
I stroked myself faster. “Yeah. I do.”
“You like that you get me all worked up enough to tell you what to do? To get you in a filthy bathroom and jerk yourself raw just for me?”
“Oh fuck,” I whispered in the back of my throat. I was going to come, so I told him exactly that.
“Yes. I want to see it. Want to see you shoot off. To burn bright. Come for me, Jonah. Let go. Let it all go.”
I did. Fuck me, but I did. My knees did buckle, and I only just managed to drop my phone on the floor instead of in the toilet and catch my release with my hand. In my ear, I heard Alexio’s grunting pants, and then a wobbly groan as he came.
I knew the sound. I’d heard it before. It fucking haunted me every time I rubbed one out.
My breath was hitching in my chest as I felt around for toilet paper, and I left him sitting on the floor, probably with his dick out on the screen, as I washed my hands and put my dick away. By the time I picked the phone up, the line was dead.
“Fucker,” I grunted. I shoved my phone into my pocket and opened the door, feeling a punch of trepidation in my chest.
Had anyone heard that? Were they standing by the door, listening to me make a whore of myself for a man I couldn’t stand?
But there was no one, and all I could hear across the bus was the gentle breathing of everyone passed out post-game. It was a relief, I think, though a small part of me wondered if I wanted to be caught. Maybe then I could give this ugly shame I was still feeling a place to go.
But, I realized as I sat, I wasn’t ashamed of Alexio. I wasn’t ashamed of fucking a man. I wasn’t ashamed of getting off onbeing told what to do. In fact, as much as I hated the dickhead, he was right.
I felt better.
My stomach was still in knots, but they weren’t as tight as before. I was breathing easier and deeper. And when I lay down on my side, I felt sleep tugging at my edges.
Before I went unconscious, my phone began to buzz, and I dug it out of my pocket and tapped the screen.
Message from Fuck Face.
Alexio: Feel better?
Me: Fuck off.
Alexio: I know you do. You were such a good boy, Sparky. Now get some sleep.
Me: Fuck you.
Alexio: Next time I see you, we can make that happen.
I quickly turned my screen off, put my phone on do not disturb, and attempted to finally—after way too many weeks—get some actual rest.
