I don’t have the right to ask. I gave that up—willingly. But Story nods, lip trapped between her teeth. “I understand,” she says, voice shaky.
I swallow back a groan and twist my palm around the head of my cock. “That’s my good girl. You don’t need it anyway. You can come just like this, can’t you?”
She writhes at the praise, eyes never leaving the camera as she circles her clit, nodding. “Can you?”
My laugh is ragged and quiet. “Oh, sweetheart, I could absolutely come just from watching you play with your clit like this. But I do have my cock out.”
I know what she’s going to ask before the words even exit her mouth. I can see it in the spark alighting her eyes, the way her thighs clench around her hand. When she breathes, “Show me?” I’m scrambling for my phone, opening the camera and pointing it right at my dick.
Now, as a rule, I take a lot of time with my dick pics. Lighting, angle, and grooming are all very important to the integrity of the piece. Philistines like Rath would just snap a shot in any old position with no care as to composition and form. But a good dick pic takes time and heavy consideration. It’s not something I snap on a whim after a workout. I carve out a good hour, really give the girls something worth opening and sharing around.
Right now?
I couldn’t fucking care less.
I lift my dick in my hand and hit the shutter, hastily sending it off in a text. A moment later, she’s grabbing for her own phone, thumbing the text open.
She breathes out this quiet, slow little, “Oh,” that has my lips tugging up into a smirk.
I continue stroking my cock. “Like what you see?”
She looks away from the screen, eyes heavy as she works her clit. “Does it feel good?”
“Not as good as you,” I confess, matching the rhythm of her slowly rocking hips. Words spill from my lips like an avalanche. “Fuck, you were so wet and perfect the other day. Haven’t had a fuck that good in so long. Should have gotten Rath in there. We would have pumped you so full of our come…”
Shit, that really gets her going, head falling back as her fingers grind into her clit, mouth opened on choppy breaths. “H-how… how would you…”
“We could take you just like before. Back to back,” I answer as my fist bobs up and down, voice gruff. “Or…”
The muscles in her thighs flex as she rocks into the motion of her hand. “Or?”
“Well,” I offer, vividly imagining it, “three of us. Three holes…”
Her head shoots up, stare wild and heavy as that blush crawls down to her chest. “You mean…？”
“I’d fuck that pretty, wet pussy.” My hand speeds up on my dick as I watch her shudder. “Rath could take you from behind, give that tight little asshole of yours a proper breaking in. Killer could take your mouth, fuck your face.” She looks both stunned and electrified, which is exactly how I know she’s moments from coming. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Taking all of us at the same time? I bet you could handle it. All three of us making love to our sweet, nasty little slut…”
She lets out a soft, almost pained cry when she comes, thighs trapping her hand between her legs as she quivers so prettily. Mine is messy, practically an afterthought considering where my mind is, lost in the images of everything I’m describing to her.
By the time I come back into myself, she’s out of frame, the image showing nothing but her empty bed.
I stare at it for a long moment, my fist and stomach covered in my spunk, before exhaling jaggedly. It’s not until I’m in bed, showered and clean, flicking off the light by the bed, that realize how bone-tired I am. It’s the first night I haven’t spent down on the basketball court, or jogging the darkened streets of Forsyth, looking for any healthy way to blow off steam. It’s either been that, or me jerking off to the video of her and Rath down in the pit, and I’ve about worn that clip raw.
What I needed was to see my girl biting down on her bottom lip. To tell her all these dirty things I’ve had rolling around in my mind. To breathe life into them. To plant their seeds into her brain. To know they can make her come like that, watching as the orgasm rippled through her. That’s what finally settles me.
As my eyes adjust to the light, I notice the screen is still up on my laptop—and that the camera is still filming in night vision mode. Story is in her own bed, covers pulled up to her chest, with one pale leg jutting out.