I stared at his cock. The tip, only a sliver of edge viewable above the bottom of a lavender dress shirt, glistened. The shadow cast on thin fabric denoted the helmet, his hand gripped the base of the shaft. It looked mighty and throbbing.
My hand holding the phone shook a little as I continued to stare at it as my orgasm built. I clenched the muscles deep inside of me, imagining him there. I pushed and released and willed my x-ray vision to kick in. It never did, but my orgasm didn’t seem to care. A scream ripped through the room. I arched and convulsed harder and longer than usual.
I’d cum to this image 6 times in the last two days.
My new reader, The Russian, said he doesn’t send dick pics. He’s shy and a little nervous about the oozing black eternity of the internet — I get it — and yet, he sends me photos nonetheless. It is an honor.
In the ensuing hours since our phone call he’s sent me a handful of pics which I have dutifully deleted per his request. All but the purple shirt one, which he has let me keep.
His shyness personified in the second one with a white sheet gently draped on his erection; the third his hand wrapped around the base looking down; the fourth and fifth variations on the same theme: a POV of a long, erect morning wood.
We have spoken a little bit more about what I’ve done to two strangers minding their own business, the magnitude of trust that I’ve bestowed upon someone out of the blue. He’s been kind, thoughtful, and introspective about it. I’ve been sensitive to what feels like a blunder and how this might affect him, us, me, etc. It’s a new riddle to solve. I’m up for the challenge.
His proximity to Marian is a boon; she and I were already planning for me to visit in the upcoming weeks. Her availability is even sooner than I expected and The Russian and I might be sitting face-to-face much faster than either of us anticipated. This weekend is a slight possibility, certainly the 14th, definitely mid-September if nothing has soured us on one another.
In the middle of the night I awoke to my upstairs neighbors locked in a heated fight. I’ve never heard more than the occasional creak from them. This was new.
Bellowing, he said, “I never told you to fuck off!”
“Yes, you fucking did!” she shrieked.
More shouting, some door-slamming.
I checked my phone. There was a message from The Russian from 20 minutes earlier.
I texted back that I sort of was, listened to the lovebirds upstairs make a great deal more noise, and drifted off back to sleep.
Dawn broke, my eyes fluttered. I reached for my phone.
“Up. Been thinking about a variety of things. The huge amount of trust you’ve placed in me. The enormity of what you’ve implicitly asked of me. Some light musings. :) Also what my cock would look like in between your tits. So a variety of things. Night, Hy.”
I replied that I’d cum 3 times to his lavender cock the day before and snapped some pics. I figured it’d be as nice to wake up to as his texts were for me.
The morning light splashed across my belly, my waist curved. I felt like the old Hyacinth, the one who woke up with a fire in her belly and a story on her lips so long ago. The kind of Hy that I want to be.
Total orgasm count to his cock is now 7.