First, a little something something. With a scribble and a crack it's all ready now...
You plop yourself on your belly while your body takes it's shirt off. You really start digging in their and my god, tickling and slathering yourself with that deliciously slick tongue of yours. You can't wait; your body hastily undoes its pants, sending your rolling back a little. Fortunately you catch your head under your arm, but now you have a whole new place to try out... and try you do.
Slyly you giggle to yourself, the sensation being so weird and almost ticklish, your brain melting in sensory confusion. You set your head on it's side and rub your face up and down the side of your body, running your pink flesh along your ribs, your dorsi, into your nerve centers. You bury your nose in, not even minding the mouthful of hairs, your mouth just dripping with erotic trepidation. There's also the texture of your eyebrows, the fluff of your hair, and the warm plush of your cheeks framing your oral lust. Your legs croon and buckle underneath this sexual pressure.
Meanwhile your other hand's been clawing with desperacy, clutching the base of your shaft like the whiny little pervert you are. Coupled with the sheer thrill of your tonguework and the hot musk of your rippling body and your left moaning and kissing and suckling into your armpit. Orgasm is practically boiling inside you but you can't let it all go to waste.
You stop yourself near the peak of climax and pull your head aside, resting it on your heaving stomach. "You've been a bad body," you taunt yourself and with a swish of your tongue you smirk, "A bad! Body!" At this stage you've all but made out with yourself, macking those pillowy lips on your belly button, but you can smell lust shying just behind your head.
Thumbs push inside your mouth, worming for soft flesh, and your fingers press around your head and lightly graze at your hair. You suck on the thumbs and moan, ready for the big step. You raise your head up and over your shaft, all 5.4 throbbing inches of it. That is to say, 5.4 dripping inches. You lick the tip, then scrinch back from the sensitivity. Like warm thunder it tremored up and down your spine, perking your nipples and kicking your leg. You liked that. Rimming around the fringes, you decide to dive in and almost immediately your bod arches up, skin, teeth, and tongue meeting at a single point. You pump yourself up and down, the blood and testosterone flooding your head and knob, to the point of wearing out your arms. But that's okay.
You lay your head on your bed and roll it upwards, then place your pillows behind to support it. At least, you hope you did. What an angle, you muse, your ridged stomach and barreled chest above you. The smell and chill of saliva. You plunge into yourself, doggy style, and my god is it an improvement. Shaking and rolling but throbbing like a maniac you hold on and orgasm bubbles up like a geyser. Swiftly you pull out and with a few rapid thrusts and you splurt your face in your mess, mouth open in a heaving pant. Slowly you pump the rest out, appreciating the heave of your stomach, the flex of your thighs, and a one handed nipple tease.
"Hey," you pant, "Did you catch that?"
The little camera bot you drew earlier gives you an A-OK gesture. Little gloved cartoon hands; if you draw a flying webcam without one, what have you drawn? Plopping your head back between your legs, you sample the quality. Surprisingly enough, the bot captured the angles exactly as you imagined them. "Woahhh, sweet job, little bro." You fist bump the copter bot.
Now that clean-up was gonna be a necessity, lest your mom scold you for the mess and your sister judge you, you have a little time to think over the video. Sending it to Sandy will surely push her to your side, you figure, after you explain the pencil of course. But Sandy was always a safe person; she's not below keeping it a secret. You know that her telling everyone is just her way of reminding you to be responsible, and to warn people for their own safety. But at the same time... you can't really argue with that. But then again: possible freaky sex!
There was another person to choose: Alex. He'd totally think you the ballest dude alive if you showed him this, and bro, things could turn hella sweet hella fast. On the two of you, well, Sandy knows that you're an impulsive kinda guy, yet at the same time she trusts you to think well for yourself. In other words, she knows you two would totally bang during some spur-of-the-moment horseplay, but you'd lose a little bit of her faith in the process. Not a lot of people like her endear on people like you. Just calling Alex about this would be a tad risky.
Keeping the tape to yourself, tho. That could work, for a little while. But it's just gonna keep stewing in you until you tell somebody about it. Plus you know how anal your Mom gets. Putting the mags under the bed was just to establish "trust"; one time you found a disapproving note in the wall when you tried to dig open a stash.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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