[ in the beginning, he’d been one of those simpering influencer wannabes. he’d had to be - in order to get any traction he had to build a social media presence, build a profile on only fans that would draw any wandering eye deep in the front page. it had been difficult at first to find just what groove he belonged in, but he’d found it. virginal looking twinks have a chokehold on the sex working community, after all.
how many faceless men comment on his waist, comment on his slender wrists, his sleight frame, the way he moves. it’s all there - young and sporty but with the edge of something a little less polished.
but these one on ones make him want to try harder, make him want to please milton, if that’s his real name. and maybe he’s never truly been to bed with anything more than a toy or his own fingers, but part of him thinks he could take it if it were this man.
but it’s a trick of the text, no doubt. he’s always been stupidly idealistic - after all, hadn’t mr. fuller just told him that after class? a promise of a failing grade if he kept it up on the next few assignments.
his cock throbs at the thought, and for a moment he actually feels guilty for letting his mind slip elsewhere. ]
I want to suck down your cock so that I still feel you on the back of my throat tomorrow. Taste you well into the weekend. I could sit pretty under your desk, if you have one. Keep you warm on those snowy nights.
[ there’s the next command though and tim whimpers a little around his own fingers, adding a third merely for show, and maybe the promise of what he’ll need later. he sets the phone down and all the while rises up to his knees. it takes the pretty line of his jaw out of the viewfinder but the lewd slurping sounds get louder - his mic, suspended above his set up. this close and he’s sure the man can hear him breathing, all but panting as his free hand falls to his hip.
the front of his thong is ruined - dampened with precum and sticking to the hard outline of his dick. he palms himself once which elicits a high pitched hiss around his wet fingers, before he begins to peel the fabric away.
there’s the faintest - oh, christ - when his dick springs free and he turns, shimmying so that hawk can see him carefully tug the thin slip of fabric from between his toned cheeks.
slowly it comes free, and he carefully maneuvers to slip it from one leg, letting it hang damp around his knee, but just so hawk can get a peek of that waiting little pucker - untouched. he’d been hoping he’d show. ]
Empty. Waiting for you. I’ve been an awful good boy. I wish you were here.
Would you like to be? Here? Tell me how you’d have me. How well I’m made to take your cock. I want to be filled by you. My hand won’t be enough.
no subject
how many faceless men comment on his waist, comment on his slender wrists, his sleight frame, the way he moves. it’s all there - young and sporty but with the edge of something a little less polished.
but these one on ones make him want to try harder, make him want to please milton, if that’s his real name. and maybe he’s never truly been to bed with anything more than a toy or his own fingers, but part of him thinks he could take it if it were this man.
but it’s a trick of the text, no doubt. he’s always been stupidly idealistic - after all, hadn’t mr. fuller just told him that after class? a promise of a failing grade if he kept it up on the next few assignments.
his cock throbs at the thought, and for a moment he actually feels guilty for letting his mind slip elsewhere. ]
I want to suck down your cock so that I still feel you on the back of my throat tomorrow.
Taste you well into the weekend.
I could sit pretty under your desk, if you have one. Keep you warm on those snowy nights.
[ there’s the next command though and tim whimpers a little around his own fingers, adding a third merely for show, and maybe the promise of what he’ll need later. he sets the phone down and all the while rises up to his knees. it takes the pretty line of his jaw out of the viewfinder but the lewd slurping sounds get louder - his mic, suspended above his set up. this close and he’s sure the man can hear him breathing, all but panting as his free hand falls to his hip.
the front of his thong is ruined - dampened with precum and sticking to the hard outline of his dick. he palms himself once which elicits a high pitched hiss around his wet fingers, before he begins to peel the fabric away.
there’s the faintest - oh, christ - when his dick springs free and he turns, shimmying so that hawk can see him carefully tug the thin slip of fabric from between his toned cheeks.
slowly it comes free, and he carefully maneuvers to slip it from one leg, letting it hang damp around his knee, but just so hawk can get a peek of that waiting little pucker - untouched. he’d been hoping he’d show. ]
Empty. Waiting for you.
I’ve been an awful good boy.
I wish you were here.
Would you like to be? Here?
Tell me how you’d have me.
How well I’m made to take your cock.
I want to be filled by you.
My hand won’t be enough.