Dylan's eyes were open, but the room was pitch black.
With one hand, he stroked the tight, furry sack between the man's legs. It was already damp with sweat. With the other, he braced his hand against the stranger's smooth thigh, his untucked shirt trailing gently over the back of Dylan's palm. The man's swollen cock slid up and down his tongue with more and more urgency, pushing past the uvula, stabbing hard against the back of Dylan's throat. The wet sound of it filled the room around them, and then stopped. Cum sprayed out in hard spurts against the back of his throat. The musk of the man was almost suffocating, his pubic hair ground hard against Dylan's lips as his meaty hands held Dylan's head tightly still.
Dylan came loudly, his body shaking in hard spasms. He felt the wet spray land across his ribs, and he blinked wildly in the dark, the fantasy already fading away. Two weeks had passed since that day, and still the memory of it was so fresh. He could still taste the man's seed as clearly as he could that day in the mall bathroom.
His wife, Molly, had hardly noticed that he'd stepped away. By the time Dylan could log back online, the stranger had deleted his account, taking all their shared conversations and photos along with it. All the evidence of his crimes were swallowed up by the universe and the slate was wiped clean. And dozens more new messages were waiting for him.
Ten minutes later, Dylan stripped his shorts down past his feet, and re-positioned the webcam he used for work. He slunk lower into his seat and raised his feet into the air. Holding his ankles in both hands, he stretched them back until he could see the small slit between his ass cheeks pop up on the monitor in front of him. He pulled the muscles of his abs as tight as they would go. Then, in the soft glow of the screen, he stroked his hard, dribbling cock slowly. After a minute, he was already pounding away madly. Gripping one foot against the desk, he freed up one hand enough to stroke the rim of his tight hole with a finger. That was enough.
The chair creaked loudly as his body convulsed, the muscles bulging, his skin bright red and beaded with sweat. Cum spilled against his chest and down his ribs. And still it kept coming, dribbling down his fingers until the last droplets were milked from the shaft. With one last hungry look into the camera lens, he spread his fingers, showing off the thick strands of cum that hung from them. He stopped the recording.
Ten minutes later, with the bedroom door still locked and shut tightly, he was showered and back online. A few careful edits, and a bit of cropping to remove the top of his face, and the video was ready. He uploaded it along with a very detailed account of his first time with a man, and how he needed it again. "More than anything," he wrote, "I need my hole stretched."
He logged off, cleared his history, wiped the video from his system, and then wiped the cum out of his boxers. He unlocked the door and waited for Molly to come home again, sometime in the dead of night.
To be penetrated... It wasn't something he could do himself. He'd tried. Water and soap weren't good enough. You needed lube, you needed toys. You needed evidence that he didn't dare leave behind. And it was driving him mad.
He could picture it so clearly in his mind. The thick, rubbery head, dripping with lube, slowly peeling open his asshole, pushing its way inside him, every nerve alive with excitement as the hard cock stretched the muscles open wide, and then stroked the length of his insides as it drove its fat, swollen head deeper in...
Dylan pictured himself on all fours in bed, gripping two tight fistfuls of comforter as some powerful man mounted him from behind, taking what he needed, riding him hard until he was done. Leaving Dylan like a used toy afterward, his seed still dripping from Dylan's gaping ass.
He needed it and he knew it. And he knew he could have it, too. Dozens of unread messages, photos, and video were waiting for him even now. Few of them were local, though. And those that were local wanted to talk through hookup apps, and he didn't dare to download them, either. The paper trail was too great. Molly used his phone regularly. It was too much to cover up. He would need to meet someone like before. No names, no talking, no apps, no evidence.
Molly had most of the week off, and she did her best to keep him distracted and emptied. She was the sweetest woman on earth. But, by the time the weekend had come around, she was back at work on a string of double shifts, and Dylan was alone in the house again, in need of something she couldn't give. He dove back into the world of bi-sexual married men like an addict jumping off the wagon. Molly was barely down the road and his shorts were past his knees and he was looking around for a new place to film. He was beginning to get an eye for it, too.
He setup his makeshift tripod, stripped off the last of his clothes, and got down on all fours. With his butt to the camera, he beat the pre-cum out of his bright red cock until it puddled on the ground beneath him. He begged to be fucked, to be used.
More messages poured in. Ireland, UK, the West Coast. Everywhere but his city. Men begged him for video calls, but it was too early to get off again. Then what else would be left to do? Watch TV all weekend? He needed his edge. He needed cum sprayed down his throat again.
"28M Looking to Give BJ. Discrete". He posted it to his city's meet-up page, along with a photo of his tight belly splattered with cum. He tried some variation of it every few days, but there had yet to be any replies.
And no replies followed now. He browsed glory holes in his area, but they were all closed or too far away or in too dangerous of a neighborhood. He paced through the room liked a caged animal, his hard cock bobbing in the air, slicked with cum, refusing to go limp or be ignored. With each new message, he leapt toward the computer, and pumped away before he could even read the words.
But it was all the same: Requests for more photos, dirty talk. Too many of them wanted to talk about his wife, and the things they wanted to do to her, or things other men had done to her. They didn't get it. They didn't know what he needed.
"you still free?"
Dylan's eyes locked onto the message as it appeared. "For you, yes," he typed quickly. His face was stony, not wanting to get his expectations raised.
He opened the man's profile. A few text posts looking for hookups, but nothing else about himself.
"meet @ grocery on townsend and abbot? Do you need a photo" the stranger wrote.
