Throw Me to the Wolves and I'll Lead the Pack

Chapter 69

If Julie Chen was narrating the scene, right now she'd say:

"Sexual tension building between the houseguests!"

In the silence of the house, only the kitchen light on. Me facing him, backing him up against the sink. With one hand I grabbed his cock over his shorts; with the other I held up my phone right in his face, showing the screen with the pic I posed for Mariana, all spread wide open after a double penetration using stuff from my closet.

In my other hand, the bulge was heavy and alive: the warm cotton gave way and outlined the head taking shape, the thicker base filled my palm, the veins turned into ridges under the fabric. It throbbed in short pulses that pushed against my fingers, like the cock was breathing. The elastic scraped my knuckle, the seam of the shorts scratched lightly, and I could feel his skin slippery underneath, dampness marking the cloth. Between soft and hard, flesh and stone, it grew a little with every squeeze of mine, twisting on its axis when I slid my hand, and the heat from it climbed up my fingers to my brain.

In him, only his eyes moved, going from me to the screen and back. He held his breath, his voice wouldn't come out, and the desperation of us getting caught lit me up inside.

"Jully… fuck! Stop this," he mustered the strength and turned his head over me, checking the hallway. "What if someone shows up, you crazy girl?"

"You scared?" My hand slid and my fingers mapped the growing bulge, the head already trying to poke through the fabric, no room in the shorts. "You a man or not?"

"Let's go to your brother's room, he's not home," he bargained, voice short, eyes locked on the closed door in the darkness.

"No." I yanked down the shorts and set it free, the cock flopped heavy into my palm, slick. "You're not gonna fuck me."

I closed my hand at the base and slid up slow, twisting at the end of the stroke. He gasped. The hot breath hit my face. His body took a step that didn't go anywhere.

"You like watching, huh?" I spit in my hand and went back, fist firm, the other holding the base so it wouldn't slip. "Lurking, cracking jokes…"

The glans gleamed. A thick string ran down to my fist. I pressed my thumb under the head and traced a slow eight. Without taking the phone from his face.

"Look, you don't like seeing? …but when things get real," I squeezed, stopped at the edge, he shook "you're a wimp."

"Ju… please… room…" he whispered, legs stiff, hips begging for more without the guts to move.

When I get into this zone I don't recognize myself. A demon takes over my body. Everything vibrates. Feels like hate, but it's hunger. I wanted his eyes glued to my phone screen.

"Shhh…" he hissed, like a snake sucking in air. "Send me those pics… send 'em?"

"You want me to stop what I'm doing to send them now?" I said with a laugh, fist rising and twisting at the top.

He didn't answer. Got the game. I tilted the screen a bit, pressed it to his face. The glow washed his pupils. The glans jumped in my hand.

"I'm gonna let you hold it," I brought the phone to his palm. At the same time, I spit in my hand again and started jerking, short rhythm, wet smack at the end of the stroke. He groaned low, almost voiceless. "But if you send the pic to your phone, that's all you'll get."

"Okay… okay… I won't send…" he gasped, finger shaking on the phone frame, no guts to touch the screen.

"That's right. Look." I squeezed the base, slid up in an eight and stopped at the frenulum, just the edge of the head out, making him tremble. "Hold the phone with one hand. The other stays still. If you touch me I stop right then. I'm the one who handles it."

"Ju… shit… okay..."

"Keep staring at my pussy on the screen, staring at what you'll never have." I started the handjob deeper, switching rhythm, thumb pressing under the head.

Up close, the cock scared me in a good way and pulled me into a trance. I eyed it and guessed about eight inches. Thick at the base, tapering to a conical shaft that filled my palm. The pointed head, no foreskin, pink and shining. Prominent veins running along the sides, hot, pulsing against my fingers. Heavy like it would slap and make a meaty sound if it dropped. And the balls… too big. Round, full, stretched smooth skin, a warm weight I'd never held.

My body reacted before my brain. Mouth watered, stomach hollowed, my clit woke with a jolt. I handed him the phone and took the dick with both. The lower one closed firm at the base, the upper worked the glans in short twists. Three quick, one long, pause at the ridge just below the head so I could feel him shake. I squeezed the balls on the upstroke, gauged the weight, rolled each one slow. His groan came deep and ragged. His hips tried to thrust, I held him back. I was in charge.

Cold floor under my feet, humming fridge, white light washing our indecency. Every twist of the fist a wet smack. A thick string dirtied my hand and I loved the hot slime. Scent of soap and salt. His skin slid smooth, alive, pushing my knuckles with every throb, and that got me wetter. I felt my thighs clench on their own. Pleasure spiraling up.

"Stay quiet," I murmured, not breaking eye contact.

His leg shook at the knee. Hand clutching the phone like it was fragile. I slid up with both together, double fist, twist at the top, thumb crossing the slit. Down to the base pressing the balls, felt the sack fill in my hand and released in slow motion. His groan broke in the kitchen, ugly and beautiful, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing at his desperation. That gave me power. And power got me hornier.

I looked at him lost and, God, how I wanted to shove that thing inside me. I didn't. I still had a shred of sense left. I was in a skirt, just pull the panties aside and done, I could fix myself if someone showed up. The problem wasn't dressing, it was silencing: holding back my moans and muffling the sound of his thrusts pounding hard into me.

I shoved the chair behind me out of the way with my ass; the wood creaked on the floor, echoing through the whole house. I knelt. His cock hovered inches from my nose, hot, heavy, the taste of soap and salt hitting the roof of my mouth before I even opened up.

"Listen, don't cum in my mouth, you animal. Got it?" I whispered before the assault.

He nodded with a face full of sweet pain. I closed my hand at the base and went in with my tongue first, a kiss on the head, another on the frenulum, then a wet pop just to claim territory. Took half and pulled back. Deeper. Back. Throat. The gag came dry; I swallowed the sound, breathed through my nose and went down again, pushing till my nose brushed the bone of his hip. Saliva paved the way thick, ran down my chin, dripped between my tits and hit the tile. My clit flared, my thighs clamped shut on their own, and I smiled around the cock because the hunger screamed.

The lower hand worked firm on the shaft, the upper swirled the glans in short circles. I alternated three quick and one long, pausing at the ridge just below the head to feel him tremble. When I tugged the balls, big and hot, his whole body vibrated. I squeezed harder. Almost mean. He let out a short noise, like a "yeah." Then I twisted on the upstroke, gave two slaps to the balls, one light and one heavier, and went down deep with my mouth, throat hugging, my eyes on his, Julia's innocent face. The phone screen died in the corner of his hand, forgotten. He couldn't look at anything else.

I set a machine rhythm: double fist, strong suction at the top, thumb piercing the vein, tongue sweeping the slit. Every turn, a wet smack; every smack, a chewed groan to not wake the house. His knee trembled, his hand sought support, his hips wanted to buck but I held him.

"Stay quiet." I slid up slow till just the head stayed in my mouth, sucked, and went down all the way again, no mercy.

Desperation climbed his neck, hardened his jaw, turned to heat in my mouth. I squeezed the balls again, felt them swell like a warning. Paused a second at the bottom, throat tight, counted to two just to prove I could, and pulled off with a wet pop, spitting shine on the glans.

"I'm gonna…" he warned, voice cracking.

I pulled away quick, gripped firm at the base and kept jerking. Short and fast, then long and deep, ring tight at the head's edge. The jets came thick, hot, splattering the cold floor, splashing my fist, streaking the tile. I kept the rhythm till the last pulse shook in my hand, then eased off slow, watching the head throb in the air, pink and glossy.

I stood up, wrists tired and cheeks tingling, laughing short at the show I put on.

"Now clean up your mess, you pig!"

He nodded mute, still dazed. I wiped the back of my hand across my chin to clear the spit string, fixed my skirt and walked away leaving him alone without looking back once.

When I hit the stairs, I saw her almost at the top, Mariana sitting quiet, face half shadow, half light. No expression.

Maybe she'd seen everything. I froze, no movement, no thoughts, just nothing.

When she realized I'd seen her, she stood slow and vanished into her room without a word. My heart pounded in my throat. I took a deep breath, sat on the stair where she'd been and stayed there for hours, staring into the darkness and it staring back at me.