On the fourth month of a six month tour with Street Dum Corp, Bert recieved an email from Quinn, headed with;
You better delete this after you watch it
Three Hours Earlier
Quinn flicked on the video camera, placing it carefully on the chest of drawers across from his bed. He moved over to the bed, taking a deep breath and pulled off his Tshirt, unbuckling his belt and pushing his jeans down his spread thighs, and off his legs. Glancing at the camera nervously, he hesitated and decided to pretend that he was alone. He left his underwear on, using the heel of his hand to rub his crotch, slowly increasing pressure, exhaling. He panted a little, the heat from his hand soaking through the thin material to his half-hard dick. Suppressing a moan, he dipped his hand inside his underwear and shut his eyes, relying on memories. Wrapping his fist around his dick, he remembered the last time Bert had been home before he left to tour with Street Drum Corp.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he shoved his underwear down, kicking it off the bed, lying on his back on and completely forgetting about the camera. He wrapped his slightly sweating fist around his base, stroking up smoothly and inhaling shakily, pretending it was-fuck-Bert's mouth, thrusting up. "Fuck...Bert," Quinn arches his back, tightening his grip and spreading his legs. He eased back his foreskin, thumbing over the wet head and thrust up into his own fist. Whining, he sped up his hand, squeezing his base and panting. Legs spread wide, he shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut and sucked on his own finger, cheeks flushed red as his hand slipped down and pushed a finger into his entrance. He scrunched up his face, working his finger. He curled it forward and rubbed his prostate, back arching up off the bed. His skin was covered with a light sheen of sweat, flushed. His head dropped back onto the pillow, his finger rubbing his spot, thumb brushing over his head and he made a half-choked growling sound and came all over his own fist.
After a few minutes, slumped back he eased his finger out while wiping his hand on the sheets absent -mindedly before remembering the camera. "Oh."
He dragged himself off the bed and mumbled into the little black lens; "In case you couldn't guess, I miss you," before switching it off.
Bert did delete it. And by 'delete' he meant he re-titled it and saved it in four different locations. After the skin on his dick was raw.
You better delete this after you watch it
Three Hours Earlier
Quinn flicked on the video camera, placing it carefully on the chest of drawers across from his bed. He moved over to the bed, taking a deep breath and pulled off his Tshirt, unbuckling his belt and pushing his jeans down his spread thighs, and off his legs. Glancing at the camera nervously, he hesitated and decided to pretend that he was alone. He left his underwear on, using the heel of his hand to rub his crotch, slowly increasing pressure, exhaling. He panted a little, the heat from his hand soaking through the thin material to his half-hard dick. Suppressing a moan, he dipped his hand inside his underwear and shut his eyes, relying on memories. Wrapping his fist around his dick, he remembered the last time Bert had been home before he left to tour with Street Drum Corp.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he shoved his underwear down, kicking it off the bed, lying on his back on and completely forgetting about the camera. He wrapped his slightly sweating fist around his base, stroking up smoothly and inhaling shakily, pretending it was-fuck-Bert's mouth, thrusting up. "Fuck...Bert," Quinn arches his back, tightening his grip and spreading his legs. He eased back his foreskin, thumbing over the wet head and thrust up into his own fist. Whining, he sped up his hand, squeezing his base and panting. Legs spread wide, he shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut and sucked on his own finger, cheeks flushed red as his hand slipped down and pushed a finger into his entrance. He scrunched up his face, working his finger. He curled it forward and rubbed his prostate, back arching up off the bed. His skin was covered with a light sheen of sweat, flushed. His head dropped back onto the pillow, his finger rubbing his spot, thumb brushing over his head and he made a half-choked growling sound and came all over his own fist.
After a few minutes, slumped back he eased his finger out while wiping his hand on the sheets absent -mindedly before remembering the camera. "Oh."
He dragged himself off the bed and mumbled into the little black lens; "In case you couldn't guess, I miss you," before switching it off.
Bert did delete it. And by 'delete' he meant he re-titled it and saved it in four different locations. After the skin on his dick was raw.
