Page 30 of Insatiable Hunger

I’m so fucking keyed up. After locking myself in my room last night, I refused myself the right to come. My cock was so hard, it had its own heartbeat, but I couldn’t. And now… well, now I’m so fucking horny, I can’t think straight.

Stepping out of the shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and head into my room. After I did my yoga class this afternoon, I swam laps in the pool until my arms felt like Jell-O and my legs threatened to give out on me. I guess I think if I exhaust myself, maybe I won’t obsess over what I can’t have.

Too bad it’s not working.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I grab the shea butter lotion off my nightstand. All the swimming I’ve been doing has been majorly drying out my skin. To the point where I have to lather my entire body with this stuff every day after I shower.

I slip my towel off, tossing it on the bed before squirting a few pumps into my hand. Propping a leg on the corner of the bed, I start rubbing it in as my mind, of course, drifts into dangerous territories.

More than once today, I’ve considered texting him. Reaching out and seeing if it’s been on his mind all day too. In the end, I chose not to. It’s better that way. Entertaining this in any manner is a recipe for disaster and a terrible idea. Avoidance is best, and luckily, something I’m really fucking good at. But fuck if it’s not the most enticing disaster I’ve ever seen. Even thinking about the feel of his lips on mine last night, his breath mixing with mine has my cock filling up, body thrumming with arousal and need.

Once I’m finished moisturizing, I climb on the bed, positioning myself with my back against the headboard. My laptop is sitting in front of me, so I open it and pull up PowerPeach.com, starting a room. If I can’t have him, then I sure as fuck am going to fantasize about it.

Hitting record, I grab the lotion, squirting a little more onto my palm before wrapping a hand around my heavy, aching length. A desperate groan vibrates from my chest as my fist glides leisurely from root to tip.

People join the room, leaving comments about how much they like what I’m doing. Some leaving tips as they watch.

RuffRider: Can’t wait to see you lose control, sexy.

RuffRider tipped forty tokens.

GingerBear tipped thirty tokens.

AnalBandit: Talk to us, baby. I want to hear you get loud!

Nobody’s home, so I let myself really get into it. Head falling back and eyes closing, I become lost in the fantasy created behind my eyelids. I allow my hands to roam across my naked torso, teasing and caressing. My tiny pink nipples pebble, ab muscles jumping under the touch as I pretendhe’shere and I’m being watched.

Pushing myself up, I sit on the backs of my calves as I reach into my nightstand, pulling out a piece of fabric I shouldn’t have. A piece of fabric that makes me look like the biggest pervert on the planet, but I don’t care. I saw them in the laundry room this morning and knew I needed them. Wrapping the maroon briefs around my cock, a gasp falls off my lips as I tighten my grip, stroking a tight fist up my length before dragging it back down. My tip, shiny and stretched tight, pokes out, showcasing just how turned on I am as precum beads at the slit.

“These belong to my stepdaddy,” I moan to the camera. “What do you think he’d do if he caught me with them?”

There’s forty-four people already in here, and over a thousand tokens tipped so far. I continue to pump myself slowly and sensually as I read through the chat. The comments coming in have nothing on the vision I’ve given myself in my mind.

WatchingMeWatchingYou: I can be your stepdaddy, baby… come ride me.

BreakUrAssNotUrHeart: Mmm… what I would give to lay you down, bend you in half, and slide my cock inside that tight, wet pussy. Fucking you slowly till you beg me to go deeper and harder.

My heart is thumping hard in my chest as the fabric continues to slide and rub on me, bolts of electricity shooting through my bloodstream.

It’s so fucking wrong, but feels so fucking good.

It’s not often I’m a huge talker in here. I find that mostly playing with myself does the job just fine with this crowd, but today, I’m switching it up. I’m so riled up, and I desperately want to watch him lose his cool. He’s always so put together, so in control. I want to pretend he’s here and make him snap. Act rash.

“Fuck, this feels so good,” I moan out loud, unable to stop myself, my voice coming out husky and desperate. “Do you think he’d be mad? Do you think he’d want to punish me?”

Images of my stepdad pulling my pants down my thighs again, hand cracking against me, reverberating through my body as he gives me my deserved punishment flash through my mind. Smack after smack until my ass is burning hot and red. The sexy, crazed look in his eyes when he’s done. The massive erection in his pants that I just know he’sdyingto take out.

How I would drop to my knees, taking him deep in my throat, and worship him. I’d let him use my throat until I couldn’t breathe. Until tears would be streaming down my face.

I roll my hips into my grip, jaw slack, and a broken moan falls from my lips as I keep the mind-numbing, slow pace.

Comments filter in, but I pay them no attention. I’m too lost.

The fantasy evolves, becomingmore. It’s still him and I, but now it’s my turn. We’re in the media room, but he’s watching on the other side of the room. He’s turned on—rock hard and aching behind the zipper of his expensive slacks—but he’s pissed off at how hot he finds this. Finds me.

He would sit there, watching me as I become a panting, needy slut for him. Naked and horny, losing myself unabashedly with a piece of him wrapped around me. He’d watch until he couldn’t take it any longer. Storming across the room, floorboards shaking and rattling, he would stop before me, resolve snapping. He’d rip his belt off, bending me over the couch as he works my cheeks raw with the leather before pulling himself out of his pants and burying himself deep in my channel. My skin, burning red and bruising, would sting as he pounds into me, my hole stretched and swollen to fit his many inches. I’d cry out, both begging him to stop and urging him to go harder.

He wouldn’t stop.

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