Page 29 of Dirty Air
Fritz inhales a gasp and stops his hand, squeezing the base to prevent himself from coming just from the order. His cock twitches pathetically in his hold.
“You did it, didn’t you? Even though you’re so eager, you still stopped.” There’s a shuffle on the other end of the line. “You’re such a good boy—I knew you would be.”
Fritz gulps, flushing. Every instinct tells him to do the opposite, to fight the order, but his hand stays still.
“If you want to be told what to do, to have someone else take the wheel, I can do that for you. Tell me you want it.”
A whimper sticks in his throat. It’s not too late—if Fritz turns back now, he can retain a little bit of his dignity.
“Use your words, pretty boy. Tell me.”
“Y-yes,” Fritz forces out. “Please.”
“Please, what? What do you want?”
“Please,can you take the fucking wheel? Just tell me I can touch myself again, I’m leaking.”
“English, darling.”
Fritz hadn’t even noticed he had fallen back to German. “Please, I want it. I want you. Your words.”
“Good, good. Are you naked right now?”
His briefs are pulled down just enough, the waistband tucked behind his balls. Cool air hits his slicked cockhead, and he shivers. “My dick is out.”
“I want you naked.” Henry’s voice is stern, direct. “Don’t worry, I can wait.”
Another frantic scurry and Fritz tumbles out of bed. His shirtis thrown somewhere, his boxer briefs pulled down and kicked away. He nearly tips over while removing his socks.
He dives back into the bed, picking his phone back up. “Done!”
“Already?”
Fritz preens in Henry’s surprise, his cheeks heating.
“Purple sector one for Friedrich, let’s see how he does for the rest of the lap.”
“I hope I do not break a record for coming fast.”
Henry huffs a laugh. “We can start slow. How sensitive are your nipples?”
“My…?” Fritz looks down to make sure he still has them. He hasn’t thought about his nipples in a long time. “But I am a man.”
“Perfect. We can find out together. Lay down, if you aren’t already, sheets off.”
Fritz complies, bunching the sheets below his feet. He feels exposed, even in the empty room—laid bare under crisp hotel air conditioning. His dick drools a line of precum down to his stomach.
“For this part, I don’t want you to touch yourself. Nothing below the waist. Understood?”
“But—” His cockaches. “But I?—”
“Understood?” There's no room to argue.
Fritz’s dick twitches as he gulps. “Yes, sir.”
“Wet two fingers with your mouth. Get them really sloppy. Make sure you get the space between.”
His fingers are salty. It’s a surprise until Fritz remembers he was just jerking himself off. He licks the precum-flavored fingers clean and pushes them deeper, imagining they’re Henry’s thick digits instead.
