Chapter Text
🤘🎸🤘
Eddie stumbles through his front door, barely catching himself against the side table to avoid face-planting in the front entry. He shakes off his rain-soaked curls as he toes his shoes off and shrugs out of his jacket, tossing his keys in the key bowl (which is actually a catch-all bowl of junk, let’s be honest) and makes his way to the bedroom to change.
As first dates go, this one had been a moderate success. He did get laid, after all. So, yeah, that’s a win. As much as he hates to admit it, Chrissy was right about updating the dreaded Grindr app on his phone and putting himself back out there. A few weeks, a few in-app messages, and a few drinks later, and what do you know? Here he stands at the end of his first hookup in an embarrassingly long time. Plus, he managed to pull the guy’s number at the end of it all, so now they can actually communicate outside of the app they’ve been relying on. You know, just in case. The sex was good. Really fucking good, actually. Especially as semi-public bar fucks go. So … why not call the guy again? It would be stupid not to.
Also, the guy is fucking hot. Truthfully, there’s just no way he would have had the stones to even approach a guy this hot in person. He bows his head in gratitude for the anonymity and relative privacy online dating apps have provided for people like him. Eddie’s first impressions come across so much better from behind that tiny phone screen. He’s much more witty and charming than he could hope to be by just approaching some hot stranger in a bar or a club. He smirks as he peels his rain-dampened jeans off and tosses them into the hamper along with his shirt. Yep -definitely a successful first foray back out into the wilderness of the dating hellscape.
He’s brushing his teeth after his very nearly too-hot shower, preoccupied with trying to think of an appropriate thank-you gift for Chrissy, when he has a moment of panic as he remembers the folded napkin shoved in the pocket of his jeans. The one with the guy’s number. The hot bathroom fuck guy. With the nice thick cock and the eager, bottomless throat. What the fuck was his name? Oh. Steve. Wait. Sam? No. Stu? No. Steve. Definitely Steve. Yeah, that guy. Mr. I don’t have a gag reflex and also by the way have you seen my juicy fucking ass. The one Eddie spent a good thirty minutes drilling like an oil field in the single-stall restroom at the bar. The one he definitely is going to call again. Maybe. Probably. Who can say. But - yeah. Definitely.
He rushes across the room to his hamper and fishes the crumpled napkin from the front pocket of his damp jeans. Fuck, it got wet, he thinks as he smoothes out the wrinkled napkin on the bathroom counter. They should have just stepped out of the rain to exchange text messages or something instead of going with this fully old-school analog pen-and-paper bullshit. Sure, they each saved their phones from water damage, but at what cost? The number is fucking smudged. Rain drops. Those fuckers. He can make out almost the entire phone number, except for the last digit. That’s a one, right? No. A seven. Definitely a seven. A four? Of course it’s not a four. Yeah, not a four. It’s a one. Definitely a one.
He shakes out his towel-dried curls and pulls on a pair of comfy sweatpants and a well-worn tee before sprawling across his mattress, phone in hand. He’s feeling good. Refreshed. Well-fucking-fucked, thank you very much. Is it creepy to send flowers to your best friend as a thank you for convincing you to finally do the thing that resulted in a well-sucked dick and blissfully empty balls at the end of an actually pretty pleasant date? Nah. Not creepy at all. It’s Chrissy, for fuck sake. She’ll probably be offended if he doesn’t send her a frankly fuck-off expensive flower arrangement for her tireless service to his love life.
He navigates to his contacts and saves the number as ‘Big 🍆💦 Boy (Steve?)’ before he forgets or gets any further sidetracked with Chrissy-shopping. Maybe he’ll text him in a few days. That’s a thing people do after fucking in a bathroom stall, right? Sure it is, Ed. You’re doing amazing, sweetie.
After having spent an entirely ungodly amount of time selecting the perfect $200 flower arrangement to be delivered to Chrissy’s doorstep the following day, he’s ready to slip into blissful unconsciousness when thoughts of BigBoy Steve creep back to the forefront of his consciousness. Fuck, that guy is hot. Like, crazy hot. And that mouth on him. Much to his surprise and delight, he finds that he’s half hard again just thinking about it. He palms himself through the worn softness of his sweatpants, coaxing himself to full hardness as he contemplates jerking off before he falls asleep. He could go again, actually. So he grabs the lube from his bedside table and does just that, with thoughts of BigBoy and that juicy fucking ass fueling his imagination as he vigorously strips his cock until he comes like a firehose for the second time tonight.
On impulse, he snaps a few artfully composed shots of his spent cock and the (frankly impressive) stripes of pearly white across his chest and abdomen. He could text these to BigBoy. That’s not weird, right? That’s a thing people do. And - should he really worry too much about offending the sensibilities of his Grindr hookup who fucked him in the bathroom on their first meeting? Besides, if he offends him, it’s not as if they’re in a relationship. Or even friends. This is a thing people do when they casually fuck their dating app hookups. He’s sure of it. And if it takes him out of his comfort zone just a bit, well … That’s what Chrissy has been hounding him to do forever now. So why the fuck not. Right?
“Fuck it,” he whispers into the night as he pulls up BigBoy’s contact and attaches three of the best angled shots to a text message:
Hey there, BigBoy! Ed here
Thought you might like to see
how I ended my evening. Had a
great time tonite - thx for the spank
bank material. Give me a shout
when you wanna do this again
🍆💦
He stares at the tiny status bar as the images upload and they’re on their way through the ether. Well, nothing to be done now. They’re sent. And if he never hears from BigBoy again, so be it. He got laid, so… yeah. He’s good for - what? At least six months or something. He glances at the phone as the tiny status message changes.
Read: 1:13am
He continues to stare at the tiny screen for over an hour longer, willing the tiny bubble to appear signifying that BigBoy is typing a response. Nothing. He tries using telepathy. He tries sending platitudes and prayers up to a deity he has no faith or belief in. Nothing. He stares and stares, before he finally drifts off to sleep sometime in the wee hours of the new day.
Fuck. Now what?
💦🍆💦
1:13am. Fuck. Steve knows better than to forget to turn on Do Not Disturb at night. Between the kids and Robin, his phone is constantly pinging and vibrating and chirping at all hours of the day and night, and he always has to check it, no matter the hour. Every fucking time, it would be something stupid that definitely could have waited until the next morning, but every time, he looks.
He groans, rolling over and fumbling for his phone in the dark, ready to see who he has to thank this time for disturbing his sleep, so he can tell them off and go the fuck back to bed. He blinks into the light of his screen, groggily trying to make out what it is through the glow. Nothing is showing up on his preview except an unknown number. He swipes clumsily at the screen and waits for the message to load.
Steve yawns as the little status bar shows the upload coming across, hoping it’s not another political ad or other such spam when suddenly his screen is filled with the creamy expanse of skin. Nearly dropping the phone, Steve sits straight up in bed, and scrambles, scrolling down. A chest, bare, tattoos, a stomach striped with… no, it can't be. He continues scrolling down and yep, there it is. A fucking cock, dribbling from the tip, freshly spent. Steve grimaces, dropping the phone in his lap and raking his hands down his face. He can’t believe he got woken up for a wrong number sext — and not even one he could enjoy.
He reaches for the phone again, ready to type a polite “wrong number,” when another picture comes across, and then another, along with a message to someone named… BigBoy? Somebody had a good night, Steve thought, grudgingly impressed. And you know what, who was he to ruin Ed Whoever’s probably really nice post-nut buzz? No point embarrassing the poor guy, Steve could just delete the pictures, no harm, no foul.
Hell, he thinks ruefully, it was more action than he’d seen in longer than he’d like to admit. And, honestly? They weren’t bad pictures. The angle was nice and the guy’s dick was…
Well, that was a thought to examine later.
Without thinking, Steve guiltily saves the pictures to his secret folder entitled Swat Depository, where he keeps all his special alone time images, and swiftly puts the phone into Do Not Disturb, before settling back into bed and willing himself to sleep.
And if Steve, wide awake an hour later, jerks off with those images in mind, that’s nobody’s business but his own.
Steve has almost forgotten about the late night wrong number sext, right up until two nights later when it happens again. Steve is brushing his teeth when his phone buzzes. He picks it up out of habit, swiping across the screen automatically before his mouth falls open and the toothbrush plops down into the sink below him, toothpaste and foam splashing across the counter. It was another picture for BigBoy from Ed; this time the man was fully hard, his impressive dick encircled in his fist, leaking at the tip. Ed still had his clothes on, black jeans unzipped and shoved artfully down his hips to expose his cock. His free hand was rucking his undershirt up, drawing Steve’s eye to his lean stomach, up farther to the hard nipples noticeable through the thin fabric, a long and surprisingly graceful neck that led up to a strong jaw, and a full bottom lip caught between this Ed guy’s teeth. The picture stopped there — enough that Steve could get a good look at the man, tantalizingly on display, but not enough that he would ever be able to identify him in a crowd. It was… a lot.
Steve shudders hard, adjusting himself in his pants as he discreetly moves the image to his secret folder. Then, he rinses his toothbrush, reapplies toothpaste and begins his brushing routine all over again, resolving to forget about it.
Which he almost is able to do, right up until it happens again .
🤘🎸🤘
Eddie is about to lose it when the door to Chrissy’s apartment FINALLY swings open on his pacing form. She has some fucking nerve. Standing there in the doorway looking adorably cozy in her fluffy cream colored sweater and plaid yoga pants while Eddie is spiraling. She grins widely at him as she swings the door open to let him in.
“Good morning, babe!” She croons as she leans in to place a quick kiss on his cheek. “I would ask how you are but your body language is pretty telling. What the hell is going on with you?” She asks with a knowing smirk as she moves to close the door behind him.
It’s been a week since his date with BigBoy. A fucking week. A whole week, and a total of four (pretty flattering, if he’s being honest) dick pics sent to his most recent bathroom bang buddy. And no response from the man. He’s been narrowly resisting the urge to message Steve (his fucking name WAS Steve, right?!) on Grindr, but he figures that since they’ve exchanged their actual cell numbers they’ve moved past using the app. So he’s reined in that particular impulse. At least so far. And the sex was fucking stellar. He knows he fucked BigBoy into a near-brainless, quivering heap. The man came so fucking hard he nearly passed out for fuck sake. And yet, here he is, a full week later, and BigBoy continues to leave him on Read. Why?
Eddie glares as he moves past her into the apartment, shucking his jacket and tossing it on the couch as he barrels his way into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. “You … you have a lot of fucking nerve asking me that, Christina Louise. And how can you be so fucking sunny, hm? When you’re responsible for literally all of this … shit. Why do I ever listen to you, hm? THAT is the question of the day,” he rants, little actual heat in his tone.
Chrissy chuckles softly as Eddie finishes making his coffee and joins her at the kitchen table. She looks up at him through her lashes, chin propped in her palm, and sighs. Her high ponytail sways gently as she shakes her head. “You planning to tell me what’s got you so riled up or what?” she asks sweetly as she reaches into the center of the table to move the enormous flower arrangement aside to allow for an unencumbered line of sight between them.
“Taking these back, by the way,” Eddie says through a pout as he sips his coffee. “Bad advice givers don’t get to keep fuck-off gigantic flower arrangements.”
“Interesting. If that’s true, then these are staying exactly where they are. Because I give you fucking AMAZING advice, sweetie. So hands off my fucking flowers or you’ll be pulling back a bloody stump.”
“Oh fuck off,” Eddie says with a snort as he sips his coffee. “He still hasn’t texted back.”
Chrissy stands abruptly and grabs Eddie’s mug from his hand. “Okay, enough of this. We need wine for this conversation,” she says as she goes to the kitchen to grab a bottle of white wine and a couple of glasses.
“Hey! I was drinking that! And isn’t it a little early to bust out the wine?” Eddie grouses as he watches Chrissy search the kitchen for a corkscrew.
“It’s 11am on a Sunday. What the hell kind of gay are you anyway if you’re not already at brunch? I’m righting wrongs here, if you think about it.” She finds the corkscrew and returns to the table, thrusting the bottle and corkscrew into Eddie’s hands. “Now open. Then tell me everything. And yes, I do mean everything. Start at the beginning.”
Eddie glares at her as he opens the wine and pours each of them a glass. He really does love this woman. His best friend for nearly ten years now, they’ve been through hell and back together and there is literally nobody else on earth he would choose over Chrissy Cunningham. They have literally no secrets between them - he can always - always - tell her everything, no matter how twisted or fucked up or embarrassing it might be. “What do you mean? We fucked. I sent him dick pics. He hasn’t responded.”
“You know that’s not what I mean, you asshole. Start with the club. How was he at the club?”
“We FUCKED at the club, Chris. He was pretty fucking receptive at the club. In all the ways.”
“Oh fuck you, you know that’s not what I mean. How was he, in general? Was he super touchy-feely? Was he all business, like ‘just fuck me already and get out of my space?’ Was he sweet, like with pet names and loads of eye contact? Bratty? Subby? Bossy? DETAILS, Edward.”
Eddie swirls his wine in the glass for a moment, considering his response carefully. What was their dynamic at the club, anyway? “Hm. Well, he was super orally fixated. Great kisser - loved to kiss. Loved to suck cock, too. Wanted my hands on him everywhere, and he was definitely into the pet names bit. Pretty subby, too. Kept calling me Daddy and shit like that. It was fucking hot. And he was loud, too. I had to cover his mouth a few times. He was really fucking into it, Chrissy. I got the feeling he was into way more than vanilla sex - like he might dabble in Dom/sub dynamics, because he went wild on me when I took control. And then when we were leaving and exchanging numbers, he asked me when he could see me again. So I’m so fucking confused.”
“Hm. Interesting,” Chrissy muses as she sips her wine. “Maybe he’s like … I dunno … setting kind of like a scene? Was he bratty?”
“Ugh. SUPER bratty. Loved that, actually.”
“Okay then. Maybe he’s trying to make you take control again? Bratting out and playing up the whole hard to get bit? Is that possible?”
Eddie ponders for a moment before answering. “Uh … maybe? I guess? But not responding at all is weird, no?”
“Yeah. Kind of odd. But so is meeting a fucking Grindr match for the first time and fucking like bunnies before you even leave the club, followed by a sweet exchange of contact info. But hey, who am I to say? Each to their own, that’s my motto. Tell me about the pictures.”
“Pretty standard fare, as far as phone porn goes,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Sent a few money shots after I got home that night, then a more aesthetically pleasing shot - kind of artsy - a few days later. That one was mostly clothed. Not bad pictures, if I do say so myself. Well lit, well framed. You would have been proud of me, actually.”
“Okay, that’s good. So nothing too creepy then. Like - no hard core shit right out of the gate. That could be off-putting, even for a bratty, subby bottom boy.”
“Jesus, Chrissy! Of course not. What do you take me for? I mean, we fucked, and he was a bit bratty and a bit subby, sure. But I’m not about to go full Dom-daddy with a dude I just met. Fuck sake.”
“Okay, okay!” Chrissy says through laughter, her hands in the air in mock surrender. “Just trying to help you figure out what’s going on, that’s all. I mean, I guess it does seem a bit odd, given how well your date went. I dunno, Eddie - I think maybe he’s bratting out on you to make you work harder for his attention.”
“Yeah, I dunno, Chris. Maybe. Or maybe he had some post-nut clarity and decided to move on…” Eddie’s gaze snaps to meet hers, his eyes widened in panic. “Fuck, Chrissy! What if I have the wrong number? The napkin he wrote his number on got wet and it was hard to read. Like - what if I’m sending this shit to some rando?”
Chrissy thinks about it for a beat before shaking her head, a wry smile creeping across her face. “Nah. I doubt that. I mean, why wouldn’t a wrong number just tell you that? Or tell you to fuck off? I’ve received my share of unsolicited dick pics, babe. Trust me, my first response is to tell the guy to fuck off. I think you would know by now if it was the wrong guy.”
Eddie shrugs and sips his wine. “Well, if you don’t want me to take these back,” he says as he gestures to the flowers once again, “HELP me. What do I do here? I kind of want to get to know this guy. Plus I would not turn my back on the opportunity to fuck him again. It was GOOD, Chrissy. But I can just walk away too. I mean, it’s not like we’re invested here.”
“Nah. Know what I think?”
“Fucking … Jesus, Chrissy! Why do you think I’m here? NO - tell me what you think for fuck sake!”
“Oh fuck off. Fucking drama queen,” she says through laughter. “Let’s go harder.”
“Harder?”
She nods, a wicked glint in her eye. “Definitely harder. Send him more than just another pic. Maybe a video? Or just … I dunno. Start a fucking conversation with the guy, since you want to get to know him or some shit. And - of course, I could help you take some REALLY good pics. Real museum-quality shots. He’ll be drooling all over his phone.”
Eddie sits back in his seat, pondering as he swirls his wine in the glass. She may have a point. And if it does turn out to be a bust with BigBoy, well - so what? He’s at least put himself out there and none of the pictures show his face anyway, so… why not, right?
“You sure you want to help me take dick pics, babe?”
“Eddie. Come on. You’ve literally sat for me dozens of times for sketches and photos. I’m not talking about a simple dick pic here, either. I mean an artfully posed, tasteful, look-at-this-fucking-gorgeous-dick pic. You have a fucking great body, babe. I would know, as many times as I’ve drawn you and photographed you. Shit, I probably know your body better than some of your boyfriends.”
And the thing is, she’s not wrong. He spent more than a small portion of his college years working as a nude model for art and photography classes. In fact, that’s how he and Chrissy met. It felt easy and natural for him - Eddie has never been uncomfortable with his body. He knows he looks good. And though he could never be considered muscular, his physique is defined. Lithe. He knows what he looks like, and he’s proud of his time modeling.
“Maybe you’ll get to keep these flowers after all, babe,” he says with a grin. “What do you think we should do?”
She bounces in her seat for a moment, giggling and clapping her hands. “Ooh, yay! Okay, so let’s do this. I’ll take a bunch of shots in various poses. That way you’ll have a whole armory at your disposal. I still think you should consider a video or just talking to the guy too, but that’s up to you. Send him more stuff though, for real. Go harder. And who knows? If it turns out that you’ve been texting your junk to a wrong number - which I’m sure IS NOT the case - maybe THAT guy will want to jump on that fat cock of yours too, hm?”
“If it’s even a guy,” Eddie says, laughing.
“Trust me, babe. If you have been texting your dick to some random girl, you would definitely know by now. So - when do you want to shoot?”
“Can’t do it tonight - I have Hellfire later,” Eddie replies, scratching the stubble on his chin. “But how about tomorrow after work? That will give me time to prepare your canvas,” he jokes, gesturing up and down his torso.
“Such an ass,” Chrissy laughs. “Okay. Get a wax and moisturize. I’ll set up the studio for a museum-worthy photo shoot. Don’t shave though. I’ll get a few shots with your jaw in the frame, and that stubble is sexy.”
“Okay, you can keep the flowers.”
💦🍆💦
“Four!” Steve whines into the phone, pouting that he wasn’t seeming to get quite the sympathetic reaction from his best friend that he had expected. “Four of them, Robs!”
The hysterical cackling on the other end of the line isn’t doing much for Steve’s nerves, as he leans against his kitchen counter with his hands on his hips, waiting out the onslaught of laughter.
“Four what, Steve?”
“FOUR DICKS, ROBIN, JESUS,” he shouts into the phone, grimacing as the laughter begins again. “Penises! Are you happy you made me say it?”
“Technically it was just one penis though, wasn’t it? Or did the guy not have any distinguishing marks to be sure?” she says, clearly enjoying herself.
“I don’t know, Robs, it’s not exactly like I was looking,” Steve grouses, wishing for the millionth time that he could have been best friends with anyone other than Robin Buckley.
“Ok, ok, I’m being serious now,” she says through a stifled giggle. “Start again, what exactly is the problem? Some rando guy sent you a dick pic—”
“Four,” Steve interjects.
“My mistake. Some rando guy sent you four dick pics. And instead of immediately responding with a ‘wrong number’ and blocking, you just…”
“Panicked?” Steve says, phrasing it more like a question than an answer.
“Panicked, right,” she replies smugly. “Sounds like a totally normal thing to do when you get an unsolicited sext. Unless…”
“Unless what, Robs?” Steve mutters darkly.
“I’m just saying, dingus, it’s been a year since you came out to me as bi—”
“You mean since you got me drunk and asked me point blank if I ever thought about sucking dick?”
“—and yet here we are a whole year later, and there has been nary a dick sucked!” she chirps merrily, and he can almost hear the smug, know-it-all grin on her face. “As the person who knows and understands you on a deep, soul level, Steve, I am asking you… is there a reason why you didn’t put a stop to these messages the minute they started?”
“What? Robs, no!” Steve cries, more forcefully than was probably necessary. “Why would I want this? They weren’t even for me!”
“I don’t know, Steven, was the guy hot?”
“What? How would I know?” Steve thinks back to the pictures. The man was lean, pale, but in a way that seemed to suit him. He had big hands with long, elegant fingers, and the way the light caught the smears of moisture that were painted across his stomach—
“Earth to Steve!” Robin startles him out of his momentary lapse in conversation. “I said, did you not even look?”
“Deleted them!” Steve says a little too fast, in an unnaturally high-pitched voice, before he facepalms as he remembers guiltily that he very much had not deleted them. He hates lying to Robin.
“Right,” Robin murmurs dubiously. “Right. Ok, well… it’s been a few days since you got the last one. Maybe the guy’s given up?”
“Maybe,” Steve says miserably. He didn’t know why the thought bothers him so much.
“Well, if you get another, I think you’ve only got two options. One, if you’re not into it, tell him! Just send a ‘wrong number’ message and be done with it. Orrr,” her voice takes on a knowing, coy quality that makes Steve gulp nervously. “Two, if you get another one and you are into it, what’s the harm in flirting back?”
“I don’t know, Robs, what if it’s some guy texting his wife or something?”
“Steve! He literally called you BigBoy, that’s not what this is! This is sexting, nothing more than a little flirty, harmless fun. Live a little, I am begging you.”
He mulls it over. It had been a while, and he has to admit, there is something about the man in the pictures that has piqued his interest. He feels a wash of gratitude then for Robin, and takes back anything bad he had ever thought about her. She truly is the best of them.
“Thanks, Buckley. Love you,” he says fondly, wrapping up this ridiculous call.
“Love you more, dingus,” she responds, laughing knowingly.
It’s a few hours later and Steve is cleaning up after dinner, washing the dishes from another lonely meal for one. He’s feeling anxious and frustrated for some reason he can’t place, pent up. He has exciting plans for the rest of his evening — a long, hot shower with a deep conditioning mask for his hair, and then falling asleep in front of the TV. Again.
Just as he is in the middle of really going at it with a particularly dirty pan, Steve can hear his phone vibrating on the counter next to him. He sighs with annoyance, caught between the baked-on cheese and wondering who it is that could be texting him so late. Then he realizes it is only 8 o’clock and cringes a little at himself for thinking it’s an unreasonable hour. When had he gotten so old and unfun?
“Get it together, grandpa, Jesus,” Steve chides himself as he sets the pan back in the soapy water to soak, and snaps his yellow rubber gloves off one by one.
He is so irritated with himself that he hasn’t even paid attention to what the notification is, swiping across the screen with a huff of annoyance. He leans against the counter, one hand on his hip as he waits for the message to load, tapping his foot like he has anything better to do.
Then, his screen lights up with the most stunning display that he’s ever seen. It was the guy again — Ed — and he’s back with a vengeance. Laid out like a meal, all creamy skin and long limbs. The shots come back to back, traveling down his body, artfully composed and, seemingly, professionally done. The final image is a… tasteful? Would he call it tasteful?... closeup shot of the man’s dick, fully hard, his hand laid along it, loosely cupping his own balls invitingly. Steve nearly drops the phone in the dishwater.
Steve stares intently at the man, whose face was still hidden but had enough of himself on display that even Steve has to admit he is attractive, when another message comes through. This time, text.
Hi again, BigBoy
Missing me?
Been missing you - let’s talk
He gulps, reading the text again and again. Steve knows that he is certainly not the intended recipient of this message, but his dick has not seemed to get that memo as it begins stirring with interest in his pants. Steve readjusts himself as he considers his options. What had Robin said? A little harmless fun?
Steve begins to type a response. He isn’t even sure what to say, starting and stopping on several messages before the loading bar reappears, showing another new message coming across. This time it was a video. With a trembling hand, Steve hits play.
There in live action is Ed, still only from the shoulders down — shirt off, the button of his tight jeans undone coyly, light catching on the metal like a little wink just for Steve. And then, the man’s voice, rich and deep, amused. The sound of it sends a shiver down Steve’s body, settling low in his gut, a lick of heat he can’t deny.
“Hey, BigBoy,” the man says with a low, wicked chuckle. “Just wanted to say I’ve been thinking about you. I can see you’re thinking about writing back, those three little dots just floating there for me. Come on, baby, come on and play with me.”
Shit! Steve closes out of the video and tosses the phone away like it had burned him. He knows rationally that it wasn’t like the man — Ed — could actually see him, but it hadn’t occurred to him that the man could see his read receipts. He feels exposed.
Steve picks up the phone again and considers his response. As though possessed, his fingers type out the first thing that crosses his mind.
Are you a model?
It seems like a reasonable question to him, the newest pictures had been really nice.
A minute later, Ed replies.
A model?
Like what you see? 😊😏
Like a sex model?
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, nonono,” Steve spirals. A sex model, what the actual fuck was he thinking? Robin was in so much trouble, this was a terrible idea. He scrambles with the keypad, frantically trying to get the words out.
SORRY WROGN NMBER BRO
He groans, can feel how red his face is as he types out yet another text, and then another.
*wrong
*number
Fuck!
As in, I don’t know who you think you’re
texting, but it’s probably not me. Sorry man.
There, that should do it. Just as Steve is about to block the number and wash his hands of the whole mortifying ordeal, his phone buzzes again with a response.
Steve?
Oh, he is so fucked.
🤘🎸🤘
Eddie grins, kicking his feet with glee and anticipation as he watches the floating dots appear and reappear before Steve’s response finally comes through the ether. Finally! A text back, a reply. Was it the video that did it? He really did pull out all the stops when he recorded it, dropping his voice an octave or two and using his best, most dramatic Dungeon Master cadence as he panned over his form with the camera, lingering for a beat (or two, but that’s his business) on the open (yet demure! Shut up!) button on his jeans.
“Come on, now. Don’t be shy, baby. Play with me…” he whispers, palming his growing erection as the anticipation of what BigBoy might say in response continues to build.
“A model? Jesus Christ.”
He owes Chrissy so big after this - she’s really outdone herself with this round of portraits. Wait - is that accurate? Portraits? Nudes? Smut? Porn? Whatever. She has more than earned his undying love, gratitude, and devotion for all of eternity after this. She DID make him look incredible. He hurriedly types his response to BigBoy, his cock twitching in anticipation.
‘A model? Like what you see? 😊😏’ he sends in reply as he begins to pace in his living room. Now that he really has BigBoy’s attention - and better yet, he’s responding to Eddie’s messages - he has to think of his next move quickly. This could turn into a good old-fashioned sexting session at this rate. Time to bring his ‘A’ game.
“The fuck is a sex model?” Eddie cackles as he reads BigBoy’s newest message. “Well, I have to say that’s a new one on me. Fucking … SEX MODEL?”
He’s barely recovered his composure to try and craft an appropriate response when Steve’s volley of panicked texts lands in rapid succession. What the hell? Pulling the ‘wrong number’ card, NOW? Hm. Maybe Chrissy is right. Maybe he is trying to set up some kind of a scene or role play between them. But… what if… FUCK! What if it really IS a motherFUCKING wrong number after all?
“Fuuuuck…” Eddie groans as he flops onto his couch, grabbing two fistfuls of his hair and nearly pulling it out in frustration. Maybe he will murder Chrissy after all. Nah, fuck this. He needs to know for sure, before he takes this any further and crosses the border from playful flirtation into fucking sex pest territory.
Steve?
Eddie throws the phone onto the coffee table and chews on his fingernails as he stares at the screen for what feels like eternity, waiting for something - anything - to come through in response. He’s just picked it up to call Chrissy when it chimes in his hand. He draws a shuddering breath and peeks at the screen, one eye closed in dread.
Uh, yeah?
💬
Who is this?
💬
Do I know you from somewhere?
Eddie takes a deep, pained breath as he feels the color returning to his face. Jesus fucking Christ. So he IS fucking around. A little role play, apparently. Maybe Chrissy gets to live after all. Maybe.
Babyboy, you wound me
How quickly you forget
Did you like the photos?
Eddie smirks as he awaits a response. Cute. The boy is playing with him now, just like he wanted. And if he wants Eddie to assume the role of the experienced man-whore leading the demure, unassuming, virtuous novice, well then - sure, Eddie is on board with playing that role for him. This is going to be fun. Though, truth be told, if they were a bit further along in this dance Eddie would probably be making him pay for this level of brattiness. But all good things in time.
The photos are great
They look professional
That’s why I asked if you were a model
A regular model
Not a sex model
💬
I don’t know why I said that
💬
Are there sex models?
💬
💬
💬
Eddie giggles as he reads the influx of new messages. Was Steve this fucking adorable and awkward at the club? No matter. It’s working.
You’re a fun one arentcha BigBoy?
Thank you for the compliment
flattery does work wonders with me
To answer your question, no.
Not a model
💬
I have no idea if there are sex models, baby
💬
Glad you finally responded
Giving me a complex, and
that’s just not very nice, is it now?
Bro, seriously
What’s with the ‘Bro’ talk all of a sudden with this guy? Eddie thinks as he reads Steve’s new message, chuckling softly. Was he a ‘bro’ kind of guy at the club? I mean, not that he really spoke much. Not with Eddie’s cock stuffed down his throat, followed by his hand clamped over his mouth as Eddie railed him into the following week. Besides, it’s not NOT working. Fuck it, let BigBoy have his fun.
Tell me something, baby
What?
Was there a particular photo you
liked more than the others?
Eddie watches as the tell-tale bubbles appear and reappear on the screen as Steve is clearly trying to find his words. Adorable. Oh, how he loves making pretty boys squirm. Maybe he should tell him that.
Um. I guess the one with your hand?
The one with my hand?
Uh, yeah. The one with your hand
in the shot. It’s like a close up one?
A close up one?
Yeah
Are you talking about the
close up of my hard cock, Steve?
Seriously. I really think these
are meant for someone else.
You’re adorable when you deflect,
babyboy. But I do really love
making pretty boys squirm
Not deflecting
No?
You think I’m pretty?
Not deflecting, he says. 😂
Oh, yes baby.
I do think you’re pretty.
Why don’t you show me what
you’re up to right now, hm?
Show you? How?
Send me a picture.
Bro.
LOL
Are you sure you have the right Steve?
Oh, yes. I’m pretty sure.
But let’s check shall we?
Okay…
Brunette?
Yeah
Around 6’ tall?
(give or take)
Um. Yes?
Hazel eyes?
You do realize that there could
be more than just one 6’ tall guy
called Steve though, right?
Don’t be a brat
Not a brat
Oh, I beg to differ
Show me, then
Show you what?
Picture
Don’t keep me waiting, BigBoy
I can’t take photos like yours
Nobody can. My best friend
took those. She’s a pro
Do it anyway
💬
💬
💬
Jesus fuck, this guy is a goddamn wet dream. And Chrissy Cunningham is a fucking goddess.
💦🍆💦
Steve stares at his phone, wondering how he ended up here? Sure, it had been a bit of a dry spell lately, and sure, this Ed guy is interesting if nothing else, but he must have had a stroke when he not only began texting back, but then agreed to send a picture.
He is in way over his head. Steve thinks about how Ed had mentioned he had a friend take his pictures, and he suddenly wishes that Robin were there to help him. No, scratch that. He can almost hear Robin’s hysterical cackling from here. No, he has gotten himself into this, he is going to get himself out of it.
Ok, uh
I still don’t think I’m the guy you’re
looking for, but here’s a pic
Steve is a little proud of himself actually. He managed to get a decent shot of himself relaxing casually against the counter, one foot kicked over the other. It showed off the long lines of his body, and the tightness of his jeans where you could clearly make out the outline of his dick, which was more than a little interested in whatever game he was playing. He crops the image down so that his face doesn't show, and hits send, holding his breath.
There’s my pretty boy 👀
Damn baby, ur even bigger
than I remember
Thanks?
Look man, I really think there’s
some kind of mistake here…
Steve?
Yeah?
Are those yellow rubber gloves?
Fuck! Steve hadn’t actually paid any attention to the background of his shot, certainly not putting as much effort into it as Ed had put into his. He enlarges the image he had sent, and yep, there they were — his fucking stupid rubber gloves, set aside to dry against the sink. Was it his fault that he liked to keep his hands soft and hated pruney fingers? Shit, Ed is writing again…
You’re so fucking perfect, pretty boy
Have you been a good little wifey today?
Kept the house nice and clean for daddy?
With your slutty little gloves on
💬
What?
Don’t get all shy on me now Stevie
We’re just starting to have fun
Why don’t you put those gloves
on and send me another pic…
I dunno man, I’m not good at this
Don’t worry baby boy, I remember
ALL the things you’re good at
But first, I wanna see how good those
big hands of yours look in those gloves
Steve hangs his head and takes a deep breath. He has no idea what he is even doing, but now that he’s begun, damned if he isn’t going to at least try and enjoy the ride.
His mind races with trying to come up with something he can send Ed that would be half as hot as the things Ed has already sent him. He’d already said he wanted Steve to wear the gloves, so he reaches for those, shaking out the water before he slips them on. Fuck, of course he splashes himself with them, but oh… maybe he can work with that…
Steve picks up a small glass from the drying rack and fills it with water. Before he can second guess himself, he pours it down the front of his shirt, rendering his tidy white polo with subtle blue pinstripes a little see-through — enough to where you would be able to see the dark fur of his chest hair and, hopefully, the peaks of his nipples standing up against the sudden splash of cold. As a last-minute gesture, he flicks open the button of his jeans just as Ed had done in his video, and he sets his camera down with the timer counting down. He adjusts his dick in his pants, places his gloved hands on his hips and arches his back in a way he hopes is sexy, smizing into the flash.
Not that Ed would ever see his smize, since he immediately crops out his face and his neck with its identifiable moles before sending. But, you know. It’s the thought that counts.
He watches with bated breath as the image appears on his screen, and then as it goes from “delivered” to “read.” He feels pretty silly, standing there with his soaked shirt and his stupid yellow gloves on, but he can’t help but also feel a little flattered that someone might be interested in his otherwise mundane evening at home. It actually feels pretty nice to have someone to share it with.
Steve’s phone buzzes. This time, it’s a voice note. He hits play, and suddenly his kitchen is filled with the sound of Ed’s low rasp, his amused chuckle.
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re in so much trouble. Looks like you spilled a little all over your pretty white shirt. I didn’t know that my perfect little housewife was gonna get so wet and dirty for daddy.”
His vision whites out and he is glad that he has the presence of mind to set the phone down before he drops it against the tile floor. Steve’s mouth is hanging open as he struggles to get control over how his body is reacting to hearing that voice saying those things to him. Honestly, it is a damn miracle that he doesn’t just come in his pants the second her hears “sweetheart” rasped down the line. Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ!
Uh… was that ok?
More than ok baby -
You’re driving me fucking crazy
Yeah? What part, the gloves or
I don’t remember you having that
much chest hair, but it’s fucking hot
I used to shave it so I guess that’s why?
Don’t ever shave it, sweetheart
I’m into it 🥵
Steve is beginning to feel a little restless — squirming under the praise and his dick really wants to get this show on the road. He racks his brain trying to think of how to keep this moving so he can get it out of his system, block the number and move on with his life.
So, uh, my…
my dick’s feeling pretty lonely
💬
He curses to himself, taking a deep breath before continuing to type.
Is daddy going to do
anything about that or…?
He waits for a response, but nothing comes. Another minute, and still nothing. Steve is beginning to panic, pacing his kitchen until finally, a ping from his phone. He rushes back to where it lays on the counter, knocking his knee hard against the cabinet door.
It’s another voice note.
“Patience, sweetheart. We’ll get there. Why rush the game? Daddy doesn’t even know if you’ve been a good enough boy yet to deserve it.”
The moan that escapes Steve’s throat is shocking to him. He hasn’t heard himself make a noise like that in… well, ever, if he is being honest with himself. He palms his aching dick, desperate to relieve some of the pressure, and trying to ignore the fact that he is already leaking into his underwear. There is just something about that voice — amused and knowing, wicked but with a hint of underlying sweetness that just… does something to him.
Cat got your tongue?
Bad kitty
I want that tongue all for myself.
Sorry, I was just thinking
Thinking about what, Stevie?
Let me guess…
Thinking about that picture again?
The one with my hand and my big, hard dick?
Thinking about how well you took it?
Or maybe about how hard I made you cum?
I really like your voice
💬
Oh
Oh my god, nononononono, what is he doing? His voice? That isn’t a normal sexting thing to say, Steve! They had finally gotten to the good part and here he is, still stuck on that expressive, delicious, deep voice — one that he didn’t think he would ever get tired of hearing talk, and… oh fuck. He needs to end this now because whatever is going on is way more than what he had bargained for.
🤘🎸🤘
His voice? Hm. Okay then - Steve likes his voice. Oh, Stevie baby. Yeah, Eddie can work with that. He grins wickedly as he considers his next move. He pours himself a fresh glass of water and gets comfortable on the couch before he presses ‘record’ for a new voice note.
“You like daddy’s voice, baby? Such a good boy, telling daddy what you like. Seems to me that maybe you’re getting a little bit more comfortable now though, yeah? Yeah, I think you are. Why don’t you get really comfortable for me then, hm? Be daddy’s good, sweet, perfect little wifey and get that shirt off that you’ve so carelessly soiled. Hmm, sweetheart. You know your daddy can’t have his perfect, slutty little housewife looking so unkempt. Now be a good little slut, won’t you, and take that top off for daddy. Show me those perfect tits like a good boy.”
Eddie sends the voice note and props his feet on the coffee table, unbuttoning his jeans and lowering the zipper to allow some desperately needed relief on the pressure that’s been building there. He spares just a brief thought before he reaches inside so he can finally take himself in hand. That’s not creepy, right? At least, not any creepier than sending professionally lit and posed nudes with his rock hard dick as the star attraction, right? Fuck it.
He laughs softly as he watches the indicator turn from ‘Delivered’ to ‘Read’ on his most recent voice note, wondering what Steve is thinking right now. Is he wrestling with his inner voice, arguing the pros and cons of following Eddie’s instructions? Or is he dutifully stripping that drenched white top off and searching for the perfect lighting for his next picture? Is he frantically trying to set up the perfect backdrop in his slutty little kitchen for this (let’s face it) very alluring role play he’s crafted?
💬
Eddie strokes himself lazily and watches the screen as Steve works through compiling his response. Thankfully he had the presence of mind to grab his lube before he started texting with Steve, just in case. As one does.
This guy is too fucking adorable. Turns out that BigBoy is just as much fun to play with as he had hoped. Role playing as the naughty housewife. Yeah, he can work with that. Would Steve put on an old school slutty little maid outfit for him? Now that’s a thought to explore later.
Maybe next time they hook up he’ll make him wear the gloves. Why are the gloves doing it for him? He pulls up Steve’s photo again and notes how the yellow rubber strains against those huge fucking paws he’s managed to cram into those gloves. He doesn’t remember Steve having such large hands from their hookup, but he may have been just a tad preoccupied with burying his cock in that sweet juicy ass.
💬
Eddie groans at the memory and gives his cock a few more pronounced tugs. That ass. Jesus Christ. Maybe he’ll talk Steve into showing hole next. He’s pulled back to reality by the chime on his phone indicating Steve has finally compiled his reply. Such a good boy.
You want me to take off my shirt?
Got it in one, sweetheart.
Are you gonna be good for daddy?
Um. Okay.
It’s off
Cute.
Playing hard to get now, baby?
Don’t be a tease. Show me.
Be a good little slut
and show me those tits
💬
Eddie bites his lower lip as he waits for Steve’s next move. Holy fuck, but he really needs to fuck this guy again. Sooner rather than later. The chime of his phone signaling a new message makes his cock twitch again in anticipation. Fuck, he’s gonna end up with a Pavlovian response to that sound before long at this rate.
The image loads and Eddie doesn’t blow his load, but it’s a near thing. Jesus fucking Christ on a bike. Yeah, Stevie is most definitely feeling more comfortable. The image is … filthy. It’s Steve, bent at the waist and draped across his kitchen counter, back arched in an obscenely inviting pose, the fabric of his now open jeans loose at the back to allow a peek at the faintest hint of his underwear. Are those … red? Slutty red panties? Ooh, he’s a dirty boy, that Stevie.
But that’s nothing compared with the front view. Steve must have propped his phone against something. Must have used a timer. Because dear holiest of holy FUCKS … he’s got … holy Christ, his rubber-glove-clad hands are crossed obediently at the wrist in front as he rests his torso on the countertop, the angle and pressure from his arms pushing his tits together and creating damn near pornographic cleavage between those hairy, well-toned pecs.
Eddie groans as he continues to take in all the details of the image. He’s wet. Steve’s fucking chest is wet. His tits are covered in luxuriously thick brown hair and they’re pressed together and they are fucking WET. Eddie can make out the tawny brown of Steve’s rock hard nipples - the water he used to wet himself down for the picture must have been pretty fucking cold.
Holy mother of god, Stevie
You’re fucking killing me
over here, baby
Was that okay?
I have no idea what I’m doing
I can’t take pictures well
Don’t be modest, baby
You know exactly what you’re doing.
Are you wearing slutty
little red panties for daddy?
They’re not panties
Don’t lie to me, babyboy
Are you saying daddy doesn’t
know panties when he sees them?
That’s just rude, sweetheart
I’m not!
They’re not panties -
they’re just normal
Normal?
Yeah. Normal underwear
What exactly are ‘normal’
underwear, baby?
You’re gonna have to send
me an example of that.
I need proof.
Also did you splash yourself with ice water?
Fuck sake, sweetheart -
your nipples must be
so sensitive from the cold
Proof?
Yes. Gonna need to see these panties
that ‘aren’t panties’ for myself.
So did you use ice water or what?
LMAO - yeah. I did. 💦
Sweetheart I’m not sure you’re using that
emoji the way it’s meant to be used 😂
Huh? It’s water (?)
Eddie cackles, shaking his head. How in the fuck is this guy real?
Sure it is, sweetheart.
You gonna prove to daddy that you’re
not wearing slutty little red panties?
Come on baby - be good for daddy
Do as you’re told like a
good, obedient wifey
Um. Okay. Hang on.
Good boy
Eddie squeezes the base of his cock to stave off the orgasm that’s been building since he saw those damn rubber gloves. Fuck - this guy really is too good to be true. Is he really on the verge of convincing Steve to send him a dick pic of his own? His mouth begins to water at the possibility. Even if the details from their bathroom escapades are fuzzy, the jeans Steve is wearing today aren’t leaving much to the imagination, and he can imagine that the little red slut-panties aren’t doing much to contain that beast.
The next incoming image from Steve makes him literally choke on his water. Holy mother of fuck. The man is a fucking tripod. Even behind the strained red fabric of Steve’s ‘normal’ underwear, it’s clear to see that the man has a porn star dick. Like, truly absurd. How the hell had Eddie missed that at the club?? Though, to be fair, Steve had not had much of an opportunity to use his dick during their first hookup. It had honestly been more ornamental than anything else. Pity. Next time, Eddie would definitely remedy that injustice. His mouth waters as he types out his reply.
OMG baby
You honestly think those
are normal panties?
Nothing ‘normal’ about what’s in there.
You’re a fucking tripod, sweetheart
Jesus! They aren’t panties!
Don’t be a brat, babyboy.
And don’t talk back.
Good little wifeys don’t argue with daddy.
They’re panties if I say they are
Sorry
Sorry, who?
Sorry Ed (?)
Come on sweetheart.
You can do better than that
What do you want me to say?
Address me properly
Sorry daddy (?)
There he is. My good boy.
So tell me something, Stevie
???
You like when I call you good boy
Don’t you, baby?
💬
I think you do. I can tell.
How? How can you tell?
Are you touching yourself, baby?
Tell me the truth now
💬
Can you even wrap your hand around that
fucking monster you’re barely containing
in those slutty, SLUTTY little red panties?
💬
💬
💦🍆💦
Steve huffs a little in annoyance, looking down at himself. He’s fully undone his pants and slid them down his hips just enough to expose his bulge, which, he has to admit, is eager against the confines of the cotton. He still isn’t getting why Ed keeps calling them panties. They’re just briefs, hardly even his sexiest pair. He’d only put these on in the first place because it was laundry day, and it was between this tight pair or an ancient, stretched-out pair of boxers, and look, sometimes a guy just likes to have a little support, ya know?
Suddenly, he has a realization.
OH! You keep calling them panties because of
the picture. The housewife thing.
Sorry, I’m new to this. 👍
💬
Jesus christ, sweetheart
how are you even real?
Is… that a good thing?
Yeah, baby, it’s a real good thing.
Lol thanks
Thanks who?
Thanks daddy?
All in all, Steve is feeling pretty good about how this is going. There had been a few crossed wires, like with the panty thing where he hadn’t been quite as creative as Ed is, but it is really doing it for him how Ed keeps pretending like they’ve done this before. Like Ed knows him.
He is also over the moon about the fact that he had somehow managed to really nail the pictures section of the evening. That was so far out of Steve’s depth, but he had quickly looked up a few poses and tried to emulate them as best he could. He thinks the one of his… his tits looked pretty ridiculous, but hey, if it works for Ed…
You haven’t answered my question, pretty boy
Are you touching yourself?
Steve considers this.
Is it ok if I touch myself? I don’t know
what the rules are
Are you waiting for daddy’s permission, BigBoy?
Such a perfect little plaything you are.
Are you sure it won’t make things
weird between us though?
There is a long pause before an answer comes. Steve is nervously leaning over his counter, his dick throbbing and begging for attention as he drums his fingers, glaring at the phone, willing the ping to come.
Make things weird?
Steve, you’ve literally seen my entire dick
So, you want me to touch myself?
Yes, baby, I want that very much
You’re such a brat
acting so innocent for daddy
when I know exactly what that
sweet mouth of yours can do
Things are getting interesting. Steve can feel a slight dampness in the confines of his briefs where his neglected dick is now literally crying out for attention. He palms the front of himself to release a little of the pressure that was building up, looking at his surroundings and contemplating what to do next.
So, uh, what does daddy want me to do now?
Besides touch myself
I’m still in my kitchen.
Can I take off my gloves?
Your gloves? You’re still wearing them??
Aren’t you a fucking treat
Yeah baby, take your gloves off for daddy
Let me see those big paws of yours
Can I maybe go sit down
first or something?
Sure, sweetheart
go ahead and get comfortable
I want you nice and comfy
for what comes next 😏
Next? What does come next? Steve isn’t entirely sure. He’d assumed they’d both jerk off and be done with it, but it seems like Ed has other plans for him.
He wanders into his living room, shutting the blinds tight before considering. He decides to go ahead and lose the pants entirely, kicking them off along with his shoes before settling back on the couch. With a stroke of genius, Steve snaps another picture, this time capturing his strong thighs and his — what had Ed called it? — his big paw as it curves around the outline of his cock through the stretched red fabric that seemed to have captured the other man’s imagination. He sends it and grins as he watches the status change to “read,” sliding his hand up and down his shaft idly as he waits for a response. He is getting better at this!
🤘🎸🤘
“Holy fuck, BigBoy. Red is definitely your color, Stevie,” Eddie whispers as the newest image from Steve populates his screen. He licks his lips, tracing his fingertip along the outline of the man’s thighs in the image, lingering for a moment (or two, shut up) on the very pronounced, borderline pornographic outline of that monster cock, the deep red fabric barely containing it, the defined damp spot showing deliciously at the head. Eddie wants to put his mouth on that spot and taste it, he wants to take those meaty fingers into his mouth and SUCK. Seriously, how had he missed that this man is walking around with a fucking cannon in his pants when they hooked up? Admittedly, the focus was on a quick-and-dirty bang sesh in the bathroom stall at the time, but he would like to think his powers of observation were stronger than this .
Jesus Christ, Stevie - and you asked if
I’m a sex model? You said you aren’t good
at taking pictures but I beg to differ
Jesus, the thighs on you
I want to bite them
Would you like that, baby?
Want daddy to mark you up?
stake my claim?
How would anyone even see your
claim if it’s on my thighs?
Don’t talk back, baby
Sorry daddy
Jesus Christ, Eddie is not going to survive this fucking guy. He strokes himself as he stares at Steve’s pictures, pacing himself to make it last. He’s having too much fun playing with his little housewife to end the party too soon.
You’re forgiven sweetheart
Tell me what you’re doing
right now
and be specific
You’re touching yourself
aren’t you Stevie
Um. Yeah.
You said it was okay though
?
Should I stop?
Oh it’s more than okay baby
Don’t you dare fucking stop
tell daddy what you’re feeling
where is your hand, baby?
Uh - on my dick
??
Fucking brat. Don’t be a smartass
Answer the question baby
Be my good, obedient plaything
I don’t know what you want me to say
Tell daddy how you like your cock stroked
What would you have me do if it was my
hand on that monster dick of yours
💬
I’m not very good at this
I’m sorry daddy
💬
Poor baby
Do you need daddy’s help?
Please
Fuck. Eddie doesn’t remember Steve being quite this submissive at the club but holy fuck is this little bit of role play doing it for him. He can visualize the shy, subby persona Steve is crafting and he’s practically drooling at the mental image. He most definitely has to see this guy again. Has to fuck him again. And often.
Ooh I love those manners, honey.
So polite for me. Now tell me - are
you going to do as you’re told?
Yes daddy
Good boy
Eddie strokes his cock languidly as he considers his next move. He settles on another voice note. He drops the timbre of his voice again, settling comfortably into his DM persona, and presses record.
“My needy little housewife, all pent up, isn’t that right? Don’t worry though baby, daddy will take care of you. Mm, I just love knowing that you’re touching yourself right now as you listen to this message. I see you’re leaking, baby. I see the way your cock is stretching the material of those sexy little red panties of yours. And making them all messy with your precum. Such a dirty little boy, aren’t you? Mm, but that’s okay isn’t it honey? I want you to pull your panties down for me. Tuck the waistband of your slutty little red panties under your balls, baby.”
He sends the message on its way and idly strokes his cock as he waits for Steve’s reply, smiling widely as the indicator turns to Read . He visualizes a delicious blush creeping across Steve’s face as he listens to the message, and he has to grip the base of his cock to keep from coming immediately just from the imagined image alone.
💬
Eddie grins as he sees Steve typing a response. He’s already thinking of his next voice note when a new image from Steve comes through instead of a text reply. “Holy fuuuuckk…” Eddie pants as the image loads.
Steve has done exactly as he was told. Eddie can see the rumpled pair of jeans in the corner of the image, discarded on the end of the couch as Steve likely had removed them in a rush. The waistband of his underwear is neatly tucked beneath his balls, which are on full display nestled in a well-trimmed clutch of hair beneath his flushed pink cock, the tip already glistening with precum as a plump bead of fresh moisture gathers at the slit. He’s gripping the base firmly in hand, and Eddie can make out just a hint of moisture around his fingers as if he’s used spit or lube (or maybe even just all that delicious looking precum) to ease his path as he strokes himself.
Is this okay?
I know I said it already
but I really like your voice
It’s more than okay sweetheart
it’s a goddamn work of art
Thank you for the compliment, baby.
You’re doing so well for me
I’m so proud of you
Thank you daddy
💬
Um
💬
What should I do next
Eddie is nearly at the edge of a mind-crushing orgasm with this innocence bit that Steve is insisting on for his little role-play. He didn’t think that was one of his kinks, necessarily, but it’s really doing it for him now. He contemplates what to send as a response, and decides that since Steve likes his voice so much, he’ll stay on that track. He clears his throat and presses the record button for a new voice note.
“Sweetheart you’re driving me crazy with these images. Those fucking thighs on you. That fat fucking cock. I want to run my tongue along the seam of your balls and make you shake from wanting my mouth on your dick, honey. I want to bite those thighs and suck bruises into your flesh. Mark you as mine. Even if nobody else could see the bruises I leave behind, you would know they’re there, wouldn’t you? Mm, what will you do when your skin holds my marks, baby? Will you press on the bruise as it fades, willing it to remain longer? I wonder - will you beg me to mark you elsewhere - everywhere - so everyone knows you belong to daddy? You do belong to daddy, don’t you sweetheart? Yeah, you do. I want that cock in my mouth, Stevie. Want to roll my tongue all around that leaking slit and taste you. Would you like that, honey? Would you like it if daddy took the entire length of your hard cock down his throat? Suck you hard and fast until you beg me to allow you to shatter apart? Hollow out my cheeks as you whine and beg, until you’re finally allowed to come down daddy’s throat until you cry, until you’ve got nothing left?”
Eddie presses send and pumps his fist along the length of his cock, so close to coming from just recording these filthy messages. He moans as he thinks of the things he would love to do to Steve and he’s on the precipice as his phone chimes with a new message.
Daddy
Yes, baby?
Is it okay that I came
I’m sorry
I should have asked permission
But your voice - I couldn’t help it
You came without
daddy’s permission, honey?
I did
I’m sorry
Don’t apologize sweetheart
💬
Fuck, Stevie baby
That’s so fucking hot
Show me
Show you?
Don’t be cute
Show me
Is that an order, daddy?
It is
Now do as you’re told
like a good little wifey