Dean Walsh was happy with his new life, his job, his girlfriend. Until his boss, billionaire Salomon Ellis, discovers his darkest secret. From then on, he will hold Dean hostage to his whims in exchange for his silence.
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Every night I slept on the couch, it felt harder than the night before, but I did it again anyway. To wake up the next morning all alone in the apartment. It was eight-thirty and Steph was already gone. My sore back told me I had to make up with her, 'cause the couch was killing me.
I decided to leave breakfast for later to make it brunch before going to work, and dragged my feet to the bedroom, determined to make good use of the bed at least for the next hour.
Which I did, down to the last minute, until the alarm from my phone woke me up at nine-thirty. I reached out to kill the damned thing. I could sleep ten more minutes. I rolled over to lie on my belly.
One of my legs came out from under the covers and stuffed them against me when it landed on the mattress. With my brain in nap mode, I threw my arm over the pillow like I used to, eyes closed in the bright daylight filling the room.
I didn't register how it started, even though it didn't take rocket science to put two and two together. My overlooked morning wood surely brushed the bump of bed sheets and covers stuffed between my legs, while I had a weird, weird dream about rubbing my boner against the phone, so Big Ellie on screen could lick it. I woke up too late to stop it: I'd stuffed all the covers beneath my belly and I was dry-humping into it.
Guess my brain hadn't checked back in yet, because I don't remember having a single clear thought. I managed to stop my hips for twenty seconds. That's what it took me to grab my phone from the nightstand and settle it against Steph's pillow, that I placed along her empty side of the bed. With the screen turned to me, I opened the cam and started recording, so it wouldn't go off in thirty seconds.
Seeing myself on screen didn't feel awkward. It made me curious. I'd never even wondered how I looked in bed, but there I was. The cam showed my body from head to knees, and only then I noticed my hips had resumed their rocking, slow and gentle, as to keep me in business during production.
I extended my brain's rain check, pulled the hardest throw pillow we had under my belly and parked my cock between it and the mattress, my eyes nailed to my phone.
I never expected it to be arousing, but it was. I watched what I was doing, and at the same time, I felt what I was seeing. I gave in to this new private little game, watching and feeling myself play it. Still not fully awake, I didn't even bother to come in my fist, too comfy with my arms around my pillow, where I sank my face for that blessed blinding moment of absolute oblivion.
"Nice."
For a moment, I thought I was still sleeping, and I was hearing Big Ellie speak to me in a dream.
"That would spice up the most boring meeting. Thanks for the call."
I didn't move, keeping my face against the pillow when it caught fire, so bad my ears burned, as I grasped what had actually happened: in my numb sleepy state, instead of recording, I'd just facetimed the whole thing to the last number in my calls log. I should've felt grateful it'd been him.
