Written for the Choose your own adventure challenge at bj_action. When: Midnight, Where: Studio, How: Finger fucking. A huge thank you to my beta _alicesprings who looked this over for me even though she was sick!
Check out the other wonderful stories for this challenge here.
I look up at the shitty old digital clock just in time to watch the numbers switch from 11:59 to midnight. I've been working on a painting since mid-morning and I'm amped up and exhausted. I can't decide between continuing to work, going home and falling into bed or going out to find a trick. I'm so restless and indecisive I'm making myself crazy.
Brian's really the only one who can ever cure me of this mood and he's too many miles away right now to really get the job done properly.
Normally I'd call him anyway and let him try to talk me out of it since he can't fuck me out of it. But I talked to him about an hour ago and he was dead on his feet tired after a stressful day at work. He jerked off listening to me telling him about the painting I've been working on all day. He didn't say anything, but I could tell from the sound of his breathing. So I made my voice low and smooth and spent a long time talking about textures and coloring and the mood of the piece. When he came his moan was long and deep.
"Must be fucking brilliant if it can make me come like that over the phone."
We talked some more, but I could hear how tired he was and I told him to get some rest. So it would be pretty shitty of me to wake him up now.
I flop down on my futon and realize that this night will end like most nights. I won't go out, or home, I'll pass out here on my futon and then in the morning I'll sleep too late before dragging myself to my apartment for a shower and some coffee. I'll be back here before noon and repeat the whole process.
I have more inspiration than I know what to do with and it is becoming abundantly clear that I need to find a place that can be my home and my studio because anything else is just a waste.
I rub my hand over my denim covered dick and think about Brian. In bed, his skin warm to the touch even though he is naked and covered only with a sheet. The same sheets tangled around his legs as he jerks off in the morning, his warm come pouring onto the firm muscles of his stomach. Wet in the shower. Working at his desk. Getting sucked off in the backroom.
I stand up and take off my jeans and underwear. I'm not ready to sleep yet. I sit back on the futon and I can feel the rough patches of old dried paint on the backs of my thighs.
I slide forward a little and put a foot up on the edge of the seat. I let my fingers play over my asshole. I glance around the room and my eyes briefly rest on the long thick wooden handle of a paintbrush. I might seriously consider fucking myself on it if not for the fact that it's covered in paint and has been laying around my filthy studio. Clearly it is time to start keeping a dildo here. I think longingly of Brian's dick, which I would be even happier to make a permanent fixture in my studio... or at least the same city.
But tonight my fingers will have to do.
I wet them in my mouth and bring them back down to my hole, teasing myself lightly with just the wet tips. I want to be tortured. Laid out and played with. Opened slowly, for a long time until I'm loose and wet and ready to be filled.
I push a finger inside and think about Brian's fingers. Longer than mine and far more talented. I fuck myself with just one finger, pulling it all the way out and swirling over puckered skin before pushing back in.
I bring my fingers back to my mouth to wet them again and it makes me think of Brian doing that, filling my mouth with the fingers he just had in my ass and whispering dirty things in my ear about how good I taste.
My dick is dripping, but I ignore it.
This time I let myself have two fingers. Everything is wetter and tighter and I don't wait long to add a third. I never make myself wait the way Brian makes me wait. If he was on the phone with me right now, he'd tell me to slow down because he always knows what my body needs even from hundreds of miles away.
I squeeze my ass around my fingers, increasing the friction. I can feel my fingers touching all the places that make me feel good. I finally let my other hand move to my cock, rubbing my thumb on the wet head over and over. It's almost too much, too sensitive. But that's what I want, so I let my pinky slide inside me next to my other fingers and I press in as deep as I can.
I'm full and the burn is intense, but my fingers are moving inside me. Pushing and stroking. And then it is all too much and just right. My come mixes with the still damp smears of paint on my t-shirt, soaking through the fabric and sticking to my skin.
I consider working for a few more hours, but when I get my pants back on I decide to head home instead.