Don’t You Want to Touch My Cock

Cheri had been thinking about the ache of distance.

The way a cock could sit there on camera—hard, heavy, leaking—and the only thing the person watching could do was look. She wanted to lean all the way into that frustration. Make the wanting sharper. Make the denial part of the point.

She brought it up while she was already stroking him one night, slow and tight, her thumb spreading the precum over the head.

“Don’t you want to touch my cock,” she said, almost to herself. Then she looked up at him. “That’s the title. You stroke. I talk. They sit there with their hands on themselves wishing they could reach through the screen.”

Manny’s hips flexed into her hand. “You’re feeling mean tonight.”

“A little,” she said, and squeezed him. “They’ll like it.”

That evening she set the camera low and tight, framed so nothing existed except the full length of him. Soft lighting. She stripped completely and stood naked behind the camera, two fingers already moving between her legs while she checked the monitor. Manny sat where she told him, legs spread, soft thick cock hanging heavy.

Her voice came through the mic quiet, low, and just a little teasing.

“Look at it. Soft right now. Heavy. Thick. Don’t you want to touch it already? Keep looking. You’re not allowed to. Not yet.”

Manny kept his eyes on her. Cheri’s fingers circled her clit as she spoke.

“Feel that little itch in your hands? That’s the point. Stay with it.”

She paused the recording.

The second the light went off she was on her knees. She took his soft cock into her mouth and sucked it wet and slow, working him with both hands until he thickened against her tongue. She pulled off, spit a thick strand onto the head, and stroked him to full hardness with long, deliberate pulls. Then she stood, wiped her mouth, and went back behind the camera, thighs already shiny.

She hit record again.

“There,” she said, a little breathless. “Hard. Thick. Veins standing out. The head’s already shiny. Don’t you want to touch my cock? Look at how heavy it is. Look at how it would fill your hand. You’re just going to watch.”

On camera, Manny’s fist closed around his shaft and started stroking with steady pulls. Cheri’s voice stayed low and focused.

“See that? That’s what it looks like when someone gets to touch it. You don’t. You just get to look. Keep watching. Keep wanting it.”

She paused again. This time she climbed onto the bed, straddled his thighs, and dragged her soaked pussy along the underside of his cock while he continued stroking above her. She ground against him until she was slick and shaking, then lifted off and returned to the camera.

Record.

“Still watching?” she asked, voice tighter. “Still wishing you could put your hands on it? Look at how hard it is now. Look at the way it’s leaking. Don’t you want to touch my cock? Too bad. Keep your hands on yourself and your eyes on this.”

Manny’s strokes grew longer and firmer. The thick cock glistened. Cheri’s fingers worked deeper between her legs, matching the rhythm.

“Faster,” she murmured. “He’s not stopping. Neither should you. But you’re still not touching this one. You’re only looking. Feel how much that bothers you.”

She paused one last time, long enough to sink down onto him in one wet slide and ride him for several deep, grinding thrusts while she kissed him, then lifted off and returned behind the camera dripping.

“Last part,” she said, voice rough. “He’s close. You should be close too. When he cums, you cum. And the whole time you’ll still be wishing you’d been the one touching it.”

She let the camera run while Manny stroked harder, the thick shaft dark and throbbing, until her own thighs were shaking. Then she stopped the recording.

The second the light went off the distance between them disappeared.

Manny pulled her in like he’d been waiting for the camera to die. His mouth found hers in a deep, hungry kiss as he lifted her, guiding her legs around his waist. He sank into her in one slow, complete thrust and just held her there for a moment, forehead against hers, both of them breathing hard. Then he started moving—deep, rolling strokes that seemed to drag against every sensitive place inside her.

Cheri clung to him, arms around his neck, kissing him through every thrust. The first orgasm built low and warm before it spilled over; she moaned into his mouth as her pussy clenched and released around him in wet pulses. He fucked her through it without changing pace, and another climax followed, fuller, leaving her trembling against his chest while he kept kissing her.

He laid her back on the bed without pulling out, covering her body with his, and kept the same intimate rhythm—long strokes, unhurried, every movement deliberate. One of his hands laced with hers against the sheets; the other cupped her breast, thumb brushing her nipple. Cheri came again with her face pressed to his neck, her free hand gripping his shoulder, the pleasure rolling through her in thick, wet waves. He kissed her through it, slow and thorough, and she came once more while he was still moving inside her, softer this time but no less intense.

They rolled so she was on top. Cheri rode him with slow, grinding circles, taking him all the way down on every movement, her hands braced on his chest. Manny’s hands held her hips, thumbs stroking her skin. She leaned down and kissed him deeply while she came, moaning into his mouth as her pussy fluttered and spilled. Another orgasm followed while she stayed close like that, their lips barely separating, her body shaking against his.

When he finally pushed deep and stayed there, pulsing inside her with a low groan, Cheri held him through it, kissing him softly, her walls still clenching around him in small aftershocks. They stayed joined, breathing together, foreheads touching.

After a long moment Cheri brushed her lips against his and spoke quietly, voice warm and a little wrecked.

“They only got to look,” she whispered. “I got to touch. And I still don’t want to stop.”

She kissed him again, slower, and made no move to let him go.