Joy of Planting My Seed on You

Cheri watched the clip twice before she said anything.

Manny on his knees, fist working his cock in slow, deliberate strokes, a little paper packet of garden seeds sitting right under him. The camera was low—almost on the floor—so every time he pumped upward the thick head loomed closer to the lens. When he finally came it caught the glass in heavy, uneven streaks.

She set the phone down and looked at him.

“That’s the one,” she said. “You’re gonna stroke over the seed pack and finish on the camera. Title writes itself.”

Manny gave a short huff of laughter. “You want me to cum on the lens.”

“I want the joke to land,” she said, already reaching for the waistband of his pants. “And I want it to look good doing it.”

They set up on the bedroom floor that night. Cheri put the camera on a low tripod, tilted the angle up, and placed the seed packet in the bottom of the frame. Soft lamp light. Nothing fancy. She stripped while he watched, then stepped behind the camera naked, two fingers already sliding between her legs as she checked the monitor.

Manny knelt in front of the lens, soft cock heavy between his thighs.

“Just start soft,” she said, voice quieter now, closer to the mic. “Let them see it hanging over the seeds.”

He stayed still for a few seconds so the camera could take it in—the weight of it, the way it rested. Cheri’s fingers moved in slow circles.

“Okay. Touch it.”

Manny wrapped his hand around himself and gave the soft shaft a few lazy pulls, lifting it, letting it drop, rolling it in his palm. The head brushed near the seed packet. Cheri watched the monitor, breath already a little uneven.

She paused the recording, crawled forward, and took him into her mouth. She sucked him slow and wet, tongue working under the head, one hand stroking the base until he thickened against her lips. When she pulled off a string of spit connected her bottom lip to the tip. She gave him two more firm strokes with her fist, then sat back behind the camera again.

“Recording.”

Manny’s cock was harder now, heavier in his hand. He started stroking in long, even pulls—base to head, a little twist at the top, down again. The thick shaft flexed with every upward stroke. Precum beaded at the slit and caught the light.

“Slower,” Cheri murmured. “Let them see how thick it gets at the top of the stroke… yeah. Like that.”

He obeyed, dragging his fist up until the head flared dark and full, then sliding back down. The wet sound of skin on skin was quiet but clear. Cheri’s fingers pushed deeper inside herself, matching his rhythm without meaning to.

She paused again only long enough to lean in and spit on the head, then spread it with her thumb so the whole upper half of his cock shone. When she hit record once more her voice had gone rougher.

“Keep going. Faster now. I want to see it throb.”

Manny’s fist tightened. The strokes got shorter, harder. The head punched through the top of his grip on every pump, shiny and dark. A thicker string of precum dripped down and landed on the edge of the seed packet. Cheri’s breathing was open now, the wet sound of her fingers loud in the quiet room.

“Look at that,” she said, almost to herself. “Fuck… keep pumping. Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. The muscles in his forearm stood out. His hips started to rock into his hand. The thick cock looked almost angry, the head swollen, the vein along the underside standing out under the tight skin.

Cheri was close herself just from watching. She pressed the heel of her hand against her clit and rubbed in tight circles while she spoke.

“Aim it at the camera. I want every drop on the lens.”

Manny shifted his knees, angled his cock downward, and stroked harder. The wet, urgent sound of his fist filled the space between them. His breathing turned ragged.

“I’m—close—”

“Do it,” Cheri said, voice low and tight. “Plant it.”

His whole body tensed. The first thick rope shot out hard, splattering across the seed packet and streaking the bottom of the lens. The second and third followed in heavy pulses, white and opaque, dripping down the glass in messy trails. He kept stroking through it, milking out smaller spurts that landed on the packet and the camera body, until his hand finally slowed and he was left twitching, cock still half-hard and shiny with spit and cum.

Cheri stopped the recording. The lens was glazed.

For a second neither of them moved. Then she crawled across the floor, pushed him onto his back, and swung a leg over his hips. She sank down onto him in one wet slide—still soaked from watching—and both of them groaned at the same time.

She rode him hard and deep, hands braced on his chest, taking every thick inch. The first orgasm hit her fast; her pussy clenched and a rush of fluid spilled out around his cock, soaking his stomach. She didn’t stop. She kept grinding, chasing the next one, until it crashed through her even harder, her thighs shaking, a broken sound spilling out of her mouth.

Manny sat up, wrapped an arm around her waist, and fucked up into her with short, powerful thrusts. Cheri came again with her face pressed to his neck, moaning against his skin as her pussy fluttered and spilled. He kept going until she was trembling and oversensitive, then rolled her under him and drove deep, finishing inside her with a low, drawn-out groan.

Afterward they stayed tangled on the floor, breathing hard. The camera sat a few feet away, lens still streaked, seed packet half-covered in cooling cum.

Cheri traced a lazy line down his chest and spoke against his collarbone, voice soft and satisfied.

“Title was accurate,” she murmured. “He planted it… just not where most people expected.”

Manny huffed a quiet laugh and kissed the top of her head. Cheri closed her eyes, still full of him, and didn’t move.