Of a camera's shutter

You are Jessica Rodgers, 23 year old college senior, and president of the Chi Upsilon Mu sorority. You are also a massive bitch and exceptionally proud of it. Your favorite activities include maxing daddy's credit card, pounding flavored vodka, toying with handsome boys, and of course getting away with everything you can. You had gotten tired with toying with Brad, the big stupid oaf of a frat boy that he is. You had also gotten tired of pretending to enjoy it whenever Brad would insist on climbing on top of you, usually faking it until he shot his shot. Like last night when he booty called you in the middle of the night drunk as shit, then came over to the house when you didn’t respond to his texts, and then bitched at you until you laid back and let him fuck you. Then he left. That really pissed you off. You’ve been pissed all day.

Pissed because Brad and his paper thin ego. Pissed because the floozies who make you run the house always want to party but are scarce when you actually have to plan shit. Pissed because this dumb little airheaded bitch Marcy invited this random fucking dude, John, to the house party without asking you first. Pissed because the DJ showed up a half hour late and when you confronted him told you to “take a chill pill, bitch.” Pissed because Brad wanted to spend the whole party that you planned posted up in the kitchen next to the spiked punch. Pissed because then fucking Marcy and her man John showed up and tried to talk to you. Pissed because John is just the type of guy that really pisses you off. Even though he looks decent, he has zero confidence in how he looks to clean up. Even though he’s a big guy, he acts like a giant wimp and will never make the first move. The most disgusting thing about him though is that he kept staring at you even as Marcy practically rubbed herself off on him, eyefucking you up and down like you wouldn’t notice. Then you started smiling.

You smiled because you had found yourself a new tool to fuck around with. The plan was simple and a classic. ****. That plan had been going perfect, perfect until right now. You feel your face get hot as you stare, full on stare at the cock in front of you.

“W―” you stutter out, feeling a growing tightness in your chest. “Why are you already hard?”

“I―,” John drunkenly stutters out, pure fear in his wide open eyes, “I’m not hard.” You glare back at his cock, which is actively deflating in front of your eyes. What a fucking wimp. There’s no way that he was soft.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” You snap. “Do exactly what I say when I say it or I’ll send that―” You trail off, staring at his twitching member. “I’ll send a pic of your dick to the group chat.”

“No!” John pleads, trying to cover his cock with his shaking hand. The thing has a mind of its own, lopping out from hiding. “Really, I’m not hard.” You can feel the gears turning in your head. His cock looked like that and he isn’t even hard. What kind of genetic monstrosity is this guy? You look down at the photo, a still of his cock hanging out, a string of precum reaching erotically down to the floor. The crown of his cockhead protruding out from the shaft like the cap of a mushroom, but not grotesquely so. It’s definitely no grossly proportioned thin shaft mushroom cock. No ma’am, that is a thick head on an even thicker shaft. What a hell of a tool you think. No way that isn’t hard. “Uhh, Jessica?” He says to you while still trying to preserve his modesty and snapping you out of your stupor. You blink at him.

“Get hard.” You order, your face burning in embarrassment. Why are you embarrassed about this dweeb, you find yourself thinking, scowling at John. Why are you suddenly acting like you’ve never seen a cock before? This isn’t queen shit, you think, you need to assert control over this situation before John starts thinking again.

“What?” John asks, visibly confused and afraid.

“Get yourself hard.” You click your tongue, trying the trick of pressing your tits together to entice a reaction out of him.

“Uh.” He blurts out, moving his hand, and letting his cock swing down between his legs. Well shit, you think, he wasn’t lying about not being hard. You feel a dull warmth start to build in your pussy as you stare at the sight before you. Now you’ve got to see what this tool looks like hard, your curiosity can’t take it. You try holding your breasts up and together with your crossed arms underneath, shaking them like some cheap skank, trying to get a rise out of him. You see his cock visibly twitch. Jesus, you think. But it isn’t even hard yet. You glare at it, annoyed that it isn’t responding fast enough to you acting like a petty slut in front of it.

“Take your pants off.” You command, trying a different approach. John diligently takes his shoes and then his pants off, his ass on the cement floor of the garden shed. “Take off your tidy whities and sit on your knees.” You add, stepping up to him as he does so. “Jack yourself off.” He looks confused, wounded even. His cock is a floppy sausage in his hand. This isn’t happening fast enough for your liking. You want to see him hard now. So you reach down and pull up your dress with both hands. You’re giving him encouragement, you tell yourself.

“Oh my.” John groans, stroking his cock with his hand. His eyes are latched onto your panties. Half of you is grossed out and asking yourself what are you doing showing this loser your panties. The other half is sooooo happy that you chose to wear one of your pretty silk pairs with lace tonight rather than something boring. John seems to agree, you think, smirking down at him and his inflating cock. He strokes it again and again, almost willing it to grow. You feel your breath hitch as it just keeps growing and growing in his hand, inch by inch.

“It’s so thick,” you absentmindedly think to yourself, out loud.

“Huh?” John grunts, looking up over your cleavage to meet you eye to eye.

“You have a gross dick.” You spit out, trying to think fast to cover your loose lips. You see him physically recoil and you almost wish you could put the words back in your mouth. Almost. “Are you hard yet?” John just grunts. You clear your throat at him and hold your phone up.

“Almost.” He grumbles out, eyes flicking to your phone and then back to your crotch. His hand strokes his cock rapidly, milking out a fat drop of precum that drips down to the floor. You are transfixed by it, mouth hanging open, wondering what the fuck this guy eats to make him do that. It’s so gross. But you kinda liked it. You crack a smile as you hitch your dress higher, pulling your panties up with it. You feel the silk rub and then draw tight against your pussy lips and you smugly smile as the tool at your feet is transfixed by your blatant camel toe. You see his cock twitch again.

“Are you hard yet?” You ask again, absentmindedly lickking your lips.

“Yeah,” John answers, still staring at your crotch.

“Good. Now don’t move another muscle.” You order, and John freezes. Another dollop of precum falls in slow motion to the gathering puddle on the floor. He looks up at you, arousal and fear in his eyes. “Take off your shirt.” You state, and he does. You have to stop yourself from drooling as he takes his shirt off, exposing his glistening chest. God, you think, he’s like the opposite of Brad. Brad thinks he’s hot even though he’s really just all steroids and protein powder under the surface, it’s all fakery. This tool acts like such a fucking wall flower, and then has just the right amount of muscle and dick under the hood to hit the sex part of your brain, to activate your horniness. That really, really pisses you off. You do your best to stare daggers at John as you grab his head.

“Ow!” John grunts as you grab his hair for balance.

“Don’t think for a fucking second this means that you can touch me. I’ll scream if you do.” You growl, using his head for balance as you pop off one heel and then the other. Your feet thank you as your shoes drop, forgotten, to the floor.

“Uhh.” John grouses as he rubs his head after you let go of his hair.

“Lay on your back.” You order, walking around John as he reclines, putting his shirt under his head.

“What are you going―” He tries to ask.

“Shut the fuck up! If someone finds out about this I’ll kill you!” You snap at John, trying hard not to sound excited. That dull heat in your pussy is now a toasty fire, one unhelped by how tight your panties are drawn against your pussylips. You thank God that they’re black, because if they weren’t this tool might think that he was making you feel something right now. And by God is he making you feel something right now. You peel your panties down your legs, and feel John’s gaze snap to your pussy. You can feel that you’re excited down there, which just makes you more pissed. You straddle and squat down on top of John, facing away from him. You don’t want to think about who this cock is attached to right now. This isn’t sex for mutual pleasure. You’re going to use this tool as a tool, a glorified dildo. You look down between your legs at your “dildo.” It twitches. It twitches hard enough to flop back against your sensitive petals, zapping you and making your thighs involuntarily twitch in against John’s legs. You look down at the fat head, a thick stream of precum drooling out of its tip. You feel yourself gulp and bite your lip. Your face is very warm. You’re really glad that John can’t possibly see what his man meat is doing to you. You breathe deep, steadying your voice, and speak.

“Hey dummy.” You say over your shoulder at John. “You got any condoms on you?”