An Evening with the Webcam Ch. 04

byturtle_writes©

The thick, creamy mixture of pudding and milk began dripping from the corners of my mouth. As my lips parted further, it spilled over my chin and down the sides of my neck. My mouth opened wider, and it flowed over my collarbone and down between my breasts. More milky goo spilled from my lips and dripped from my chin to splash on the curve of my breasts, where it joined the river flowing down my cleavage. My mouth opened a little further, and the dribble of liquid dripping from my chin became a stream, which poured over my breasts and dripped from my hardened nipples. It spread in a white tide down my stomach and ran over my mound and down between my legs, where it mingled with the wetness from my arousal dripping from my pussy.

I raised one finger to my lips and slipped the tip of my finger into my mouth. Then I ran the fingertip lightly over my chin, and down my neck. I traced a path down between my breasts, following the flow of the milky pudding, over my stomach where the liquid had pooled in my naval, and down at last between my legs. I slid the finger inside myself and sighed. "Is that what you like, Jason? Is that what you want me to do next time you come in my mouth? Would it turn you on to see your come dripping from between my lips?" I worked the finger inside myself and shuddered. "Would you like to watch me touch myself as your come dribbles out of my mouth? And after it's all over me, will you let me scoop it up with my fingers and swallow it, if I beg you to?" I moved my finger faster. "Please? Please let me swallow your come, Jason, it feels so good going down my throat! Please, I promise I'll make myself messy and let it drip all over me, just please let me swallow it when I'm done!"

My pussy twitched and contracted around my finger as the orgasm neared. No, I said silently, not yet, there's still more to do. I snatched my finger from my grasping pussy and whimpered. As the orgasm, denied, receded, the shame came pouring back, crashing over me, rooting me to the sofa. I gripped my breasts tightly, as if by hurting them I could unsay the things I'd said, and burned bright crimson. I whimpered again as my fingers dug into my breasts. I squeezed harder, focused on the sensation, trying to block everything else out, and the words came pouring out of me as if possessed of a life of their own. "I am such a filthy, desperate comewhore, I can't get enough of it. Look at how bad I need it! I want to taste it and feel it and spread it over myself and lick it up and let it come drooling out of my mouth, and I want you to make me beg for it and work for it and milk it out of you, and oh God, I'm so dirty..."

Show him, the hungry animal part of my brain said. Show him how dirty.

I released my breasts and my breath caught in my throat. I picked up the dildo from the coffee table and clumsily, hands shaking, opened the reservoir connected to the hand pump. I filled the chamber with the milky mixture from the glass, then slowly squeezed the pump until a single drop of liquid swelled on the head of the dildo. I watched it, hypnotized, then brought the head of the dildo to my lips and carefully licked it clean.

I picked up the large mixing bowl full of pudding and scooped out a large handful. I spread my legs wide, hips tilted up, and in one sudden motion thrust four fingers deep inside myself. The slippery pudding squished into me, and I cried out and bucked my hips against my fingers. Then I drew my fingers out with a wet slurp, and scooped up another handful of pudding.

I picked up the dildo and held it by the base, and began stroking and squeezing it, spreading the pudding thickly over the rubbery phallus. I moaned and whimpered as I stroked it, thinking of how Jason's cock had felt between my soapy fingers as I stroked him off this morning. When the dildo was completely covered in a thick coating of pudding, I leaned back further in the sofa, legs still spread wide, and set it down on my stomach.

I picked up the glass of milky pudding and lifted it high over my head with both hands. I tilted my head back and opened my mouth as widely as I could, and poured a stream of liquid from the glass. It spilled out unevenly, and splattered over my breasts and chin and cheek before I finally hit my mouth. I kept pouring steadily until it filled my mouth and overflowed, coursing down my neck and over my shoulders.

Finally, I stopped, and carefully closed my mouth, trying not to spill any of the sweet gooey mixture. I put the glass down, and scooped an enormous handful of pudding from the bowl. I picked up the dildo with my other hand, and leaned back against the couch with my eyes closed.

I stayed that way for a long time, trying to summon the courage to do what I was planning to do. The small rational part of my brain wanted desperately to curl up in a ball and die of shame, and I couldn't stop the small whimpering sounds that escaped me. Do it, the desperate horny animal part of my brain whispered, do it, you filthy whore, you know you want to, this gets you off...

I pressed my hand to my body, smearing the mountain of pudding over my chest, and drove the slick gooey dildo hard into my pussy. My back arched and I cried out, the sound a wet gurgle. I ran my hand over my body, letting the pudding ooze between my fingers, and thrust the dildo fast and deep. It made slurping and squishing sounds, and pudding squeezed out from around it and between my thighs.

The orgasm I had denied was on me almost instantly. I bucked wildly and screamed, sending a river of wetness pouring from my lips and over my face. I squeezed the hand pump wildly, pumping a geyser of thick wet cream into my grasping pussy. The orgasm went on and on and on, wave after wave of raw primal ecstasy tearing through me, unstoppable. I thrashed and screamed and thrust and pumped, heedless of everything else in the world.

And finally, after a timeless time, it was over. The chamber in the dildo was empty; my mouth was dry; and my body was covered and dripping with pudding and milk. I lay on the couch gasping, the dildo still within me, unable to move. My senses returned only slowly, and I moaned and whimpered weakly, eyes half-closed, panting, spent. Finally, I stirred and sat up.

I pulled the dildo from me with a long wet sucking slurp. My eyes focused on the image on the laptop screen, and I turned away, embarrassed. Then I shook myself and forced myself to look back at the image there.

The mess stunned me. My face and neck were wet with white liquid, which had flowed over my shoulders and into my hair. My body was covered completely with pudding and milk, and the slippery mess had been forced from my pussy and was smeared thickly over my inner thighs. I spread my legs wider, and made myself watch, ashamed, as I slid my gooey fingers between my labial lips and spread them open.

Immediately, a river of white poured from them. My body looked as though it had been the centerpiece of an orgy lasting many days. I felt used, filthy beyond all imagining, and the slow creeping burn of shame grew stronger within me as I remembered the only way I'd be able to get clean was to wash in Jason's come.

I shuddered and looked away. You don't have to do that! The rational part of my mind said. Just use the bar soap! You've given him the show, now get clean!

No. The evening was not quite finished yet, and there was one more thing left to do for Jason's benefit.

I rose unsteadily from the couch, sending gooey mess dripping down my thighs. "Can you see how filthy I am?" I said to the camera. "I need to go wash."

I picked up the dildo and carried it with me into the bathroom. I started the shower running, then stepped under the spray and let it rinse me off. I luxuriated under the warm water for a time, not moving, and let it wash the filth from my body. When most of the pudding had swirled away down the drain, I flipped off the showerhead and sat on the bench.

I picked up the bottle of body wash-the one that just this morning I had helped Jason to mix with his come. I unscrewed the cap, and carefully poured some of the body wash into the reservoir of my dildo. "So you like the way I look when I'm covered in come, do you?" I said aloud for the watching camera. "It's only appropriate, then, that I use this dildo to wash myself, don't you think?"

I set the dildo on the bench between my legs and picked up the bar of soap. I turned it over in my hands to lather them up, then turned toward the camera. "Did it feel good when I soaped your cock this morning?" I asked, and began stroking the dildo in my hands. "Did you like watching me do this to you? Did it feel good when I jerked you off into my body wash?" I ran my hand faster along the length of the dildo. "You like making me beg for your come. Would you like to hear me beg you to come all over me?" I stroked faster still, soaping the dildo. "Please, Jason, come all over my body! I need to get clean, and the only way to do that is to wash in your come. Please, please, spurt all over me! I'm so dirty, I need your come on my body...oh!" I squeezed the pump sharply, repeatedly, squirting body wash from the dildo over my stomach and neck and breasts and thighs. "Yes! Yes, come on me!"

I stopped squeezing before the chamber was empty, and rose from the bench. Thick ribbons of white body wash were splattered all over my wet body. This is come, a part of my brain whimpered, this is really come, you're covering yourself in it...

I opened the door to the shower stall and stood spreadeagle in it, looking directly at the camera, giving it the best possible view. "This is really what you like, isn't it, Jason? My body, drenched in your come. How does it feel to watch me wash in it? Only..."

I turned away and picked up the dildo, then turned back to the camera. "Only there's not enough. I still have to wash my face, too."

I held the dildo in front of my face and began stroking it again, slowly. "My face is all dirty. Please, Jason, please come on my face. Please, I am such a filthy come slut, I need your come on my face." I stroked faster as I begged, running my hand over the dildo, caressing it,. "Please give it to me, please spurt your load all over my face." My hands trembled on the dildo, and I flushed and cringed at the words as I said them. "Come on my face, Jason, please! Come on my face! It's so, so dirty, please wash me clean!" I closed my eyes and squeezed the pump, and cried out as the first blast splashed across my cheek. I squeezed again, and another spurt struck my forehead and dripped down the side of my face. Then I was squeezing hard and fast, blast after blast of the soap spattering on my face and neck.

When the chamber ran dry, I opened my eyes and looked into the camera. White body wash dripped from my face, ran down my body. One part of me wished I'd set up a mirror in the bathroom so I could see what I looked like, see myself the way Jason was seeing me now; the other part was aghast, humiliated at the thought. "What do you think now? I know you like seeing your come on my body. Do you like seeing your come on my face, too?"

I picked up a terrycloth washcloth, and turned on the shower long enough to get it wet. I turned toward the camera again, and began scrubbing myself, working my way up from my feet, my legs, my thighs. I lingered over my pussy, using the washcloth to work up a thick, rich lather. I spread myself open and worked the washcloth directly over my clit; the sensation made my knees buckle.

Then I moved up, soaping my stomach, my sides, my breasts, my arms and shoulders, my neck. My face, most thickly sprayed with the body wash, I saved for last; as I soaped my cheeks and forehead and chin, the burning humiliation radiated through me. You really are a filthy come slut, you like having his semen all over you, you're bathing in it...

I turned on the shower and rinsed, feeling more dirty with every passing moment. I wanted to pour the rest of the body wash in the bottle down the drain, scrub myself again with the bar soap, sandpaper my skin...

I turned off the water and stepped dripping from the shower. It seemed appropriate, really; the very first time he had seen me in front of the Webcam, before I even knew he was watching, I had started the show in the shower; now, on the eve of Robert's return, I finished my show in the shower. I wrapped a towel around myself and turned away from the camera, then made myself drop the towel and turn back. Modesty, after the last three evenings, didn't really seem fitting.

I walked naked and slightly damp into the living room, carefully folded up the towel over the couch, and tossed it into the hamper. I sat in front of the laptop and looked into the camera, my tormenter and lover. "Good night, Jason, sweet dreams." I kissed my fingertips softly and touched the camera. "And..."

I looked away, embarrassed. "And thank you for coming all over me." With that, I shut down the camera feeds. "Good night..." I said again, half to myself, and shivered.

I still had work to do before I could go to bed myself. I carried the tray and pudding containers into the kitchen and piled them in the sink. Minor chores done, I turned my attention to the more significant task of preparing for Robert's return.

First, the closet. I rummaged for a time, before I decided on a sheer white negligee with a plunging neckline and a slit up the thigh. I carried it into the bedroom, set it on the bed, and opened the drawer of the nightstand.

Robert and I have developed a ritual which always marks his return from a lengthy business trip. This ritual requires certain preparation on my part, and I wanted to be properly prepared for his early morning homecoming.

I reached into the drawer and took out a bottle of lubricant I kept just for this purpose. What exactly did Robert's return mean? Had he given me to Jason strictly as a short-term thing, because he liked the thought of ordering me to allow another man the use of my body? Would I be expected to continue giving myself to Jason, or once Robert was home, would that be the end of it?

I squeezed some glistening clear liquid on my fingers and sat on the edge of the bed. I opened my legs and spread the lubricant over my mound, then slipped my fingers between my pussy lips and slid them inside me. What exactly was Jason, now? Certainly not a boyfriend; in fact, not even really a friend, for that matter. Prior to a couple of nights ago, I barely even knew him, and even now I still didn't know him well. I wasn't even sure what to call him. A lover? Sex partner? Was there a difference?

I poured some more lube over my mound and pressed my fingers deeper, working it into me as it dripped between my lips. What I'd said to him was true; I would never have fucked him if Robert hadn't told me to. Yet I had given myself to him in the most intimate ways imaginable, and had exposed myself to him, let him dominate me and humiliate me, and there was no denying that I had enjoyed the way my body responded. The past few days had been deliriously, intoxicatingly erotic; I loved being at the whim of two men, my body a vehicle for their sexual appetites.

I slid my fingers out of my pussy and squeezed another ribbon of lube across them. I raised my heels onto the bed and reached farther down between my legs to spread the slippery lubricant around the tight pucker of my anus. Did I want to continue a sexual relationship with Jason? Did it even matter? If Robert ordered me to continue giving myself to him, I knew that I would; being controlled this way, allowing him to dictate who I would allow such intimate access to me, thrilled and excited and aroused me.

I poured more lubricant over my finger and slid it further into my depths. When I felt sufficiently slick, I squeezed out another dollop of the thick liquid and added a second finger. I closed my eyes and moaned, and pushed my fingers deeper, lubricating myself heavily.

When I was satisfied that I was properly prepared, I slipped my fingers out and went into the bathroom to wash my hands. My mind flashed for an instant to the soapy hand job I'd given Jason on my knees in the shower, and I shivered. Yes, I thought, it would be exciting to continue giving myself to him. The admission took me by surprise, brought with it a flash of arousal and shame.

I returned to the bedroom and slipped on the negligee I'd chosen. A quick glance at the clock told me it was still earlier than I expected; it was scarcely eleven o'clock, and Robert wouldn't be home for another four hours. Plenty of time to catch some sleep before he arrived.

Appropriately prepared for Robert's arrival, I slipped into bed and curled up beneath the sheets. Whatever his plans for letting Jason have access to me, I would know them soon enough. And I suspected he had other plans for me as well--plans that would keep me quite thoroughly occupied for some time. I snuggled up to my pillow, and sleep came quickly.

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