The Hand

The Hand

Charles arrived home at the usual time; 10.30pm.

He followed the normal protocol; coat hung up, car keys in the tray by the door. Shoes kicked lazily to the side. Then it was into the kitchen for a late-night snack: macaroni and cheese, with a cold root beer to wash it down. Hardly the healthiest of meals but he was too fixated on the twitching of his partially-erect cock to commit to cooking anything substantial. After eating he would stare at his empty plate for a while and allow his food to digest comfortably. Then his watch would make the sound. 11.00pm. Time.

He would leave the cheesy plate on the table and head into the lounge, where his laptop was. He would power it on and breath heavily while the boot-up screen pinged to life. Without even noticing, he'd unbutton his jeans and unfasten his belt, and let his pants fall nonchalantly to the floor around his ankles. He'd kick them away, tripping slightly. Then, he'd then sit on his leather chair, wincing a little at the cold material biting his bare buttocks.

Eventually his computer would wake up and he'd subconsciously grab hold of his cock, now much more rigid than before. He'd smile wryly as he felt it hardening in his hands, like a fleshy balloon being pumped up. He hadn't jerked off all day; his balls where heavy with passion fluid.

Then, he'd head straight to the source of his late-night escapades: Now Chat Free. A sex chat website he discovered by accident, but that had changed his life forever.

She'd be there. She always was.

He logged in: Charles_86. He scrolled through the rooms; 'Adults- Only', 'Food Role-Play', 'Sexy Furniture'... and 'Booty'.

Bingo.

He'd enter the room and announce his presence.

Charles_86 - 'Hey what's up, roomies!'

Within a few seconds his private message beeper would sound. Of course, he knew who it was from... the woman who had made him question everything about his sanity - and internet security: CantBeShamed.

He held his breath and clicked on the message. As always, it was vague but promising.

'I'm bored. Entertain me.'

He would reply with 'I'm ready when you are, as always'.

Then it would begin.

Suddenly on screen, a hand would appear... a woman's hand. Dainty, beautiful... yet hiding a sordid nature. Almost dirty. A hand that definitely liked fingering buttholes. It would reach out to Charles, beckoning him to follow her into the screen.

'I can't. I've told you... I don't know how' he would whimper in return.

The hand would pause for a moment, before travelling towards him... closer and closer... until by some strange, unexplained sorcery, it left the screen! Fearfully, Charles would close his eyes and begin sweating just as it was mere inches from his face.. The hand would hover over his face for a while, like a pink hydra, before descending to his now fully-erect super sausage. It stroked his tip, feeling the pre-cum on its fingers like a cock connoisseur sampling the goods, then worked slowly onto his rock-hard shaft, tracing the bulging vein with its perfectly-manicured fingernails.

Then, it was down to his balls. It fondled, gripped gently, carried his bags, sir...

Charles still had his eyes closed. He knew what was coming.

The hand would then move up, a delicate, feminine, poltergeist-crossed-with-Thing-from-Addams-Family, back onto his flesh trunk. It gripped, he whimpered again. The hand moved up and down, pulling on his sausage, the occasional finger finding a ball, the thumb sometimes caressing his helmet -- now soaked with so much pre-cum it looked like a basketball left out in the rain.

'I'm... close!' he would whisper and just as the pinky brushed the left testicle, he shot out hot, white syrup from his tip. It went everywhere: the screen, the keyboard, his picture of his deceased cat, Jasmine... everywhere but the hand itself, which would move slowly back up to his face, turn slowly... and flip him the bird, before disappearing back into the screen.

Sweating, he would glance at the screen, thick with bright, viscous love juice, his eyes now open again...

'I'm bored. Bye.' She would say, and log off. Until tomorrow night, he wouldn't hear from her again.

Charles sat and looked around at the sticky mess that had been created by this bizarre anomaly. And as always, he wondered the same thing to himself: 'How does she do it!?'

He would never know, but he'd always come back for more.

The End