Wet Spot
Title: Wet Spot
Author: vienna80er
Pairing: Orlibean
Rating: NC-17, slight BDSM
Disclaimer: Come on, get real!
Beta: spellchecker. Mistakes are clearly my own. Especially the “tenses”.
A/N: Could be read as a sequel to Auction Night but it's not a must.
He’s trying but it’s hard to focus. He’s sitting in a meeting, the voices of the producer, director and script writer of the new movie they are discussing and in which he potentially will star in are not making much sense to him. They are blurring, the words running into each other, transforming into white noise as they make their way from his ear to his brain.
He swallows the moan that tries to leave his chest down - but barely. Hit buttocks clench again without thought, making things worse. It’s starting again. First lightly but growing in intensity getting stronger even more now that his hole tenses around his plug. This is torture for him, embarrassing but at the same time addictive. He loves the feeling of being stretched, full and more so the feeling of being possessed right there in front of everyone’s eyes but not.
He blinks, tries to inconspicuously shake his head to clear it but it doesn’t work. Casting is eyes around and down he sees it. To his eyes it’s so obvious nearly glaring at him - a wet spot at the front of his trousers right there next to the fly. He moves a hand slightly to re-adjust the lay of the fabric of his pants. The spot is the size of his pointy finger tip. Involuntarily the muscles in his lower body convulse.
He can feel himself heat up and hopes he’s not blushing as he moves his focus from his fly back to the people at the table and this meeting. He’s really trying.
At the same time he can’t stop himself from looking down again. The spot seems larger now. Could it have grown in such a short time? He is drawn to the spot, moving his hand back there. Taking measure he notices that it indeed has grown in size. Now it’s the size of the tip of his thumb.
He contemplates coming home to his master and thanking him but the way this was going he wouldn’t be able to do that. His master doesn’t like wet spots on his lovers Armani trousers - no matter that he caused them.
The muscles in his pubic and bottom region contract again as the vibrations of the plug get even stronger not letting up and are becoming a constant. He can feel it now, his balls getting harder, drawing up, his cock twitching. His muscles are cramping up from his neck down to his toes; his cum moving up through his urethra to spurt out against the fabric of his formerly clean white briefs. He doesn’t make a sound. He can’t.
He feels uncomfortable, sticky, guilty. He came without permission. His master doesn’t like wet spots on his lovers Armani trousers - no matter that he caused them.
Author: vienna80er
Pairing: Orlibean
Rating: NC-17, slight BDSM
Disclaimer: Come on, get real!
Beta: spellchecker. Mistakes are clearly my own. Especially the “tenses”.
A/N: Could be read as a sequel to Auction Night but it's not a must.
He’s trying but it’s hard to focus. He’s sitting in a meeting, the voices of the producer, director and script writer of the new movie they are discussing and in which he potentially will star in are not making much sense to him. They are blurring, the words running into each other, transforming into white noise as they make their way from his ear to his brain.
He swallows the moan that tries to leave his chest down - but barely. Hit buttocks clench again without thought, making things worse. It’s starting again. First lightly but growing in intensity getting stronger even more now that his hole tenses around his plug. This is torture for him, embarrassing but at the same time addictive. He loves the feeling of being stretched, full and more so the feeling of being possessed right there in front of everyone’s eyes but not.
He blinks, tries to inconspicuously shake his head to clear it but it doesn’t work. Casting is eyes around and down he sees it. To his eyes it’s so obvious nearly glaring at him - a wet spot at the front of his trousers right there next to the fly. He moves a hand slightly to re-adjust the lay of the fabric of his pants. The spot is the size of his pointy finger tip. Involuntarily the muscles in his lower body convulse.
He can feel himself heat up and hopes he’s not blushing as he moves his focus from his fly back to the people at the table and this meeting. He’s really trying.
At the same time he can’t stop himself from looking down again. The spot seems larger now. Could it have grown in such a short time? He is drawn to the spot, moving his hand back there. Taking measure he notices that it indeed has grown in size. Now it’s the size of the tip of his thumb.
He contemplates coming home to his master and thanking him but the way this was going he wouldn’t be able to do that. His master doesn’t like wet spots on his lovers Armani trousers - no matter that he caused them.
The muscles in his pubic and bottom region contract again as the vibrations of the plug get even stronger not letting up and are becoming a constant. He can feel it now, his balls getting harder, drawing up, his cock twitching. His muscles are cramping up from his neck down to his toes; his cum moving up through his urethra to spurt out against the fabric of his formerly clean white briefs. He doesn’t make a sound. He can’t.
He feels uncomfortable, sticky, guilty. He came without permission. His master doesn’t like wet spots on his lovers Armani trousers - no matter that he caused them.