Page 24 of A Real Goode Time

I had to get some kind of relief.

Problem was, she was in the living room. My bathroom was in plain view of the pull-out couch, and if she woke up, she’d see me. There was nowhere in this loft I could go. And I was tired and exhausted—I’d been up since five the previous morning, and I didn’t want to get up and go down into the garage and deal with myself down there.

Gahh.

I tried again—closed my eyes, and focused on breathing slowly, steadily. Clear my mind. Picture a blank black nothingness in front of my eyes, blackness subsuming my view, blackness soft as velvet pulling me down…

Torie wasin bed with me, her tongue sliding down my abdomen, toward my throbbing cock. Her long black hair was loose and wild, a river of black cascading over her shoulder and onto my chest as she licked and kissed her way south to my pulsating, painfully hard cock.

Her breasts rested on my thighs, her hard nipples dragging over my bunched quads, her hands grazing up my hips, nails raking down my chest and tickling my abs and finally wrapping around me…

I woke up seconds from making a mess in my shorts.

“Fuck,” I snarled.

This one wasn’t going away. Not with the dregs of that dream rattling around in my skull. It was too early to get up, but I knew I would never get back to sleep.

I grabbed my phone and tiptoed downstairs to the “office,” which was little more than an old truck hood resting on a pair of dented, ancient, three-drawer filing cabinets, with a desk chair I’d rescued from a curb on garbage day.

I sat down at the desk, the lights in the garage turned off. I had a roll of TP at hand, a little tube of lotion I kept on hand—I got gnarly calluses, okay? They’d get torn open and painful if I didn’t lotion them once in a while. I didn’t go around rubbing lotion on my hands all day.

I switched on my aging desktop computer, pulled up one of my favorite sites, and scrolled through images and gifs and video clips, looking for something that caught my interest.

And what do you know? The thing that did catch my interest was an upload of a homemade video of a girl in a wet T-shirt. With long black hair. And tits that looked remarkably like Torie’s.

Shit.

I watched the whole video, which started with the girl and her wet shirt, and ended up with some pretty obviously scripted sex.

I went back to the beginning, the part I really liked: her, in her wet shirt, looking sultry as she peeled it off.

My imagination went haywire, and it was Torie I was seeing.

Looking at me like that.

Baring those beautiful tits for me, approaching me.

I saw her as she’d been in my dream, eyes gazing up at me over my body as she slid down, down…

I had my shorts down past my thighs, cock in hand, squeezing, sliding.

I shouldn’t have Torie in mind as I did this, but…I did.

The video lost its hold on me, my own mental image of Torie in her wet shirt was all I really needed to get me to the edge.

I gritted my teeth and hissed low as I neared climax.

The blood pounded in my ears, heart hammering loudly.

“Fuck…” I growled, as the surge hit me in a hot wave, crashing through me.

I exploded into a handful of TP.

As my pulse slowed and I was able to hear properly again, I happened to glance to the side. To the doorway which led upstairs.

Torie.

Halfway out the door, hair loose around her shoulders, wafting in staticky black waves and kinks, eyes sleepy but shocked—fixed on me. On my still-hard cock, held in my fist, cum now leaking out of the tip and spilling over my fingers.