Page 4 of Whistle

My balls drew tight against my scrotum, pressing against the base of my dick. The need for release had me hard, the pressure almost painful as I panted and increased the pressure and speed of my hand.

Reaching up, I grab a fistful of those long blond curls and tug. “You belong in my bed, Goldilocks. You’re mine and mine alone.”

My hand stuttered at the way my thoughts went, but even though I knew it was wrong, I was too far gone. Too close to the edge of blowing to stop now.

I need this. Need him.

His silky curls wrap around my fingers, possessing me wickedly the same way his body clamps around my dick.

I thrust once, twice, and then come apart, dumping an obscene amount of cum everywhere, marking him on the inside and then pulling out and pushing him over so I can spurt the rest all over that pristine diamond decorating his navel.

“Your beauty is mine, Goldilocks, and so is your mess.”

My stomach muscles unclenched, quivering as I relaxed against the bed. My fist remained tight around my cock as tingles of lingering pleasure shot through my lower half. One last tug emptied what was left, and I released my spent cock, dropping it into the mess I’d made on my body.

Flinging my arms out, I lay there with eyes closed as my breathing returned to normal.

Another image swam through my relaxed and unguarded mind.

Of him.

The object of my affliction.

The intrusive thought I could not dislodge.

He was off-limits in every way. Forbidden. The one fantasy I should not enjoy.

Peeling my eyes open, I stared down my torso at the puddles of cum decorating my midsection.

The one fantasy that turned me on like no other.

It hadn’t happened in a while. I’d held it off. Tried not to look at that fucking photo. Because it never failed. Every time I did, my mind would give that body a face. And a head full of shoulder-length curly blond hair.

So much for the theory that the anonymity of this photo was what turned me on.

Or no. It was the anonymity. The very fact that I could turn that body into exactly who I wanted. A man I had no right at all to crave. I’d seen him only twice. Both times were even more reason he was a walking sin.

That had been months ago.

Yet here I was, still unloading all over myself at the mere thought of having him. That’s right. This was not the first time Goldilocks appeared in my fevered dreams.

Something in me was conclusively broken and corrupt beyond repair. If today’s date wasn’t enough to remind me why I was better off alone, this little debauched tête-à-tête with my hand in the middle of the night was irrefutable proof.

3

Bodhi

The pounding in my head was so severe that I swung at the guy taking the hammer to my head.

Turns out that guy was me, and the punch bounced off my temple, creating even more pain. Instantly nauseous, I rolled even as I heaved. The sound of retching drowned out everything else as my entire body ached and burned, my insides attempting to eject themselves.

Vaguely, I heard someone complaining and then yelling for me to stop, but you can’t stop an exorcism, and that was exactly what this felt like.

Even as I hurled, I recoiled at the acidic, burning pain eating away at my esophagus and making my ribs scream with pain. Eventually, I stopped, spitting one last time over the edge of whatever I was lying on, and then collapsed, trembling and weak. My arm fell over the side, my knuckles landing with a splat in warm, chunky spew.

I gagged again as the pounding continued and the room spun despite my eyes remaining closed.

“Hey! Get me the hell outta here! It’s against my rights to lock me up with the human version of Slimer!”

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