Page 2 of Your Only Fan
I stare at my crotch for a few seconds, willing the boner down, but if anything, Rivera’s image in my head intensifies, making my cock pulse in my tight jeans.
“Video it is,” I mumble to myself and mount my phone on the dashboard and press record.
The minute the timer on the screen goes off, gone is Ezra Anderson and his pathetic crush on his teacher. Ezra Dixon comes to the surface and is ready to blow the minds of all willing men—and women—with his large cock and his playboy smile.
I unbutton the jeans and lift my boxers over my dick, releasing it from its denim dungeon. I look at my phone as if it’s Rivera and I smile, running a smooth cupped hand along my length.
The smile turns into a moan and the moan turns into a bite, yet I continue my slow gestures, seducing the camera and those who will jerk off watching me later.
In my head, Rivera is holding the phone and touching himself, looking at me through his specs and driving me wilder by the second.
I quickly check my mirrors and the surrounding area, making sure there aren’t any people walking to their cars and then turn my attention back to the phone. And Rivera.
The thrill of getting caught adds to the excitement, even if I have dark tinted windows so getting caught is almost impossible unless I want to get caught.
I bring my palm to my lips and spit, bringing it down to my slit and adding to the natural lubrication on my length.
Rivera appears behind me in the backseat, his hands snaking across my chest and stomach. I lift my t-shirt to give him access—and my thousands of fans—and he traps my nipples between tight fingers. I enact what I imagine Rivera is doing to me and twist my nipple with my forefinger and thumb. I arch my back, the sensation creating a ripple of want and need down my spine and tickling my skin and core.
Rivera teases my mouth, and I hook my index and middle finger on to my teeth, allowing the groan that’s building up in my throat loose.
Come for me, baby, he whispers in my ear, the goosebumps creating a halo of warmth around my head.Give me your essence. Let me drink your mind, body, and soul. Let me taste you, my beautiful sin.
The heat around my crown washes down my body like a wave. Strands of milky white seed shoot out of my slit and paint my steering wheel and torso with its creaminess, and I’m left panting for my fans.
Only for my fans. Never for my Isaac.
Hell, he’s not evenmyIsaac. He’s not my anything. Just my teacher.
I stop the recording, clean myself up with the tissues that live in my car—I do jerk-off videos in it more than I care to admit—and schedule the video to go out on YourFan in about an hour.
Then, I set off for home. Alone.
I had an exercise routine to do and a work date in the evening. And when I say work date, I mean creating content for my YourFan page. My subscribers aren’t going to stick around if I don’t fuck new boys and new men. They want to see me breed anything that moves, and in exchange for their monthly subscription, I’m happy to oblige. If anything, it distracts me from my secret crush.
And it pays for my college and my comfortable life.
So, yeah, I might be hopelessly in love with Isaac, but I’m not entirely a pathetic loser.
My life is pretty good.
Just… Isaac-less.
