Page 26 of Your Only Fan
Ezra
Once again Mr. Cummings’ house is dark when I park outside. It’s a beautiful Craftsman-style house in greys and whites and a well-tended front yard.
It’s an inconspicuous house. No one could imagine the kind of sins that were about to take place inside.
I adjust my cock in my jeans that’s already perking up at the promise of what’s about to happen.
I look at the car parked in the driveway. A black pickup truck is there, also in pristine condition.
Whoever Cummings-slash-CumJunkie is, he looks after his stuff, and it’s hot.
The kind of houses and shit I’ve seen when hooking up with fans and other porn stars would make for a great page turner. I once actually threw up and left a date as soon as I entered the house of an extreme hoarder with a menagerie of cats. Just…no!
I grab my equipment bag and take the walk to the front door, painted in black with two frosted windows topside, and turn the handle.
It submits to my pressure and swings open.
Last time I came into a quiet house and crept through to the bedroom like a cat burglar.
This time it’s different. There’s an ambience in the open-plan living room and kitchen.
On the right side of the door is a kitchen counter with a letter and key holder. Beside it are a bunch of lit pillar candles.
On the left, the living room side, are more candles lit on the coffee table.
There’s a delicate smell of vanilla and cinnamon in the air and a low, instrumental music filling the space.
This guy has gone into the effort of making this special, and I’m digging it. If this wasn’t an anonymous hookup, I’d even say it’s romantic, but let’s be serious.
I set my bag down and take my action camera out, putting the strap around my neck and turning it on.
I film my path in front of me as I go toward the bedroom, and once again the sight of CumJunkie puts me at full mast in an instant.
There’s something about a man, naked, on all fours with a blindfold—or in this case, a hood—waiting for you in bed that gets my engine running at one thousand.
The bedsheets are black, and there’s a dozen more candles in the room making the scene almost ceremonial.
He tenses when he hears me enter, and his spine straightens.
I want to greet him, to say something, but I know the whole point of a scene like that is the thrill of anonymity even if he knows who I am.
I set my bag down again and take out the tripod and my second action cam, setting them up in the same place as last time. Beside the bed so it can capture the wide angles while I film the close-up action with the camera hanging off my neck.
Cummings wiggles his butt, inviting me in, but there’s one more thing to do. I turn the lights up slightly so the cameras don’t struggle picking up the details and then take my clothes off.
The lube is laid by his feet, so I slick myself and grab him by the hips, pulling him to the edge of the bed.
He obliges and hangs his ass off the side, legs sprawled apart, head pressed to the mattress, hands holding his perky globes giving me an undisturbed view of his puckered hole.
I point the camera at it and then glide up to catch his beautiful tattoo. His dark skin is glowing like he’s covered himself in oil.
A simple run of my hand along the middle of his back proves me right. He spasms when I touch him. His skin gets goosebumps, and my own cock reacts to the effect I have on him.
A low rumble comes out of him when I use both hands to trace the shape of his body, and it makes me catch my breath.
Damn. Why does he have to be such a hottie? Why can’t I see his face? What is he hiding? What is he afraid of?
He shakes his butt again, and I get the hint. I bend down, give his crack a lick, and press my head against him, dragging a grumble out of him.
