You've barely been online for five minutes when the email appears. The subject line is blank, but you open it anyway, curious to read what I have sent you. However, this is not a day for words, and you stare at the empty white box, momentarily confused, until you notice the attachment. It's a video file, and is simply labelled 'Watch me'.
At first there is only darkness, but when you turn up the volume you can hear breathing, heavy and ragged, coming from more than one person. It is unmistakably masculine, and is accompanied by the rhythmical beat of flesh on flesh. You squirm in your seat and grip the mouse harder, as the fingers on your other hand squeeze between your legs. The noises are familiar, arousing, but different somehow. You hear a low moan, and then, faintly, the sound of a cock being sucked. Slowly, you realise that you can make out three shapes in the darkness, three distinctive voices breathing their desire: three bodies silhouetted on a large bed, joined together and moving in unison.
The change in the light is subtle at first, but when the room is fully illuminated it's done so with a suddenness that takes you by surprise. Your knickers are already wet, your clit tingling with anticipation, and then you see me. It's the face that you've seen so many times before, the body that has appeared countless times on your phone and computer, and, stiff along my stomach, the cock that fills your fantasies, but tonight there's more. Tonight there's the hand roughly holding my head as a long, thick cock slides in and out of my mouth. Tonight there are the firm, toned arms pulling my hips back until I can feel cum-heavy balls against my ass. Tonight I'm on all fours, forced down and fucked as you watch intently.
The light fades again and as the clip ends, all you can hear is my whispered plea: 'fuck me'. You bang the desk in frustration, wanting to see more, feeling your clit throb as your fingers press against it. You move the cursor over 'play', ready to watch it again, knowing that you won't be able to move from your chair until you've answered the need burning inside you, but before you can lose yourself in those images once more, the second email arrives. This time there's no attachment, but the rush of disappointment is halted by the words that stare out at you. 'Don't cum. Join us. Room 317, The Old Bank Hotel. Be here in 15 minutes.'