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My friend came over after a horny videocall - Chapter 4
🕑 Added 2025-08-23 22:00:04 +0000 UTCI woke up hard as a rock, sweaty, and confused. My sheets were a mess, and the dream still clung to me — Milo’s mouth on my cock, whispering “I want to wake up with you like this every day.”
My hand went to my dick instinctively, still throbbing from the leftover heat, but I didn’t stroke. Not yet. I was too on edge. Anxious. Nervous.
Because it wasn’t just a dream.
Last night happened.
The call. The jerking. The dirty talk.
That cocky wink from Milo just before hanging up.
And now, all I could think about was when he’d call again.
I waited.
And waited.
Kept my phone charged, screen on, notifications loud. Every buzz made my chest jump — but it was never him.
Hours passed. Afternoon bled into early evening. Nothing.
No FaceTime.
No texts.
Just silence.
My stomach twisted.
Did I mess it up?
Did he regret it?
What if last night was just a horny accident? A one-time thing?
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I opened FaceTime and hit Milo’s name.
The screen rang once… twice… then it connected.
Milo answered with a slight smile. The image was shaky, the background moving — a row of trees, brick walls. His curls bounced a little as he walked.
“Hey,” he said casually, “guess what?”
I blinked. “…What?”
“I’m coming over for breakfast.”
I stared. “…Now?”
He nodded.
And that’s when I realized — the sidewalk behind him? The hedge? The green mailbox?
That was my neighborhood.
“Dude,” I stammered. “You’re like… two blocks away.”
“Told you,” he smirked. “Hope you’re hungry.”
My cock stiffened instantly under my shorts.
And I didn’t even try to hide it.
Ten minutes later, Milo was in my bedroom.
He dropped his backpack by the door like it was any other hangout. Same Milo, same grin — except now, we both knew.
No pretending. No more guessing.
He sat on the edge of my bed, looking at me like he was reading every thought I’d ever had about him.
“So…” he started, “you saw my video.”
I nodded. Quiet. But honest. “Yeah.”
He looked down, then back at me, softer now.
“I didn’t mean to send it. I like… record myself sometimes. And I guess that one was still in the album when I airdropped the photos.”
I waited. Let him talk.
“I moaned your name because I was… thinking about you. But I never meant for you to see it. Next day I panicked and just acted normal. Thought maybe you didn’t notice.”
His voice dropped lower, like it was something fragile.
“But then last night happened. And… Andy, I’ve never felt pleasure like that before. Ever.”
My chest fluttered.
“Yeah,” I said. “Me neither.”
We locked eyes.
And then he grinned again — that crooked little smirk that always got me.
“But I want to change that. Now that I have you here.”
I swallowed hard.
“What did you cook for me?” I teased, voice shaking just a little.
Milo glanced down at my obvious boner pressing through my shorts and raised an eyebrow.
“Looks like you already cooked first.”
He leaned forward, eyes never leaving mine.
“May I feel it?”
I didn’t say a word. Just nodded.
Milo reached out, slow and deliberate, and pressed his palm against my bulge. I sucked in a breath as he started rubbing, gentle but firm. My hips twitched up to meet him.
“Fuck, Milo…”
“Do it right,” I whispered. “If you’re gonna touch it… do it right.”
We both stood. Wordless. In sync.
I pulled off my shirt. He did the same. Skin met skin. We stripped each other down, eyes hungry, hands eager. Our dicks sprang free — hard, leaking, aching. We stood close, cocks brushing, hands wrapping around each other’s shafts.
I gripped his thick cock, started stroking him as he worked mine. Our hands moving at different speeds, teasing, syncing, slowing, then faster again. Breaths caught in our throats.
“Can I taste it?” he asked, voice raw.
I nodded.
Milo sank to his knees.
He licked the head of my cock, teasing me first — slow, small flicks that made my knees buckle. Then he took it in, deeper than I expected, lips wet and warm, tongue circling the base as he bobbed.
“Fuck, Milo, that feels so—shit—”
He kept going. Gagging just slightly, hands resting on my thighs for balance.
I pulled him off gently, panting.
“My turn.”
I got on my knees and took him into my mouth. He tasted so good — salty at first, then clean, with a hint of skin and sweat and something intimate. Like I was tasting every secret he never told me.
“Oh, Andy,” he moaned, gripping my hair. “I’ve always wanted to taste you…”
When I looked up, his face was red, lips parted, chest heaving.
He leaned down, cupped my jaw, and kissed me.
Mouths open. Tongues slow at first, then messier, wetter. A kiss that tasted like both of us.
I kissed him back. Hard. Desperate.
And in that moment, there was no shame. No fear. No pretending.
