He gets hard before he calls me, his hand working

shaping

molding his cock through the sweatpants

he pulls down

when I answer, showing off how thick he is, how sticky he is

You're not gonna give it to me? I pluck at him

I provoke him

I edge too much, he says, so I say, Don't

Just cum, show it to me

I'm still on the clock, he says, and his protests are not matched

by the rhythmic plumping of his cock

red

sticky

But this time he holds out. We hang up and I wish I could

reach through the screen

And win.

The murky fountain of his cum ruins his concentration, but for damn sure

makes my day

Another hour before he can change

out of the clothes I persuaded him to stain

But he leaves with a smile this time, enjoying

how badly I want it

More

than he wants to cum.