Feng Yi trembled, annoyed at himself for letting his lvst cloud his judgment and upset Qiao Li. He sincerely wanted to apologize, but… her request was mortifying. She must be trying to show him how shameful his actions had been. Agonized, ashamed, and conflicted, he finally opened his camera. He took a picture of the crumpled tissues and his right hand, stained with s3men, and sent it to her.
“I know I was wrong…” he mumbled, his face burning.
Qiao Li held the phone away from her ear, stifling a laugh before bringing it back. The first photo showed a mess of crumpled tissues, soft at the edges, clearly well-used. In the second, droplets of s3men trailed down the back of his hand and fingers. His knuckles were distinct, the come against his skin a strangely er0tic contrast.
“You came this much?” she purred, her voice a low murmur.
A jolt of electricity shot from Feng Yi’s ear to his scalp, deepening the blush on his face. “Mm…” he managed.
“Did it feel good?” she whispered, her voice like a lover’s caress. His throat tightened. He swallowed hard, mouth open, unsure how to respond. The phone felt hot against his ear, almost burning. It was humiliating, yet a secret thrill coursed through him.
“Yes,” he finally admitted. The moment the word left his lips, he realized the conversation was taking a different turn.
Qiao Li chuckled, the sound light as a feather, tickling his throat and making his mouth dry.
“What were you thinking about when you came?” she asked.
His breath hitched. The bathroom was steamy, a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin. His palm was slick, the phone almost slipping from his grasp.
Before he could answer, Qiao Li drawled, “My pvssy?” His breathing grew heavier in the receiver.
“Or maybe… fvcking me?”
Her words were like sparks igniting tinder, setting him ablaze. He remembered their first night together, the glimpse he’d stolen when he’d subtly lifted her leg. The dim lighting had obscured the details, but the image was seared into his memory. He’d been so close, close enough to see the glistening fluids, the small, pulsing opening below. He still remembered the shock, the breathlessness, the feeling of being struck by lightning.
“Feng Yi,” she said suddenly, pulling him from his chaotic memories. “Are you hard?”
He looked down. His c0ck was already straining against his pants. His zipper was halfway down, his sweat-slicked body exposed. His swollen er3ction jutted out, tenting the fabric of his shirt, throbbing beneath the thin material. He was a mess.
In a daze, he answered, “Yes…”
“Show me.”
A video call request popped up on his screen. Panic flared, and he almost dropped the phone in the sink. Steadying his nerves, he accepted the call with trembling hands.
Qiao Li was using her rear camera; her face wasn’t visible. He breathed a sigh of relief. Seeing her would have made him even more nervous.
“Why are you so close?”
Feng Yi hesitated. Was he really supposed to show her his hard c0ck on video? The thought alone made him flush. But the shame only fueled his arovsal, the forbidden thrill intensifying the ache in his groin. The idea of Qiao Li watching him, scrutinizing his erection, made his fingertips tingle.
“Move the phone back. Point it at yourself,” she commanded.
He obeyed, placing the phone on the sink. He glanced uncertainly at the camera and took a step back, nearly tripping over his pants, bunched around his thighs.
Qiao Li watched the screen. The dim bathroom light cast a warm, honeyed glow on his skin, making him look vibrant and healthy. His pants were still halfway down, revealing a thatch of dark hair and the curve of his balls. His c0ck, swollen and hard, pointed directly at the camera, partially exposed, the rest hidden beneath his shirt. The fabric was stretched taut, the thin white material revealing the deep red flush of his er3ction.
A heat bloomed low in her belly. She wanted to touch him, to run her hands over his chest and abs. She missed the way his muscles tensed beneath her fingers, hard and hot. His body was always warm, and when he was arovsed or embarrassed, the heat intensified, burning her fingertips.
“Touch yourself,” she instructed, her voice raspy through the phone. She spoke slowly, deliberately, the words sounding unfamiliar and s3nsual.
Feng Yi felt himself on the edge. Just hearing the words made precvm leak from the tip of his c0ck. He looked at the camera, feeling her gaze on him. He reached down and wrapped his hand around his er3ction. His thumb brushed over the head, and even that light touch sent a jolt of pleasure through him. A low moan escaped his lips. He was so turned on, a mere touch was enough to make him cry out. He couldn’t help himself. The thought of mastvrbating for her, under her watchful eye, was overwhelming.
It was humiliating, embarrassing, yet the shame only made him harder.