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This wasn’t planned. He was just supposed to be your tutor here to help you with statistics class. Still, Kyle couldn’t fight it; he knew the real reason he was here, why he offered you help in the library after overhearing you talk with your mother about failing in math. He couldn’t deny anymore that his affection for you had grown, more than he intended.
She was so mean to you, harsh and bitter, no doubt jealous of your talent. In all honesty, Kyle admired you. You were smart, funny, and pretty. How you could be the entire package? He didn’t know. He wasn’t ashamed of his little crush on you; that was all he convinced himself it was. He never spoke to you, only shared a few classes, and occasionally saw you walking around campus, chatting with your friends. Yet, he watched you. That’s why he listened to the little voice in the back of his head telling him to get up from his seat, pause the progress on his research project, and make his way over to where you and your mother were arguing to offer his help.
Kyle wasn’t a tutor; he had to lie about that part, but he was good at math and was in the same class as you, so he was just as qualified as one. Plus, he couldn’t allow you to be disrespected like that, especially not in public.
So here he was, sitting on your bedroom floor, talking you through each problem.
You held your pencil, resisting the urge to doodle across the thick packet due Thursday. Honestly, you found it foul that you had to do homework on a weekend, but you supposed that was university life for you. You have a lot of adjusting to do. Kyle was nice, though, always patient with you. You had no idea he was a tutor, didn’t even know his name before yesterday, when he saved you from your mother’s wrath. It was somewhat embarrassing that he overheard all that, but you were at least fortunate that he offered to help you free of charge. If there was one thing you knew about this Kyle guy, it was that he was smart. Always raising his hand, getting every answer thrown at him right. It was no secret he was a straight-A student, either, with every teacher commenting on his wit and good grades. You knew you were in good hands with him, despite how much you hated this class.
Kyle stopped talking, allowing you time to work through the current problem. You looked so focused, as if you were in a flow state, determined to get each problem right. There was something endearing about you. Kyle couldn’t place, but his body could.
Against all odds, he’d been betrayed by his own senses. It was just a crush—a passing one at that, yet here he was, legs criss-cross-apple-sauced on your bedroom floor with a major hard-on. One of magnitudes he hadn’t felt in a long time. It caught Kyle by surprise. One moment, he was normal, and the next, he had a boner from watching your eyes graze the paper.
Kyle was painfully awkward, never good with subtlety. As soon as he took notice of the growing bulge in his pants, he frantically shifted, scrambling to puff his couderoys out more to appear baggy around the appendage. He was so obvious about the situation that it snapped you out of your focus, side-eyeing the movement beside you, no doubt confused.
“I thought I saw a spider.” Kyle tried to play it off with a huff.
You gave a faint smile that showed you didn’t believe his lie, but didn’t care enough to press the issue. Kyle had his quirks; he was just here to tutor you. You hated math—statistics sucked, you were just trying to get through it so the session could end, and you could go back to doing whatever amused you at the time.
Kyle glanced down. He couldn’t keep this hidden for long if it didn’t go away soon. He settled for leaning down over his lap, elbows resting on each respective knee. You didn’t bother looking over, at the peak of solving the problem you were working on, and showing your answer.
Another moment of now awkward silence passed by as Kyle cleared his throat, leg lightly bouncing as he tried to look anywhere but you. You were just so interesting to him in every way; you deserved better friends and family, a mom who wouldn’t publicly humiliate you. Or friends who didn’t go to parties without you, talking about how you were growing increasingly unbearable to be around. It wasn’t your fault, Kyle read everyone in the room like a vacation pamphlet. They were no good for you—if you’d become unbearable, it was surely due to their dull conversation topics.
Thinking about it in this way made him sound like a creep, which he was not. He just happened to pay extra attention whenever other students brought up your name. It wasn’t often, but enough for Kyle to have you on his mind for the rest of the day. Fuck, he was still hard.
“I got it.” You raised the weighted packet, angling it so he could see your answer.
Kyle snapped out of his daze, adjusting his reading glasses on his nose as he looked over the problem and the answer you provided.
Find the maximum likelihood estimator (MLE) of λ. Check. You got that part right. It didn’t take long for Kyle to skim the answer. Determine whether the estimator is biased. Also right. How were you bad at this again? You’d gotten every problem right so far. Maybe you just kept him here to hang out with. Find the variance of the estimator. You got most of it right; you just slipped up on the last section about the variance.
“Okay, good. You got most everything right except this right here,” he inched closer to show you, “you just forgot to carry the square root over. Just a little mistake.”
“Oh, yeah, damn. I didn’t even realise, I’m so tired.” You chuckled, taking your packet back to erase and fix your mistake.
Kyle looked a little too deeply into your answer. You obviously hadn’t been getting enough sleep; the stress of failing a class weighed heavily on your shoulders. He blamed your so-called friends, and your mom certainly didn’t help matters. How you had ever managed to connect with them was beyond him; you clearly outpaced them in every way. You should spend time with like-minded people, with someone you could really bond with.
“I don’t understand how you’re failing, I mean, I know we’re only a few problems in, but you’ve gotten pretty much everything right.” Kyle wondered aloud, shoulder brushing against yours.
You sighed, looking to the wall, “I guess it’s not cause I’m that bad at statistics, it’s just cause I’ve been going through a lot lately, and haven’t been turning in assignments. It’s been affecting all my classes, not just this one. I mean, I’m not really good at math either, so I thought a tutor might help get me back on track and focused.”
Kyle listened as you rambled away, looking down to your plush lips and back up to scan over your facial features. You looked soft—like everywhere. Even your body had the perfect distribution of fat, just to his liking—
He needed to stop. He sounded like a fucking incel right now and throughout all of this still had a massive boner for you straining against his forest green pants. Still, despite his lust, curiosity couldn’t help but creep its way in as well. Whatever had been plaguing your mind must have been horrible. He just wanted to talk to you, ask if you were okay mentally, and if you needed any support.
“Are you okay? You can talk to me if you want.” Kyle was never good at the whole comfort thing, but he tried to sound empathetic; he really did care for you.
“Oh, I’m fine, just financial stuff.” You found Kyle’s offer odd, but you supposed his concern was sweet.
Seeing your brows knit just slightly, Kyle knew he’d misjudged his choice of words. Of course, you’d never even told him it was about your mental health; he just assumed for some reason. It was all innocent, though. He had just wanted to offer you help, nothing necessarily psychological.
“Oh, I’m sorry—” Kyle looked down at the packet of equations, “should we continue?”
“Yeah, sure.” You looked down as well, proceeding to listen as Kyle’s soothing voice discussed the material on the next page.
After slogging through three more equations and word problems that seemed to drag on forever, you decided it was a good time to take a break. You tried your hardest, but even with Kyle’s guidance, the problems on the second and third pages gave you trouble. You hadn’t quite lived up to the reputation Kyle had set on the first page. Oh well—at least you were learning now, before falling any further behind.
“Can we take a break for a sec?” You looked up from the paper for the first time in twenty minutes, stretching your arms and neck.
“Yeah, this stuff gets kind of draining after a while.”
“Cool—” You noticed him shift uncomfortably again.
He was rather antsy, you continued, “Are you cold? I was gonna go downstairs for a drink. Do you want me to bring a blanket up?”
Fully aware of his current issue, Kyle wouldn’t pass up the offer. Honestly, he couldn’t believe his dick sprang up again after watching your muscles flex through your tight shirt and the little sound you made while stretching.
“Yeah, please. Thanks.” He huffed out, squeezing his legs lightly together, still crossed.
You were about to walk out the door, giving Kyle a small opportunity to collect himself, but before he could even relax his posture, your head whipped back around at him, “Oh, did you want a drink too? I have soda, juice, water...”
“Sure, water would be fine, thank you.” He was such a fraud, polite to your face while trying to restrain the pulsating cock in his pants.
He was disgusting, even watching your ass as you left the room. Kyle was better than this; he should be better than this, yet here he was. This wasn’t planned. It wasn’t supposed to go this way, but it did. Your little tutoring session probably taught Kyle more about himself than it did you statistics.
Once you were gone, Kyle finally let out a much-needed shaky breath. He felt like a degenerate loser now more than at any other moment in his life. What was wrong with him? He’d never liked a girl more in his life, and this is how he treated you? Like an object—getting boners every time you moved or made any kind of noise. Not even that, simply hearing you talk got Kyle worked up. He thought it was just a little crush, maybe some affection and fondness for you, but the whole time, he had underestimated. This wasn’t a normal crush; it couldn’t have been, not when his body reacted like this. Not when he felt the urge to defend and protect you.
Kyle sighed deeply to himself. He had to have you, in some way. He’d have to get to know you, work his way into your life so you could trust and rely on him, so you could be together, so one day you could meet his family. He already knew his mom would like you. He’d be good to you, always a gentleman. Kyle would be all you need if you wanted that; he might even be able to convince you to ditch those friends of yours and move out of your respectless parents' house. You deserved better than here.
It had already been a couple of minutes since you left the room. Kyle wondered what you were doing, or if it really took that long to gather everything from downstairs. Maybe you were using the restroom too? Kyle had to stop that thought before it went on, so his dick wouldn’t get even harder.
He took this time to look around your room, analysing your bed, posters of the bands on your walls, and the lotions and perfumes you used. Kyle took a little extra time to remember the names, so he had an idea of what to get you for Christmas or your birthday when you were together. Perhaps even so that he could buy some for himself to remember your scent while he was away from you.
This might be a bad idea; you could burst through the bedroom door at any second, but Kyle couldn’t help himself. He reluctantly stood up, walking over to your dresser, where all your scented products were stored. He noted which ones you used most, tilting his head to read the labels. For good measure, he whipped out his phone, opened the camera from his lock screen, and took a few photos of all your products.
Once he collected all the evidence he needed, he stepped away from the dresser, taking it all in its entirety. You knew how to pick furniture. Kyle would leave it up to you to decorate your future home; you were obviously good at it.
He planned to sit down, back where papers sprawled across the floor, but he couldn’t seem to pry his eyes away from the drawers. Your clothes were in there. Kyle wondered about your style, what you’d wear on your days off from school. Maybe he could take some pictures—for the same reasons he snapped some of your body products.
The first drawers were two smaller ones set side by side, followed by a larger drawer beneath them and another below that. Your clothes were probably in the bigger drawers, yet Kyle was fixated on what might be in the smaller top ones. His gaze darkened, almost in a trance-like state, as he blankly stared at what was in front of him. He blinked, taking some time to process what exactly he was doing right now.
This was a total invasion of privacy, even if it was mostly innocent. He shouldn’t be doing this; he knew he shouldn’t be. This was disgusting and creepy. If you walked in right now and found out what he’d done, you’d probably throw him out screaming. Kyle wouldn’t blame you; this was so unlike him. The thought of you just turned him into an utter creep. No, it wasn’t your fault, none of this was. It was his, he should stop—sit back down before you walked in and caught him, but he couldn’t.
With a deep breath of regret, he opened one of the top drawers only to come into contact with something that could make him cum in his pants. He already felt so much shame and disappointment for himself, but he couldn’t resist where his line of vision led him. His cock pulsed in his boxers, demanding immediate attention at the sight of all your panties displayed in front of him. All colors, all sorts of patterns—fabrics, all in front of him, sat like trophies in a case. Kyle’s breath grew increasingly heavy, shaking as he fought the urge to reach forward and slide his fingers against the soft material, picturing you wearing them with nothing else.
His hand hesitantly grew closer; he knew he didn’t have much time with them before you came back. It had already been so long since you left, Kyle would’ve craved your voice if it weren’t for your panties tending his focus for now. He paused before reaching out, restrained by his moral compass. This was wrong. Everything started off so well-intentioned, and now it had dipped into something so disgusting and disrespectful. To you and him. Kyle held himself to high standards; he was above this. This was downright predatory. He wasn’t like that; he should stop now, scurry away from this house with the little dignity he had left.
He’d remember this moment for the rest of his life, how gross he was being—have nightmares about it. He wasn’t like this. Kyle repeated it over and over in his mind, but the drawer was still open, and his eyes scanned each and every pair.
He swallowed, took a deep breath, and brought up the camera app on his phone again, snapping a picture for gift-buying purposes, just as he had before. Nothing had changed. His phone was tucked back in his deep pocket as his bulge caressed the knob of the drawer, bringing his attention to it. Kyle grabbed the handle, sofly pushing the drawer back in a bit before stopping. It wasn’t enough; he already came to that conclusion. Without another second of crippling guilt, he tugged a pair out and shoved them in the pocket with his phone, making sure it was one from the back so it wouldn’t be as obvious. He didn’t even see what kind he’d chosen, allowing it to be a surprise for later. All of them were pretty; they all suited you, or rather, you suited everything.
He slammed the drawer shut, rushing to sit in the same spot, exactly as you left him. He pretended to look over the problems you solved, so he looked like he was doing something productive when you returned. Kyle tried to calm himself and not think about what he’d just done, but God, even your handwriting was cute. He couldn’t help but let out a frustrated groan.
“That bad, huh?” You pushed open the slightly cracked door, blanket and drinks in each hand.
Kyle blinked up at you, darting his eyes away in shame. He quickly reached up to grab his glass of water from you, chugging half of it before you could even settle back down on the ground. You watched him, impressed. He must’ve been thirsty too.
When he finished chugging, he reached for the blanket on the ground, draping it over his lap. “Yeah, hard stuff.”
You giggled, picking up your pencil again. You hadn’t known what he’d just done, how he defiled your personal belongings with his touch. Kyle couldn’t hide from guilt for long; he knew that, but for now, he could push it back, prolong it for later with math problems in its place.
That was exactly what he did. After working through five more problems, Kyle couldn’t take it anymore. Too horny and full of shame. He needed to get home immediately so he could simultaneously jerk off and cry.
“Can we do the rest another day? I’m spent.” You chuckled, eyes closed in a futile attempt to escape reality.
Kyle was shocked that you said it right after he thought about it. Maybe you two were meant to be.
“Yeah, me too. Let's call it a day. You did good, a lot of improvement at the end.” He smiled, barely able to maintain eye contact.
“Thanks, Kyle.” You softly sighed, stretching your legs as you stood.
You said his name. Kyle felt blood rush to his cheeks.
“You’re welcome. Just text me whenever you’re ready to finish this thing.” He gestured to the decent-sized packet on the floor.
“Yeah, I would, but I don’t have your number, so…” You let the sentence trail off.
“Oh yeah, give me yours so I can put it in—” Kyle’s thoughts interrupted him as he was about to reach into his pants pocket for his phone, only to feel what lay above it, “actually, I’ll give you mine.”
You smiled, oblivious and too tired to care about anything right now. Kyle ripped a piece of paper from his notebook and scribbled his phone number down with the fancy pen he’d ordered online.
“Here you go.” He handed it to you, packing up his stuff to leave with urgency; thankfully, his hard-on had disappeared for now.
You placed the torn-off paper on your nightstand before plopping into bed, exhausted, “Thanks again, you’re a good tutor.”
“No problem, you’re a good student.” Kyle offered another small smile, departing from your room, then your house, speed-walking as fast as he could back home so he could be alone.
He knew he had to go to his actual home, not his dorm, to do this, because Stan was probably there. He was always there. Kyle hoped with all his heart that his parents or brother weren’t home; they didn’t need to hear this. Kyle was usually quiet, but he doubted he could hold anything that came out today. He rarely ever jerked off this early in the day, opting for as close to midnight as possible so the shame would quickly wash over him after a night's rest. He’d forget about it by morning.
Every house was close by in South Park, and Kyle had never been so grateful for it as he did now. It only took a few minutes before he came face-to-face with his front door. There were no cars in the driveway, signifying his parents were gone. Kyle brought his keys everywhere, slinging his backpack from off his shoulder to dig for the keyring in one of the front pockets. After he pulled them out, he fidgeted to find his house key and unlock the door.
Kyle wasted no time, jiggling the keys to open the door before shutting it smoothly behind him and kicking off his shoes as he rushed upstairs to his bedroom. Once inside, he quietly shut it behind him and locked it. He looked over the familiar room where he grew up. Nothing like jerking off in your childhood bedroom, stuck in its time. Whatever, Kyle didn’t have time to reminisce; he didn’t deserve to. He was about to ruin whatever memories had taken place here with his disgusting thoughts and urges.
With a disappointed sigh and nimble fingers, he undid his belt buckle. His pants button and zipper followed, and alas, he was left in nothing but boxers and socks. He fetched the panties and his phone before leaving the discarded fabric by the door, crawling into his bed like he always did after a long day. He’d take a short nap after this; he definitely needed to relax.
Once curled up under the covers, Kyle actually looked at the panties for the first time, feeling his cock throb. They were nice, all cute and cottony—soft. A shuddered breath escaped his lips, and he trailed his fingers over them, cotton rimmed with lace and solid colored with a white bow in the centre. Kyle’s labored breaths caught up to him as he practically dug the fingers of his empty hand into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them off with rigor.
He closed his eyes so it wouldn’t feel real, so he wouldn’t process everything that happened today. He was disgusting; he didn’t deserve to be holding a part of something so close to you right now. Not this way. He shouldn’t have seen your panties until after you were in a relationship. Kyle was gross, holding something so personal and private that he stole. He was a thief, a fucking panty thief at that. This wasn’t him. Yet, his cock still sprang out erect out of his boxers, and he still clutched your panties in his grip as if they were a treasured bead of pearls. What would his mother think?
Kyle shook off the thought. He can’t think about his mom right now; he shouldn’t think about anyone. If any morality still festered inside him, he should just throw away the underwear now, forget all of this ever happened, and never speak to you again. You deserved better.
Kyle whimpered as he tugged his cock for the first time while staring at your panties, something unusual for him, but not unexpected. He should whimper, he should cry; he was unforgivable. It didn’t take long for him to get lost in pleasure. He was grateful, he was ashamed for being grateful, for pushing the severity aside. Yet with each tug of his pulsing cock he descended further and further into a state of concentrated bliss.
He always concentrated when he jerked off, imagining whatever scenario suited his fancy for the night. Right now, it was all about you. He tried to hold back, tried not to speed his hand up, going up and down on his cock, milking him dry. He hadn’t cum in so long. Kyle didn’t want to yet; he wanted to savor, wallow in his disgusting sin.
He slowed down, easing his hand over the tip of his cock and back down while he pictured you. Kyle let out another unexpected whimper as he thought about you. Nothing in particular yet, just about the way your muscles moved, how your clothes clung to your well-shaped body. It turned him on to no end. You were perfect, too good for anyone here. He closed his eyes, picturing how you were. The way you acted, the pace you breathed at, your chest moving up and down as you focused on your paper. He jerked his cock slowly, taking it all in, feeling your cotton panties caress the palm of his hand as his fingers moved along the seams.
You wore these, these clung to your body, who knows how many times. They were the closest thing to you, closer than he’d ever be. After this, he doubted he’d be able to face you again. It would be for the best, although he’d still crave you. It was just a crush, though; it was just supposed to be a crush.
As Kyle’s mind descended into dirtier territory, he thought about your scent. He wondered which perfume you were wearing earlier, if it was Japanese cherry blossom or one of the other ones whose name he couldn’t pronounce. Whatever it was, it was decisive just how he liked, as if you wore it specifically to edge him further. He stared hard at the panties in his clutch, almost as if he were burning a hole through them with laser vision. They were so nice—he already knew they’d look amazing on you. He wished he had a picture of you wearing this, he could look at while he masturbated to you.
A picture. That gave Kyle an idea; he wanted to see you. If he were going to think of you while doing something so degrading, he wanted to see you, all of you. He didn’t have any photos of you, but maybe there were some on the college website. From when you volunteered on campus or participated in a club activity? No, he couldn’t even bear the idea of getting a glimpse of anyone else on the school page right now. Just you—he needed just you. Kyle cursed himself for not knowing your Instagram or any other social media that might have a picture of you. Soon, he gave up on the idea. It’d make his already heinous actions even worse anyway. His imagination would do.
His fist sped up on his cock at the thought of you on your knees in front of him. He felt like a misogynist for entertaining the concept, even while horny and already close to cumming all over his duvet. It wasn’t in a derogatory way, though, just you on your knees, tongue out as he jerked off into your open mouth as you held your tits out for him. God, he was a disgusting degenerate, no better than Cartman at this point.
That wasn’t all. Kyle also pictured you doing other gross things, making out with him slowly as you rode his cock, pinning you down to the bed by your wrists as you took him like a champ, all while squirming under him. He thought about fucking you in your panties, the very ones he held right now; they really were beautiful, just like you. He wanted to keep them forever.
Kyle sighed, jerking off a little faster as he fondled the soft fabric in his touch. His cock peeked out from under the heavy blanket, so close to them. Kyle unfolded them, holding a corner so the rest could be properly displayed for him to admire. It was so close, he was so close. Close to you—close to cumming.
“Fuck.” He moaned under his breath, getting another idea.
Kyle was nasty, so gross for doing this to someone so talented and impressive. He just wanted to hear you, feel you, smell you, touch you, everything. His mind felt like a prison as he relished in the moment. Once this was over, it might be another story, another excuse, but right now, Kyle indulged in purely honest lust.
He couldn’t fight it anymore, too fucked out as his breath labored out in sharp winds. Kyle took your panties, wrapped the cotton around his stiff, impossibly hard cock, and jerked them along with it. Faster than ever. Kyle moaned, bucked into them as he whispered your name like a prayer.
“I-I love you, I love you. You’re so soft, so perfect.” He moaned aloud.
Your panties slid up and down his cock so impressively. You were doing such a good job for him without even knowing it. They were so soft, yet strong and firm. He draped it over him, sliding his dick in and out between the holes. He wished it were your pussy, but was also giddy that it was an object, a private piece of you. Although the material was delicate, it still somehow felt rough when repeatedly rubbed against his cock, especially when it drew over the tip. There was no way he’d give it up now; he just needed a little extra help. Lotion, or lube.
Kyle used to use lotion; it was easier to access. He had lube, though, in his nightstand drawer. It was probably old, unused for the past couple of years since he’d been moved out, but it would still do the job. He took his hand off his cock as the panties fell loosely around it. He reached over to tug the drawer open, exposing the various knick-knacks that lay inside before scrambling around for the small bottle of lubricant. Finally finding it, his hand shot back to his cock. With the other, he popped open the clear bottle with his thumb and poured some over his aching shaft. He watched as it dripped down, wetting your panties gathered around the base. He’d make sure to wash them later before sneakily returning them folded back to the privacy of your dresser drawer, never to see you again.
Kyle took a deep breath in, mentally preparing for the new sensation. He stroked up his cock once with his bare hand, gathering the panties again. He didn’t hold back; this felt better than before. It was like this was his first time ever jerking off. The head of his cock was so sensitive, peaking through the damp fabric with each downward stroke.
The panties were beautiful, worked up and over his dick. Kyle panted, feeling like a feral animal with no control or maintenance over his psyche. This was beyond undoing; there was no going back after this. He had to accept that. He almost wished he had walked over to your closet while he had the chance, to open it and be met with your dirty laundry hamper. To see what was stashed inside, so he could grab a dirty pair of panties instead. God, he was disgusting. It’d smell more like you, clung closer to your body than anything else.
Kyle groaned at the thought, calling your name again as if it would summon you in front of him to jerk his dick. He wishes it did; he’d call out for you over and over, hundreds of times, if it meant you got to spend even a second with him right now. Realistically, what would you think? Seeing him tug at his slick cock, up and down, all for you. Would you feel special or grossed out? Call him a fucking degenerate creep for jerking off to random classmates' panties.
“Fuck, yes, baby, I’m such a disgusting creep.” Kyle was gone, blissfully unaware and uncaring of his volume.
Why was he so into this? Being viewed so terribly. He knew he didn’t actually want to be perceived that way; it went against everything he stood for, so why would he admit it, even if it were true in this moment?
None of that mattered right now with the sound of the slippery stickiness of the lube covering his palm and cock. He was so close, it was unbearable. Kyle already knew this would be the hardest, most intense orgasm of his life.
“Fuck, I’m so close.” Kyle groaned, twisting his cock, vision blurring from his approaching orgasm.
He wanted to slow down, to indulge the moment further, but was already too caught up in every possible feeling imaginable. Lust taking forefront in his mind, trailed by guilt—shame, then possession. The only sound filling the room, like heavy steam, was his incessant moaning and the slick of his hand sliding against his cock.
Just as his vision went white for a brief second and a chill ran through his body, he heard the familiar ding of his phone. He opened his eyes—eyes he hadn’t even realized were closed—and looked over at the dimly lit screen beside him. A text message from an unsaved number. The hair on his body stood on end, and his eyes widened. He was going to cum.
Kyle lifted the phone with his free hand, unlocked it with his face, and read the message displayed on the lock screen.
“Hey, it’s me, your tutoree from earlier. I took a little nap and think I should probably start working on the packet again to get it over and done with. I’m going to try to do page 4. Can I send you what I got after?”
Fuck, he guessed it was you. Of course, you texted him now; it was like you knew and were giving him fuel to keep going. Kyle just wanted to gloss over everything you typed and text back asking for a picture of your tits or something. He clicked the message, going to the app, scrolling up the chat-log as if there was anything there, and this wasn’t the first time you messaged him.
He’d respond later. Or maybe he should ask for your Instagram really quickly so he could finish off to one of your pictures. No, he couldn’t even think of an excuse right now. With a grunt, he clicked the button on the side of his phone to turn the device off.
Kyle gazed down at his dick, smothered in your panties. It was a shame they were all dirty now, all from his filth. The thought made his head retch; it disgusted and turned him on beyond belief. He kept stroking, preparing at any moment to cum all over your tainted property.
“Kyle? You home?” He heard a voice call out from the hallway.
Fuck, his brother.
“Uh-y-yeah, I’m here, just trying to take a nap real quick.” Kyle stuttered out, unable to keep his hand off his cock after being interrupted again.
“Oh, okay. Are you staying for dinner tonight?”
“Yeah,” Kyle responded, the door acting as the barrier for his sin.
He sighed. What was with all the questions? Kyle just wanted to be left alone.
“Okay,” Ike called back, and Kyle could hear a faint shut of some door.
Finally, it was over. Guess he had plans later. Kyle’s mind returned to you again, replaying the thought of asking for your social media. He thought about what pictures he’d find there—probably a goldmine, he hoped—because he’d for sure be asking later. Right now, he pictured you as his girlfriend, how you’d send him nudes, suck his dick, moan while bouncing on his cock, and how he’d get you knocked up so you’d be forced to stay in his life—rely on him.
It hit him all at once. He came hard, his orgasm washing over him with an intense spout of passion. His eyes scrunched closed as a stifled choke between a groan and a whimper escaped his lips. His free hand flew to cover his mouth—he knew he wasn’t alone in the house, and hadn’t been for who knew how long. His cum shot out in thick ropes. It’d been so long he wasn’t even surprised. It flooded through the fabric of your panties, really enforcing what had taken place.
With a few more muffled, choked-out noises of pleasure, Kyle’s fist wrapped around his cock, as he shook lightly, finally releasing it. He admired the way your panties seemed bound to him now by the mixture of cum and lube. It was hot, but only for a second. Eventually, he was empty, left to fall back onto his pillow and contemplate what he had just done.
Post-nut clarity hit Kyle like a semi-truck. He expected this awful feeling. It was a lot to process, something he could never forget happened and that he’d have to live with forever. He was a pervert, a terrible person. No one else had to know, though, and that’s what Kyle counted on.
He figured he should get an actual nap in now before dinnertime.