Jacob1982: i found it. i don’t want to “orally stimulate the female genitals anyway.” That sounds scary.
“Thanks NFL. You guys, please be nice. All, I love cunnilingus, and I don’t give a damn how anyone spells it. Rich, were you going to take me private?”
—-richone45 left room
OSUfreshie: i knew he was full of shit.
- FREE CHAT ENDED - threeinchpenis HAS STARTED A PRIVATE CHAT
I incorrectly assumed that a guy with a small c**k would want reassurance that size didn’t matter, that I found him attractive regardless. Threeinchpenis didn’t let me get very far down that path before he set me straight. His request seemed so odd; I blinked a moment at the computer screen.
threeinchpenis: STOP. don’t compliment. make fun of it. laugh.
I understood cuckold stuff. That comprised about ten percent of my chats. Cuckold has an edge of humiliation attached, and I am comfortable with that edge. But pure humiliation and ridicule was not a fetish I was experienced in, or necessarily comfortable with. Those clients have their own whole section of the camsites, with their own dedicated models—girls who specialize in leather, insults, and degradation. I’ve never had to ‘go there’ in a session, and I wasn’t particularly comfortable with a leap in that direction.
I started hesitantly, a fumbling, disastrous attempt to point awkwardly and laugh. I sounded forced, ridiculous, and kept waiting for the ENDED CHAT message to fill my screen. But it didn’t, and he stayed with me, patient—his grainy image filling the screen, his small c**k wedged between tan, muscular thighs. He appeared to be, from my limited view of his stomach and crotch, someone who took meticulous care of himself—tan, muscular, shaven. His c**k was hard, the area hairless and smooth, the short stub thin and uncircumcised. It was tiny, and I tried to laugh and point - but it went against every empathetic bone in my body.
With threeinchpenis’s gentle coaching, I finally got it, falling into a rhythm that sounded natural and sincerely cruel. I told him it was pathetic, that he would never please a woman with that. The words caused his short stub to bob and swell; his fingers grasped the short stalk and jerked it. The climax came five minutes later, when I told him I wanted to invite my friends over, show them his webcam. They would all roll on the floor laughing at how puny and ridiculous his tiny c**k was. I almost missed it, his hand covering it, but caught a glimpse of white spray, and he moved his fingers and I saw it. The normal-sized head, dwarfing the short shaft, twitching and gushing, a shocking amount of white cum shooting out in quick, rapid shots.
I gasped, a standard and genuine reaction when I see a guy finish—and hesitated—not sure what the desired response would be. I finally smiled, a smirk that spread over my whole face. “Wow,” I gushed. “That was impressive.” I tried to maintain my snobby, condescending exterior, but added some grudging approval, and he seemed to enjoy the reaction, rubbing his dick with a white towel and leaning forward, giving me a brief glimpse of tan, muscular chest before his cam went dark.
threeinchpenis: thx bb. that was great.
I opened my mouth to respond, but he was gone.
———PRIVATE CHAT ENDED BY threeinchpenis. 11min56sec
———RETURN TO FREE CHAT?
I clicked on the yes button, pasted a smile on my face, and waved enthusiastically to the cam in front of me, greeting the waiting clients who filled the free chat room.
Eleven minutes. Amount charged to his credit card: $76.89. My cut from the bastards that own the camsite: $21.53.
CHAPTER 14: Annie
At 5:30 p.m. relatives started arriving. Uncle Frank was the first, taking off his worn baseball cap in the front doorway, smiling shyly at Annie, and holding out a small, yellow-wrapped present, which looked like it had been wrapped with half a roll of tape. She squealed excitedly, wrapping her small arms around his waist, smelling the cigarette and earth smell that always followed him. She beamed up at him, grabbing the present and shook it excitedly. “Thank you Uncle Frank.” He squeezed the back of her neck and grinned down at her.
“You’re welcome sweetie.” He crouched down, so they were eye to eye. “You want to open it now?”
Her eyes widened. “Can I?” she whispered.
“Sure. Let’s sit on the back step, and get out of everyone’s way.” He straightened, holding his hand out, and she slid her tiny one into his, and tugged, pulling him through the small living room and to the worn-out back door.
They sat close, heads together, legs touching, on the small concrete step of the back stoop.
CHAPTER 15
When I went to my grandparents’ house that weekend—the weekend—when Mom went mad and killed everyone, they were surprised to see me. That should have been my first sign that something was wrong.
“Deanna?” My grandmother peered at me through the screen door, squinting like she was having trouble seeing me. She pushed the screen door out, looking at me, then my suitcase, her expression confused. “Is everything okay?” I stepped forward, hugging her tightly, and planted a quick kiss on her soft, fragile cheek.
“Hey Nana.” I reached down, grabbing my suitcase handle and dragged it forward, toward the front door. “Mom said I was spending the weekend with you guys.”
Her face showed surprise, but she quickly recovered. “Oh! Well, come in, dear. Don’t worry about that suitcase. I’ll have your grandfather grab it.” She ushered me inside, pulling the farmhouse door shut behind us, the smell of mothballs and old books hitting my senses as I stood in the foyer, and she scurried around me, turning on lights and adjusting the thermostat.
My family lay dead in our home for almost an entire day before a next-door neighbor who, while on a walk, saw blood splatter on the kitchen window. The neighbor looked in the window and saw my sister, Summer, slumped over the kitchen table, a congealed pool of blood around her head. My grandparents and I were at church when the police came to notify us. They waited at the house, and when we returned from church they sat, two uniformed officers on the porch, a black and white car parked near the mailbox. Nana clutched her chest as soon as we pulled in.
The men stood as our car came to a stop, and Papa put it in park. We opened the doors slowly, none of us wanting to know why they were here. As soon as I saw their faces, I knew they brought bad news. We all knew.
Nana held onto my grandfather’s arm, and they approached the two uniforms. I could see the weight of uncertainty and fear on my grandparents’ shoulders. I moved past them, up the steps, opening the unlocked front door, and headed up the wide stairs to change out of my church clothes. I wanted to put as much distance as possible in between them and me. As I climbed the stairs, a trickle of blood dripped from my right ear.