Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

Eric

I sat on my bed, clothed. The lights around me were like a halo, and there wasn’t a toy in sight. I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. Although my body was used to this, and as such looking at the camera made my cock twitch, I let it be.

Not now, not for everyone else.

I watched the timer as it ticked, the seconds like an eternity.

When I was live, I could see over a hundred people logging on, and I blew out a breath.

This was it.

I looked into the camera and I told them, my long-standing subscribers that there would be no more Daily Load. There would be no more XxPrinceAyricxX . I thanked them for their patronage, for their loyalty. For their praises and their tips, and for making a lonely guy feel a little less lonely for a while.

I told them that the years had been great, but it was time for me to simply move on and expand my talents elsewhere.

I told them that I’d met someone, and I wanted to really give it a shot.

The words as I said them were cathartic, and even though I knew I was talking to thousands of people, it didn’t feel like I was talking to anyone but myself.

Saying it out loud was the hardest thing I’d ever done.

But the outpouring of support from my dirty talkers, my top tier and my bottom tier subs alike, was overwhelming.

Telling me like an old boss how much they’d miss me, but wishing me all the best. Joking at how they would have to find another cock to fantasize over, and praising me that whatever person—because I’d never disclosed my sexuality on my account openly—had my attention was the luckiest person on earth. Especially given what they knew about me, of course.

And when the live ended, I felt relieved. I watched as my account updated, until it disappeared.

It was gone.

Several years worth of content, of comments, of memories. In the flash of a second, it was all gone.

There was no more XxPrinceAyricxX.

There was only me.

I breathed out a heavy sigh and tears prickled the edges of my eyes. The lights still shone on me, but there was no audience. There was no performance.

There was just me, my stiff cock, and my bed, for the first time in a long time.

I wiped my tears away as I thought about the levity of such a reality.

I palmed my cock through my pants, feeling a sense of guilt, but also a sense of freedom.

I slowly unzipped my pants, taking my time.

Shimmying out of them felt foreign, despite the fact I’d done it daily for years.

I didn’t take my shirt off, or my socks, because I didn’t feel like it.

Instead, I leaned back on my bed, my left arm behind my head, using my right to palm my cock slowly. Brushing my thumb over my slit, I relished in the shiver that went up my spine.

I’d been focused on the art of the cumshot for so long, the motions so familiar and repeated, I hadn’t truly engaged myself.

It’s a strange sort of realization, to come to terms with the fact I liked my own touch. That I hadn’t really given in to pleasing myself the way I wanted to, even though I thought I had.

My eyes fell closed as my hips bucked of their own accord.

My cock throbbed in my hand as I squeezed it lightly, the sensation causing a moan to escape my throat. Thick and swollen, I removed my hand from behind my head, letting my fingers travel down my abdomen to my base. I squeezed my balls with a light pressure that felt amazing, and my head pebbled with wetness.

I thought about Riley, and his perfect, silken lips wrapped around my cock. I thought about his tongue in my mouth, and his breath on my skin, and I thought about what he would feel like, the weight of him on top of me, pinning me down to the mattress, sliding his thickness inside of me.

My legs stiffened as my core muscles tensed, my veiny cock throbbing with release. I arched my back, my toes curling as my legs stiffened and I writhed in my bed, my hand pushing my cock toward my chest as I came with full force on my shirt.

The relief was euphoric as I lay there in my bed, lazily stroking myself until I’d emptied myself completely, my shirt a sticky mess, my body flushed, and my heart full.

I didn’t feel guilty about fantasizing about the man of my fucking dreams, and I didn’t feel embarrassed or self conscious about my facial expressions or the way my toes curled or my body twitched when I naturally came.

I felt better than I had in a long time.

I vaguely remembered the phone going off with notifications as I drifted to sleep, peacefully.

And I dreamed of weddings and cafes, and pretty boys in suits who made me feel whole.