Somethings come back to haunt you.
written by:
MSaintC

Greetings, dear reader. A friend of mine, an amateur writer like myself, recently proposed a challenge. She and I had traded erotic fiction in the past, and she's a big fan of this site. (I don't know if she submits stories here or not.) She challenged me to write one story for each category. The conditions were that I could not use the same characters/scenarios more than twice, and each story had to be a complete work in it's own right. So I hope you enjoy them. Feedback is always welcome, public or private (and hopefully positive ^.^)

This is my 17Th submission. I hope you enjoy it.

Challenge #17: Exhibitionism

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Ever have that one thing you said or did that one time inevitably come back to bite you in the ass and force you into a put up or shut up situation? I'm sure at some point that happens to everyone, but in my case, it was probably a little more embarassing than most peoples. The problem with telling this story is that it starts such a long time ago, and there's big gaping holes in between relevant incidents, so I'll try to make as much sense as possible.

Ready? Let's begin.

My name is Tom, and as of right now I'm 24, and as far as my family and friends are concerned I am a freelance "web designer" in my spare time. That's where my money comes from, that doesn't come from my job. I'm 6 foot even, with short brown hair and a solid body pretty much by getting my ass handed to me by P90X. But the story doesn't start with now, it actually starts about 6 years before now. When I was just a lanky kid, growing into being a man. It was senior year of high school, and my final years class schedule consisted of basically filler, the required English course, and a required Health and Wellness course. My classes all sucked, mostly just final year nonsense that either tried to just kill time or throw out the first three years and say that this was all you really needed. The H&W class was a bit of a different story.

It sucked, because I literally learned nothing about nothing. All the human biology and reproduction stuff, you know the interesting stuff, was all covered in different classes, so we focused on the mental health and wellness. And well, it's just that everything is watered down for fear of being politically correct that I'm not sure we even were told anything was an actual fact or not.

It was great, because I could spend about an hour every other day imagining all sorts of ways I could bend my teacher over the desk and shove my dick inside her. You know the hot, young teacher you always see wandering around high school but you never seem to have as a teacher? That was her in a nutshell. Miss Evans was a perfect sized, perfectly proportioned sex goddess if at the time I ever knew one. Long blonde hair, long legs, big perky D cup tits and a model face. Honestly, when I look back on my time in that class, I sometimes question if I didn't learn anything because I was too busy worrying about what I could put inside her perfect mouth than what came out of it. The story starts there, with one simple incident.

"Tom, could I see you for a second?"

"Uhh, sure.." I said, immediately assuming she caught me eyeballing her cleavage as she leaned over the projector today.

"You.. uhh.. left your journal in class last time."

She was holding out one of those black and white little note books. The name escapes me at the moment. We were handed these at the beginning of the year, as a sort of journal to keep track of our feelings and thoughts. They were confidential, supposedly nobody was able to read them without your permission. But well, it's high school, guys would steal a girls and read it to each other. Guys would steal other guys and write gay love poems in them and then say hey look at what Billy is into. That sort of garbage. It was the only thing we were required to bring to class every time. I cared about as much for it as I did the stock market back then.

"Oh, thanks."

"It was just sitting on your desk, and a breeze came in and blew it open. I noticed that all the pages were blank."

"Oh.. yea.. well.." I stuttered trying to think of a good excuse. She was looking at me, not in a lecturing teacher kind of way, but with concern. I thought that since this was our only actual homework all year, she'd be somewhat upset that I technically haven't been doing it.

"You've also been seeming like you're daydreaming a lot.. Is.. everything ok at home?"

"Oh, sure Miss Evans. I guess I'm just a dreamer."

"Think you could try writing something now and again? It might help you focus a little more. Dreaming is all well and good, but this is the home stretch of school. Need to put the serious work in, you know?"

"Ok, Miss Evans. Anything for you!" I flashed her a cheesy grin, and she smiled back, and I went about my merry way.

I spent the better part of a week, trying in vain to find something to write about. I figured nobody would ever read it, but still, I couldn't even bring myself to write "Dad told a dirty joke at dinner, nobody laughed except brother Chris but he's retarded.". It was the early 2000's, and technology was improving, so people spent time doing their own thing. I could write down that every day I did my meager homework, played games for a few hours, looked up porn, jerked off and went to sleep. My social life wasn't much to write about, just a bunch of guys with no jobs or cars doing little of anything. No girlfriend or prospective relationships. I mean, all that I had left to write about were my feelings, and let's face it, as a guy, I wasn't really doing that. So, I did what any guy did, I made stuff up. Figure a couple pages would be enough to allow her to see that I had something in there if she looked. And of course, being a teenager, I had to make it downright raunchy. Something to put some color in her cheeks if she ever decided to read it. It went something like this.

"I'm not good at writing down my feelings or expressing myself to others, but since this is supposed to be private, I can admit this here, if for any reason other than to give me a sense of acceptance of myself. So here goes.

I love letting women watch me jerk off. Nothing turns me on more than to stroke my dick with a lady watching. Doesn't matter who it is. If I know that there are female eyes on my cock, I get a surge, a rush of feelings and it becomes achingly hard. I can't stop until I have release."

That went on for about five or six pages. Every graphic detail I thought of went in there, from how big my dick is (six inches when I wrote the journal, in the years after it grew to 8), to the way the hole opens up when cum shoots out of it. I hadn't intended it to be that long, but everytime I'd think I was done something else would hit me and I'd have to put that down too, all in an effort to make the hot teacher blush if she ever saw it, which, was unlikely. I thought about putting her name in it somewhere, but then on the off chance anyone read it, I'd never live it down. Needless to say my dream that night was her finding my book, reading it, and demanding that I jerk off for her. But nothing happened for the rest of the year. She never asked again if I wrote anything, and I never tried to show her. I graduated high school, and went off to college.

--2 years went by--

I went to college a town over from where I already lived. It was a small technical school, very modern age IT stuff, and I majored in Network Engineering. I converted my parents garage into my own "bro hangout", and paid them rent from my part time job delivering pizza, so they didn't bother me unless they had to. It was a lot like living in a one room apartment with a neighbor that I could steal food from, so hey, it worked for me. Because I didn't have to pay utilities I was free to use my money for all sorts of gadgets and other assorted man toys, so I had a regular man cave before the term became popular. Everything was going fine, I was skating through life just as I always had. Until that one thing came back up again.

I'd graduated high school with this girl, Patricia was her name. She was a brain, so she was in all the advanced classes. Though I'm probably pretty smart if I apply myself, I didn't care to go that route, so we never had a class together until college. We were taking the same course in economics (I used it as a credit elective because it was just simple math, really), and though we'd barely ever had any human contact before, she decided rhat we were in the process of "reconnecting", and spending a meager amount of time together outside class. Through that discourse, she revealed that her brother was undergoing some of the same classes I had in high school, and I mentioned that I still had all my old notes. She innocently asked for them, informing me that he was always pestering her for help because she was the smart one, and if he had my notes, he might just leave her be. I didn't care to hold onto them, so one day I loaded the crate into her car and watched her drive away. You know what did not occur to me about what was amidst that old school junk? Yea, that damn notebook.

One night, some time later, there was a knock at the side door of my "apartment". I opened it to find Patricia standing there, her face a grim mask. I wondered what the problem was, but before I could ask she shoved past me and pushed into the room.

"What's the matter?" I asked. She just stared at me, and then held up that blasted notebook. It took a second for it to register. Surely she didn't have my... and then it dawned on me that her brother had come into posession of it. She and I barely spoke during class, and rarely hung out, so if her mood had changed because of the book, I hadn't noticed. My face drained of the color as I realized her foul mood must be because of the contents.

"I'm assuming.." She started. Though her face was grim, her voice wasn't holding an edge of anger, which only perplexed me further. "That you did not mean to give this to my brother."

"Ah, no.. I meant to throw that stupid ass thing away."

"You're quite lucky actually, that I looked through that stuff to sort of what I needed to give him or throw out."

"I'd imagine that if you hadn't, that would be circling around our old high school and everyone would have a laugh at the pervert, huh.." I meant to continue, to tell her about the incident with Miss Evans and how that whole thing was a joke, but she cut me off.

"Yes.. Now sit down and jerk off..."

"What?"

"You love being watched, and I want to watch you, so let's get to it."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm dead serious."

"But it was just a..."

"A phase? Maybe, but if it turned you on once..." She began to unbutton her blouse. I didn't say this earlier, but Patricia is, if you'll excuse the cheesy phrase, smoking hot. She packs all that hotness into a 5'5" 130 ibs frame. Full 38C, lean legs, bubble ass, the woman guys drool over in their sleep. I had a few fantasies involving her and my cock, but she'd never shown any kind of interest in me as more than a friend, someone she knew in a room full of strangers. Still, when her blouse was opened and I saw her beautiful firm tits, my blood rushed straight down. She stood there, exposed, with her hands on her hips. "You just need a little incentive."

"But..."

"Look, I'm not going to suck or fuck you no matter what. So, either get it out and stroke it for me, or I'll walk out of here and you'll miss your chance."

I looked at her lean determined face, the way her breasts moved with each breath, noting the pink pebble like nipples standing at attention, and all of my indecision faded away into the background. I dropped my sweatpants on the floor, lifted my shirt over my head, and sat down on my office chair. I wasn't out of shape back then, but nor was I cut like I am now, just kinda lanky. So, when I sat down, my eight inch dick with all it's ridges and veins looks almost like it's out of place. She didn't bat an eyelash at my member, even though I had what would be considered a pretty big cock. I wrapped my hand around the base, and stroked it slowly, savoring the look of her. She had creamy white skin, though her aerolas were darker, but still a pale color. I got comfortable, spreading my legs a little to lean back as my hand bobbed up and down my shaft. She hadn't moved, and her expression remained the same, but her breasts were moving up and down more, as well as just a hair faster. She was breathing heavier, from what I hoped was arousal, the same arousal that I was feeling. I had written all of that in the book as a joke, but the more I stroked watching her watch me, the more I felt each stroke, the more I felt each spasm from the sensitive skin of my cock. I actually liked what I was doing. Was it as much as if I was fucking her? I didn't know, nor did I think it would be. But man, this felt much better than just jerking off to porn.

I felt the need to cum rising, and I slowed my strokes, noting with relief that the urge faded away and the normal pleasure sensations returned. She stared, and licked her lips like she was preparing to speak. I had a momentary flash of panic that she was going to hurry me, or chastize me for taking my time and enjoying it, but she said nothing. Her hand, possibly only subconciously, touched the waistband of her slacks, and I thought, or perhaps hoped, that she was going to reciprocate my actions. But it didn't go any further than that. Soon, I couldn't stop the pressure from building by slowing my hand, and I knew the time was nearing. I stroked fast, grunting like an animal and leaning back in the chair until cum blasted out of my cock, pooling on my stomach and thighs as well as the floor. I sat there muted for a few seconds, trying to catch my heaving breath. When I opened my eyes again, she hadn't moved at all, simply staring at me with her indecisive eyes.

"I...." She began, hesitantly, like she was contemplating something she didn't want to think about. Then she looked away as she began to rebutton her blouse. "Thanks."

"Uh, you're welcome." Didn't really know what else to say.

She walked over to me as I sat there naked, leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. Then she walked out the door without looking back. I sat there in a stunned kind of euphoria, thinking back on what happened. I'd jerked off plenty in my life at that point, being you know, a guy and all. But I remember feeling a unique kind of buzz, like I'd just tried a really great thing for the first time and I was still feeling the rush. I suppose I should have contemplated if that meant that what I wrote in that book was true, but I was too busy being exhausted from cumming hard. I didn't even notice that she took the notebook with her.

---3 years later---

By this time, I'd graduated from college with a degree in Network engineering and so many IT certificates of quote unquote expertise. I'd moved into an apartment with a girlfriend who quickly became an ex by running off with someone else, so now it was just a multiple room version of my parents garage. I got a job at a hospital, doing their computer networking and maintenance which paid ridiculously well. Patricia and I stayed in somewhat of contact, though neither one of us ever brought up what happened between us. She moved the next town over, so the only time we ever talked was occasionally on the internet, usually when she had some kind of computer issue. I didn't mind being her "computer guy", but in the back of my mind I was wondering if the scene between us played as heavily on her as it did on me. There would be nights, even with my girlfriend lying beside me, where I wondered what she actually thought that day. She never spoke a word about it, to me or anyone else as far as I knew. But sometimes, when I'd jerk off since then, I'd close my eyes and picture her standing in front of me, just watching. And then, something else happened.

"Do you have skype?" Was the message she sent me one Friday night.

"Yes. But it's barely used, why?" My reply.

"Can we get into a video call real quick? I want to see how it works."

"Sure."

I loaded up Skype, and she gave me her skype name, and after a brief search I found her, sending her the request to join a video call with me. Being a "computer nerd" my home desktop was custom built and top of the line. The graphics card I'd purchased on ebay came with a USB webcam, even though it saw use only the one time prior to make sure it worked. The call was connected, and I could see what my camera was showing. It was me, sitting there in clear HD quality, even though there was little light in the room so late. Her camera, on the other hand, was abysmal. She was sitting in the dark, and I could barely make out that there was a woman sitting there.

"I can't really see you, Trish."

"Oh, that's fine. I just want to see you."

"Well, wish granted." I spread my arms out in a corny gesture that was supposed to be funny. I couldn't even tell if she was smiling, nor did I hear a giggle.

"I mean, I want to see your cock again. Jerk off for me."

"Really?" I was half stunned, and half excited at the prospect. Not to mention that the idea make me painfully erect.

"Yes."

I probably should have played it cool, pretended like I was mulling it over, but to be honest I was too excited to. I didn't even think of refusing her request, even though I hadn't done it in three years and probably should have questioned it. Or at least questioned why I was so excited, if I'd made up everything I wrote in the journal like I thought I had. I stood up and unbuttoned my jeans, sliding them down, my boxers hit the floor soon after, then my shirt. I took the camera off the top of my computer monitor and placed it on the desk in front of the keyboard, pointing it down at my crotch. I watched the screen, but she was still shrouded in shadow. I wrapped my hand around my shaft and stroked it ever so slowly, teasingly. I'd experimented a little with my jerk off sessions, adding a little twist to my wrist as my hand traveled up my shaft.

"Like that?" I whispered, trying to use a deep sexy voice.

"No words," Appeared in the text box of skype. Seems like she wasn't much for my dirty talk.

I settled back, jerking myself slowly as I watched her. She sat still like a statue, no movement at all. In truth, I was a little disappointed by her lack of participation, but I was so turned on and throbbingly hard simply by her watching that I didn't want to question it. I jerked myself off, changing speeds, twisting my wrist to send little bolts of pleasure down my legs. All the things I'd learned with the times I'd spent with myself, and all the things various women had taught me with their handjobs. As I think back on it now, I'd probably become a jerkoff specialist by then. I stroked, watching the stone statue stare at me. The urge to cum hit me, and I slowed until it faded away again, but still no participation from the other side. As my hand moved automatically on my cock, I started to look more at my viewer. Were her tits that big when I last saw her? Or perhaps it was just a byproduct of the webcam. It had been her voice that spoke to me, but the more I looked at the person there, the more a case could be made that it was not her that I was looking at. My thought train was derailed by the fact that I was going to cum soon, and hard.

"Mmmmm.." I moaned, unable to help the sound that escaped. I stroked my cock long and hard, and my painful erection was soon eased by the spurts of cum that blasted from the thick head like a rocket. I've never measured my cum loads or anything, but as I think back to those frozen memories in my mind, the times when someone was watching, the load seemed to get all over everything.

I sat back, recovering my breath, the camera still pointing at my slowly deflating cock. The words "Thank you" appeared in the text box, and then that was it, the video call was ended. Soon after, Trish said "Going to bed, Night" via text and then nothing for the rest of the night. I sat there, mute and numb, for maybe a half hour with my webcam pointed at my cock, and at all the cum on my belly, legs and the floor. I didn't know what to say or think, but I did wonder a lot about just what was going on. It had been a joke, right? Just something a stupid teenager did to give himself some amusement when faced with an issue he didn't want to deal with. But then, I was here, recovering from an amazing orgasm. Sure, it was self induced, but it was infinitely better because someone was watching. Still.. it was a joke..

Right?

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The scenario that played out left me confused and questioning myself for a full week. Trish talked to me on the net once or twice, but we never saw each other in person that week, nor did she mention anything about said incident. But then, the very next Friday, she again sent me an instant message that said she wanted me to get on skype and jerk my cock off for her. I had a million questions, but try as I might I couldn't get my fingers to type any of them. My hands decided they were going to do what they wanted, and all they wanted was to undress me, point the camera at my cock, and start stroking as soon as the video call was connected. It was the same person, still sitting in the near blackness, still sitting rock still. Again, I couldn't much tell if it actually was Trish sitting there, but then again, my cock didn't seem to care who watched it perform. I teased, I stroked, I came, and then got another Thank you via text for my troubles. Trish, again, went to bed shortly after, before the matter could even be discussed. This left me even more confused, and yet, just as horny for the next time, if there was.

There was, the very next Friday, at around the same time. Again, the following Friday, and then again the Friday after that. Each week I sat at the computer on Friday, numb with confusion and yet with my cock hard and throbbing. Each week I expected her to not show up, bored with me. Each week she, in fact, showed up and watched my little show. I never had the courage, or the time really, to ask about next week. Nor was anything ever said between us after that first week. A mutual understanding of what we both wanted was setting in. But like most things that are hot and steamy, it boiled over and blew the lid off with fury.

One Friday, as I was recovering, I watched my viewer on screen reach down to the keyboard to type what I assumed was the Thank you that always followed, when a light was turned on, making the other room a haven of clarity. My jaw would have hit the floor had it not been attached to my skull.

"Miss.. Miss Evans!" It all made sense now. The one thing that seemingly stood out when I viewed whom I thought was Trish, was that her breasts seemed larger on screen than they were in person. Trish has a full C cup, but the ones I saw every week looked larger, a rounder, fuller D cup, like Miss Evans. Everything else about the two is very similar, differences easily hidden in the darkness or through a very poor webcam. I thought two things, I should have noticed, and quite frankly I didn't give a fuck. But if I was performing for Miss Evans the whole time, then where was Trish? Was she even a part of this?

"Ummm.. Hi, Tom. I.. I can explain." She started.

"No need." Trish's voice rang through the speakers, though I could not see her. That explained why it was her voice I heard the first night, and why it was her internet handles I was conferring with. She stepped out from just out of frame. She was naked except for a pair of peach panties, and as she stepped into view, her hand came out of her panties and she licked her fingers. I had just cum, but already I felt the hardness coming back. "Right, Tom?"

"Not sure what's going on." Was all I said, though in all honesty I probably could have guessed.

"It's pretty obvious." Trish shrugged as if nothing could be simpler. "You like jerking off with women watching. She and I like watching men jerk off. Kind of amazing how that worked out, didn't it?"

"Uhhh.. yea.. I guess." I said, still unsure of just what was happening. Miss Evans filled in the blanks.

"Trish and I.. are a couple. Lesbians, you know. But one thing we found in common was that while we weren't fond of sucking or fucking cocks, we did enjoy watching them cum."

Side note, hearing the hot teacher you fantasized about banging say fucking, sucking, and cocks is an experience you will never quite forget. Just sayin.

"When she and I first hooked up." Trish continued the story. "She mentioned that she missed watching a cock cum, so naturally I thought of you and your love of jerking off for women. So, we decided to indulge ourselves and you once a week, nothing devious about it."

"She showed me the book you wrote in, and I recognized it as the book from health class all those years ago. I never thought in my dreams that your fantasys coincided with my own. And also, I never knew that you didn't write in the journal because you were embarassed, so I'm sorry about that."

Miss Evans gave me a sympathetic "I'm sorry" smile, and I smiled back. "Oh, it's alright. Guess I'm just glad that I could, you know, entertain the two of you."

This seemed to satisfy both of them, and Trish laid her head on Miss Evans's shoulder. "We're gonna turn in for the night. Can we count on another performance next Friday?"

"Count on it."

The next Friday I was hard and throbbing, oozing precum long before they came on, and I made extra sure to do more teasing and pleasing. The lights stayed on so I could see them, and both remained in frame, occasionally touching or kissing one another, which made everything all the more hotter. I stroked my big stiff cock eagerly, no longer concerned about the supposed joke I wrote about all those years ago. I loved performing for my audience of the two hottest ladies I know, and they enjoyed watching. When I came, blasting my stomach and thighs with hot sticky cum, my cock refused to soften, remaining rock hard and ready.

"Think we should make him go again?" Trish asked, leaning down to lick one of Miss Evans's perfect tits.

"Fuck yea." Was the reply from the hot teacher. "Make him cum until he can't get it up anymore."

That, was a hell of a night. I came three times.

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That brings us to now. Now, I have two jobs. I still work at the hospital, eight hours a day, five days a week, keeping their computer network running smoothly. I come home, have a bite to eat, a workout with P90X to keep my rock hard body in shape, a quick shower and then on most nights you can find me, sitting in front of the computer for at least an hour or two.

You just need to go to Camaction.com and do a search for "The Performer".

I do webcam shows, jerking my thick cock off as women watch. Honestly, I'm pretty bland. I only do teasing, stripping, dancing and stroking, nothing too fancy, but I haven't had many complaints. My audience is mainly older ladies with extra cash that like to see a young, hung, stud get a little nasty action on with himself, and I'm happy to oblige. Met a lot of nice ladies on cam to cam sessions in private, and my tips aren't enough to live on, but let's just say I won't go hungry for a very long time.

But Fridays are still reserved for my two special ladies. Sometimes they watch in private via the website, but mostly I refuse to let them pay for what I'll gladly give them for free on skype. I've still never really seen what they do over there after I'm gone, but I'm just glad they do it with the smiles I've left on their faces.

Sometimes, getting bit on the ass, isn't such a terrible thing after all.

-End-

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I hope you enjoyed this story. If you want to see more from these characters, or continuations of the other stories I publish, feel free to request them and I'll try to get around to it. As always, feedback is welcome, public or private. But try to be somewhat constructive. It you loved it, tell me what you loved. If you hated it, tell me why. I can't be a better writer if all you tell me is how much I suck. Until next time.

Also, I recently lost a bet with a female fan, and have a new profile picture. Part of the agreement also says I put a reminder in every story for you lady readers to check it out and say what you think. So, there is your reminder. :) (honestly, this part is probably over by now, but eh, I'll just leave it as is.)

In a few weeks or so, my author interview should be posted as well. Thanks to Naughty Miranda for setting that up. :D

-Mark St. Claire.