Drenched In Gold (paperback zine)
I stare at his flaccid, heavy, meaty cock in his hand, doing nothing at all. For a tiny moment I wonder if I’ve misunderstood.
Then it starts. I don’t know how much of it is the drugs and how much is the anticipation, but it seems like slow motion. I see the trail of pale platinum-coloured piss start to fall from the head of his cock. For an instant it just kind of dribbles, but an instant later the stream kicks in with force. A jet of piss pierces the air between us.
The moment it his me it feels like something pricking me, all concentrated in a single tiny point on my chest just below my clavicle. It’s like I’ve been shot with an electric arrow, channeling the tiny charge of a light switch — just enough to sting. It’s immediately followed by the sensation of warmth, right around that same spot. And then the feeling of warm liquid running down my chest and splashing tiny droplets all over my skin.
In the faint, cold breeze the warmth feels charged. It feels warmer than my skin; the warmth permeates my skin and absorbs into me. Rivulets of gentle heat trace their way down the skin of my chest, my shoulders, my abdomen.
I never expected it to feel like this. And I never expected it to make me so hard, so fast. I let go of my knees, unwrap my arms from around them. Stretch my legs out flat onto the ground wide in front of me. Letting him see the tent in my shorts. Showing him what he’s doing to me. And giving him more of me to aim at.
I feel warm, wet fabric clinging to my body. I look down the piss is hitting the fabric of my tank top and absorbing instantly, a growing patch of dark wet, clinging against my skin.
And then suddenly it’s over.