Camboy blurb (Patreon)

Hello! I hope you enjoy it, sorry it took me so long to get out it was a test week D: but it's here now!

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Y/N has been staring at her computer with shock blanketing her face for the better half of two hours. 

What could be so shocking, one might ask? It definitely wasn’t a Youtube video blowing her away, nor was it an article, or a grade that she had gotten that had surprised her. She doesn’t know if she would prefer those to be the things she’d saw; like a video of a grizzly bear doing sign language, or a flash mob of thousands in the middle of a jungle or something. It would be much less mental upheaval at least, than what she’s witnessing now, with her mouth hung open and no noise leaving her. 

She’d been watching porn; granted it was a Monday night and she felt a little guilty that she was neglecting a paper she definitely needed to start in favor of rubbing one out, but she thought she deserved it. It had been an increasingly rough day, after drafting two essays, taking one online exam (proctored so she couldn’t even cheat), and one seated exam, she was sort of over school for the night. And with a few clicks, she’d found her way to a camboy site, and horny Y/N decided that paying for a hot boy wasn’t too bad, probably. Post-orgasm Y/N would be pissed but in the moment it seemed like a lovely idea, so she paid with her card and settled into her bedding. 

Did she expect to see her TA, cock out and all? 

Not in the fucking slightest. 

He didn’t explicitly show his face but her TA in English -- Harry -- had quite a few defining characteristics about him that didn’t fit many other people. Like the countless amount of tattoos that inked his skin permanently; very odd ones that she remembers being equal parts confused by and enamored with. These same tattoos littered the torso of the man on the screen, who had his cock out, framed by the laurels sat on his hips. The head was swollen and red, and he had his hands on his stomach at either side of his prick, running his fingernails gently against the skin. 

Y/N’s heart dropped to her stomach, beating hard. She didn’t know what to do -- never had she thought that she would pay for something like this, let alone it be someone that she actually knew. 

When Y/N had first started her folklore class and realized the workload ahead of her, she’d felt incredibly stupid for choosing it. More so because she figured it’d be an easy A and she’d probably barely have to do any work at all besides learn some vampire lore or something like it and she thought she might be able to bullshit the papers too. Upon turning in her first assignment she realized that had not been the case at all, and it’s apparent that she was the only one who fucked up enough to warrant the professor’s attention. The professor had advised her to meet with her TA Harry, who would read through her work, help her work out some of the flaws, and aid her in writing a proper folklore paper (because for some reason it was different than every other English class she’d ever been in before). Which of course she’d been dreading -- meeting with someone who was bound to critic where you put your commas was never a fun task -- but she’d dreaded the idea of failing a fucking folklore class more. The laughing stock of the Christmas dinner table was not a position she was keen on. 

So she got over herself and went. Fought past the inclination she’d had to cancel the whole thing and stay inside tucked in her covers like she had initially planned on doing with her Saturday morning, in favor of making the voyage to the library from her flat. Who she had imagined was waiting for her, was a priss, stick up the bum kind of guy who would mark her paper all up with red ink and effectively make her hate him by merciless criticism and stringent views on the use of punctuation. That’s why she’d just came in what she’d fallen asleep in -- a pair of appropriately timed thin cotton pajama shorts and a shirt that wore their school name, paired with fuzzy lamb slippers that doubled as therapeutic memory foam. 

What she had been met with was a boy who was far too pretty to even have to look at her, she felt in that moment. Sat in the back table, on the second floor, tucked behind the massive potted plants (that she had doubted were real) just as they had planned, was sat with folders and books spread out among the table. His hair looked soft -- fluffy, brown, little curls sprouting from the bed of it; his profile inimitable, and his skin looked smooth and flawless. He was wearing a simple shirt and somehow managed to look like something close to a Gucci model, which ruffled her feathers a fair degree, as she looks down at herself, swearing at the universe for letting her make decisions. 

When she’d sat down at the table, asking a mostly demur, “Are you Harry?” He looked up to her and gleamed brightly, a smile that made her melt as he nodded. 

“Sure am! Have a seat, Pet, and we’ll get started. I promise I won’t keep you long -- already looked over your paper a good amount and I think Dr. Cambridge graded you a bit too harshly.” 

From then on out she was hooked. 

Harry was a Disney daydream if she’d ever met one. He was sweet and funny and flirty beyond her own comprehension even. He was also incredibly smart but wasn’t arrogant about it, and managed to correct her mistakes without making her feel like an idiot. It felt like they were hanging out more than anything else, joking with each other, laughing, eating together -- he’d let her cry on his shoulder once when she’d been studying for midterms and felt at her peak. Dare she say she’d begun to consider him a friend, especially when they meet up outside of the library more often than not, and him reading her papers or spit balling ideas with her gets clouded with stories and laughter and fun. . .genuine fun. 

Her friends told her that he likes her at least a little bit but she’s denied them more than once. There’s no way -- he was too perfect, and things like that don’t just happen to her. She was happy to just be his friend if that’s as far as their relationship would go. 

Which is why she’s worried right now. What if he knows that it’s her? He would be upset wouldn’t he? Does it show the name that was on the card? She panics and swivels the mouse around on the screen, looking for some username and just as she finds it, his voice -- Harry’s voice -- rings through the speakers on her computer. 

“Hi, user7890 -- s’too bad I don’t get to see your name though,” she can hear that fake pout in his voice -- the one he does with her often -- and he gives himself a sure squeeze on his prick, “Might’ve wanted to moan it later.” 

Y/N squeaks and slams the laptop shut, her heart still racing in her throat, shoving her computer off of her lap. How was she supposed to face him tomorrow when she heard him like. . .that? All breathless and moaning; that was too much for her brain to truly compute. It feels like she’s shutting down, rolling over to shove her face into her pillows and squealing out the most unattractive noise. The worst part being that she had wanted to keep watching it -- how fucked was that?

In a quick minute of despair and knowing full well she’s lying to herself, Y/N swears off masturbating ever again. 

                                                              .                    .                     .

A nervous wreck didn’t even begin to describe Y/N -- she was a god damn shit show. 

She’d been nothing but jitters following their meeting, in which Harry suggested the library because they’re handing out free donuts in the lobby. Y/N’s tapping her pencil against her folder and book, pacing back and forth through one of the aisles, plotting how to act normal. But how is she supposed to act normal? Would he be able to see past her charade even if she were able to? He’d always been able to read her like a book. 

With a deep breath, she slips from the racks and there he sits, normal as ever and is if he could sense her presence he looks over with a big smile as she walks nearer, “Hi Pet,” he chirps brightly, patting the spot besides him at the table -- he preferred she sat with him so she could watch him as he works through her paper so she can follow where he’s at -- “S’too cold for this,” he pinches at the fabric of her windbreaker, giving it a soft tug, “You’re always shivering in it, don’t know why you insist on wearing it.” 

“S’fashion Harry,” she tells him, clearing her throat and trying not to let her guilt show on her face, and attempts to tease him, “You wouldn’t know a thing ‘bout that would you? Apart from my silky scrunchie your using to accessorize.” 

Harry rolls his eyes with a laugh, plucking at it tucked around his wrist, “Grumpy,” he tells her, pulling out the paper she’d sent to him via email from his folder, “Did y’a get any sleep last night? Look right knackered.” 

Goosebumps riddle her skin, startled by his question and her eyes pop wide, “I slept fine!” She rushes to say, shaking her head, because there’s no way she was up late last night looking to masturbate and found him instead, “Just fine actually, like a baby -- was in  bed at like 9PM maybe even earlier.” 

He squints his eyes at her, “That’s unlike you,” he responds, “Little night owl, you -- always up till half past one in the morning and seem right as rain, maybe your body doesn’t know what to do with this extra sleep.” 

“I’m probably malfunctioning,” she plays along, her muscles unknotting as she sinks into the seat, “Maybe if I shut down, Dr. Cambridge will give me a pass and I won’t have to write this at all.”

Harry shakes his head, “You could’ve been stranded on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic for three weeks and she’d still have expected you to finish an assignment.” With this, he claps his hands together soundly (a bit too soundly for the library), “Alright, pull out your computer right quick, I’ve got a video to show you about the Kraken before we do anything.” 

Y/N takes her laptop without much thought, sliding it from her backpack and placing it on the table. Opens it up to see that she’d never turned it off the night before and she furrows her brows, typing in her password. 

In about five seconds Y/N’s life went from dirt, to bottom of the barrel sludge. 

Because no, she didn’t shut her computer off last night. She slammed it shut after seeing Harry, so now, for both her and Harry to see, is the empty screen of what had been his stream, very clearly his own. Her heart drops to her toes this time, blood slinking right out of her face, eyes popping wide as she reaches out to slam the laptop shut, “I didn’t --” she begins, shaking her head quickly, mind racing a hundred miles a minute ,”It was an accident,” she struggles to not fumble her words, but she feels so frazzled she doesn’t know what to do, “I was just looking for something and then I clicked yours but I didn’t know it was you until -- until I saw that tattoos and then you talked and then I stopped immediately, I promise I wasn’t --”

“Oi, oi, oi, slow down,” he turns to face her, reaching out and placing his hand on her knee, “It’s okay, yeah? Knew someone would find me sooner or later. Really I’m just glad it’s you who did -- thought Dr. Cambridge would and I wasn’t ready for that explanation.”

Y/N’s brows furrow, looking down to her knee, his hand seeming much bigger on her than normal and she wonders if it’s because she feels so small. 

There’s no need to vocalize her confusion, because Harry merely continues speaking, “Guess I’ve got some explaining to do, huh?” He clears his throat, shuffling some in his seat and nodding, “My family doesn’t make much money-wise -- my mum owns a bakery back at home and my sister works there but they’ve got their own things to pay for and worry about so I’m putting myself through college.” He motions towards her now shut computer, “I do that because it makes a lot, helps me with my loan bill every month, any extra expense I may need and gives me just enough to play around with if I want to go out to eat or get coffee or summat. You’d be surprised how much someone’s willing to pay to see a prick, Love. Some real perverts out there.” 

Her face heats up, opening her mouth to protest because she wasn’t a pervert she was just horny but Harry chuckles warmly, “I’m only teasing,” he tells her, which gives her the indication that he’s going to “only tease her” to the moon and back with this one, “Did you enjoy the show at least? Think I can put on a pretty good one.” 

“I didn’t watch,” she reiterates, shaking her head, “When you spoke I thought -- I thought it’d be invading your privacy if I kept watching so I shut it immediately.” 

His gaze softens, a small smile gracing his mouth, shaking his head, “You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, “I willingly put my body out there for people to get off to and you think you’d be invading my privacy? I wouldn’t minded if you had.” Harry reaches up and presses the hair from her face, his fingertips grazing against her temple, and she feels goosebumps litter her skin once again, heart hammering. Though when his fingers part from her, he pats his hands against his thighs, “Alright, Lovie, let’s get to work then, yeah? Afterwards we can go get a hot chocolate; need something to warm me insides.” 

                                              .                        .                       .

Things are normal from there on out, or as normal as they can be when Y/N still feels cliche little tingles on her skin where he had touched her. Harry seems unbothered by the fact that she knows so she decides she should be just as unbothered -- the whole worry had been he would be mad at her and he wasn’t so everything was good right? 

Right. 

Until later that night maybe, when she gets a text from Harry. It’s a link, followed by Special code: 5GH7TT9IPL and Y/N’s head tilts curiously. Sometimes he sent her links to videos and whatnot but this one was rather obscure, no youtube, or vimeo link in site so she figures it might be something he illegally downloaded (which she proudly taught him how to do to get no viruses) so she types the link into the computer. When the screen shifts prompting for the special code, she enters it, and a new tab opens. 

A slick sense of Deja vu slithers down her spine as she sees Harry’s body once again, through a video window, and a bright binging noise signalling her entrance of the chat. Just as she starts to think he’d sent this to her by accident, like clockwork, Harry begins speaking, voice smooth as melted chocolate slipping down inside her, “Okay guys, I invited a friend to watch t’night, so be on your best behavior. We’re g’na give her a good show, yeah?” 

Oh.

Oh.

Y/N’s breath leaves her in one gust, watching as he shifts the camera down to reveal that he’s already hard. Cock glistening wet, the ruddied pink color close to the same tint of his mouth that she caught herself staring at far too often. It was pressed to his stomach, and from the way he’s hitched his legs up, his balls were in view, looking swollen and full. 

Her mouth unintentionally waters, unable to blink as she follows his hand -- the hand that at the base, he wore her pretty silk scrunchie -- wrapped around the girth of his prick. He visibly melts, a small, hungry little moan leaving him as he gives himself a sure squeeze, “Ah, I’ll admit you guys, I’ve been a bit hard since I got home,” he speaks slow as he always does, like he might be tasting each word with his tongue, his hand stroking up once, the muscles in his thighs tensing, “Feels s’good to finally just -- just touch, y’know? Like scratching that -- fuck -- scratching that itch you can’t reach.”

A burning warms low in her tummy, one of carnal desire, urging her to slip her hands beneath her waistband but it feels as if she’s frozen. All the heat in her body having centralized to her core, where she unintentionally clenches, pressing her thighs together in order to relieve some of the building pressure. He wanted her to see this? But why? And god, why was he so good at this? 

“What am I thinking about?” He says aloud and Y/N realizes he’s reading from the chat, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He teases and it’s so much like her Harry that she has to gnaw on the inside of her lip to stay even remotely sane. His chest rises with a particularly deep breath when he reaches down and cups at his own balls, squeezing, and his legs fall open some, “Have this lil’ thing, tha’s been getting me off. A little scenario -- d’ya wanna hear it?” He gives them all a second to respond with their yes, yes, yes’s before continuing, “So there’s a tutor right? In this scenario, m’the tutor,” Y/N’s heart is hammering hard, heels digging into the mattress, “And there’s this girl that needs my help, so I do. A right cutie, she is, and feelings have started to blossom -- at least on my end. Now bear with me, you lot know m’awful mawkish when it comes to things like that. That doesn’t make me soft!” 

Y/N feels herself throbbing as he continues, “I imagine that she comes to meet me at our usual spot right? In the back corner where nobody ever thinks to go, and she’s looking a little frazzled. When I ask her what’s wrong, she tells me that she’s wet -- dripping wet,and she just can’t seem to get off by herself no matter how hard she tries.” His hand picks up in pacing, and he leans over -- still keeping himself out of frame -- to spit over his cock. Now with schlicking sounds, glistening even wetter against the lighting in his room, he goes on to say, “She -- oh, fuck me -- she begs me to fuck her. Asks me all nice and sweet like she usually is; a bit bashful for requesting something so lewd, the soft little thing would never if she didn’t really need it.” He reaches around with his other hand, cupping his balls again, and his hips buck up -- Y/N’s insides flutter, “So I take her into one of the book aisles, have her lay down for me, take off her pants and split her thighs open so I -- so I can -- christ -- eat her pretty little cunt out. Make her cum from my tongue alone.” 

He’s talking about her -- god, he’s talking about her isn’t he? Is that why he wanted her to watch this? So he could get her all riled up, telling her how he wants to split her thighs open and lick into her? The thought makes her drip into her panties -- this is so, incredibly a Harry move; this sheer cruelty of working her up with little outlet other than her hands but they just wouldn’t do that this point would they? 

“This bit always makes me cum, yeah? Even after she’s slicked my tongue all up with two orgasms she’s still pleading for me, so I push my pants down, and I tuck my cock into that tight little pussy. Roll my hips into her so calculated and hard and good that she has to bite down on my shoulder to keep from screaming out.” His hand is quick, the noises loud, and lewd, and he’s moaning between every word now, his chest heaving up and down as he nears his end, hips starting to buck more urgently into his hand, “Then when she comes, she fucking milks me dry. Takes every little bit of my cum into her little hole and thanks me for every damn drop. Sometimes -- sometimes, if m’feeling in particularly filthy I’d lick my cum out of her then make her lick it off my tongue -- oh god, m’gonna cum,” he moans, and he’s managed to sink just enough that his mouth shows, fallen open, “M’cumming, I’m cumming,” he lets out around a groan, thick white ropes leaving his prick, falling onto his tummy with sound little splatters, some hitting her scunchie. 

Y/N’s in awe, watching him come down from it, breathless, huffing through his nose before he gives a soft little giggle, “Jeez, that was a lot, huh? Too bad s’all wasted. . .would’ve done good to empty it into someone.” 

Harry bids them a goodbye, saying he needed to clean himself up, hoping that they had fun, wishing them a good night, and promising them he’d come on tomorrow since he finished so quickly today. Y/N’s a proper mess on her bed, staring at the screen as he clicks off and leaves it blank, her blood roaring in her ears like she was standing right next to a waterfall. Her heartbeat felt everywhere in her body and her panties. . .god, her panties were soaked. 

The alert of her phone drags her attention besides her, and she sees that she has one new message from Harry. 

Sorry I came on your scrunchie, but hope you enjoyed the show .xx