Demon Twink – Chapter 2

Sam manipulates Cory’s descent into cheating.

I do not contact Cory after the events at the club.

For a week, I am radio silent. No Snapchat posts. No texts.

Then, on Saturday evening, I post a single video to Snapchat.

Deleting in 10 mins, reads the caption.

In the video, I am wearing nothing but a pair of light gray briefs. I film myself in front of a mirror, standing sideways as if I am shy of my body.

I do not feel things like shyness.

I grab the waistband of the underwear and pull it slowly down. The fabric clings to my skin, revealing inch after inch of my hips, my ass, my groin. The underwear is caught on my cock, which is hard. I lower it till it tucks underneath my ass cheek, causing the flesh to jiggle slightly.

I look at the camera and wink.

Cory views the video after 23 seconds.

Each night, I post a new video: tugging my hard cock through my underwear, writhing on my bed with my ass hanging out, pinching my nipples with one hand as the other one moves rapidly just below the screen.

Cory watches all of them, saying nothing. He does not need to. I know he wants me.

He is sitting in his apartment, feeling sick to his stomach as he watches these videos over and over again. He looks over at his sleeping husband, terrified that Tanner will wake and see the truth on his screen. But still he watches, he lusts, he touches himself to images of me, wishing I was the one lying beside him.

“Cory? Is that you?”

He is in the middle of a barbell row when I approach him. I am dressed in a string tank top and black workout shorts, a protein shaker clutched in one hand. He is in a pair of gray shorts and a muscle tee. He stops what he is doing and looks up at me as if he has seen a ghost.

“Oh… hey, Sam.”

“I didn’t know you went to this gym,” I say.

He looks around, as if afraid Tanner will pop out at any moment.

“Uh, yeah. Have been for years.”

I smile. “Mind if I hop in for a workout with you? I could use a spotting buddy. I still don’t know, like, anyone in this city.”

He wants to say no. He is trying, in the poor reaches of his mind, to think of some excuse as to why he cannot help me.

“Sure,” he says. His weakness has won out.

We work out together for 36 minutes. I copy his exercises, working in with him with lesser weight.

“I can’t believe how much you can lift,” I croon.

He enjoys being around me. He is trying not to get hard as he shows me the proper form for a barbell row. His hand pushes my back down.

“Flat as a bench,” he says. His fingertips stay on my shirt a moment too long.

When the workout is over, I accompany him to the locker room.

“You headed home after this?” I ask casually as I strip off my shirt.

He glances at my body only once before burying his head in his locker.

“Gonna hit the steam room.”

“I’ll join you.”

He knows he is trapped. He knows there is only one way out—to tell me this cannot happen. To ask me to forget what happened in the bathroom. To remind me of his love for his husband.

But he is weak.

“Okay,” he says, and he is already mine.

We sit in the steam room, towels draped around our waists. His body is heavy, muscular. His hair sticks to his chest, and I feel an almost animalistic compulsion to lick him. But I am in control of my baser desires.

He is not.

“That totally wrecked me,” I say, leaning back and letting the towel drape open.

He looks. It is not enough to expose me. Just my left leg, my inner thigh, a few wisps of pubic hair.

I pretend to close my eyes, but I can see him stare. I can see the tent in his towel. I know he will give in.

I do not say anything. I reach under my towel and put my hand on my cock. I slowly stroke myself, almost absentmindedly. It is as if he is not there. He watches, his jaw agape. He wants to touch himself. He is scared. He is scared of his desire for me.

“Mmmm…” I moan softly, stretching my legs as I continue to tug myself. I am writhing now. The storm is gathering, my pinnacle near.

Cory watches, his own hand tugging his foreskin. He is no longer hiding it, though he still wears his towel.

My towel has long since fallen to the ground. I open my eyes and catch his gaze. My face is contorted in a mixture of pleasure and need. His face is slack with lust. It is as if he is intoxicated.

“Oh,” I moan. “I’m close…”

I look at him, then my cock. He knows what I want. He knows it will cross the line. He wants to cross the line.