He Left His Camera On

All characters in this story are 18+

This story is completely fictional.

All acts in this story are fully consensual.

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I swear I didn't mean to see it.

But I didn't click out either.

It was supposed to be just a casual study session. One of those late-night group calls that didn't really need to exist--just an excuse to feel less alone while pretending to be productive. Cameras on, mics muted. The occasional sigh, the rustle of notes, a shared sense of quiet frustration. There were five of us at the start. Just five tired students and their laptops.

He was one of them.

The one.

The one I always stared at a little too long. When I thought no one was looking. When I could get away with it. He had that kind of body you don't forget after seeing once--sharp jawline, cocky half-smile, those thick shoulders that looked even broader in a tank top. Which, of course, he always wore. Every session. Always slouched just right, always sprawled like the chair was made for him. Like the world bent around his comfort.

Eventually, people started dropping off. One by one. A wave, a nod, a "catch you later."

Until it was just the two of us.

Then... he disappeared.

No goodbye. No flicker of sound. Just stood up, turned off his mic, and stepped out of frame. I figured he'd left, maybe got bored, maybe forgot to leave the meeting. I minimized the window, tried to focus on my reading. But a part of me kept glancing back. His name was still there. The little green dot beside it. His camera still on.

And then--

A few minutes later, he came back.

Wearing nothing but a white towel. Low. So low on his hips it felt impossible. His hair was wet, darker than before. Drops slid down his neck in slow rivulets, tracing over his collarbone, catching in the valley of his chest. I blinked. My stomach flipped.

I froze.

My mouse hovered over "leave meeting."

I didn't click it.

He didn't say a word. He didn't even look at the screen. Just walked across his room, muscles moving like liquid under skin, and tossed his phone on the bed. Then turned around--back to the camera--and dropped the towel.

My breath caught.

He was naked. Completely. Just standing there for a second like it meant nothing. Like he'd done this a thousand times. His ass--round, solid, effortlessly perfect--was right there. I covered my mouth even though no one could hear me.

He crawled onto his bed. Stretched out on his back like a model in a shoot. One knee bent, arms above his head for a second. Then settled. Relaxed. Let his cock fall naturally against his thigh--half-hard, heavy.

I couldn't look away. My mic was muted. My camera was off. And I was burning.

Then he picked up his phone again. Tapped. Scrolled. Let out the softest breath of a laugh. And then his hand drifted down.

Slow.

Like he had all the time in the world.

He wrapped his fingers around his cock and started stroking--lazy, deliberate, like it was muscle memory. Just a nighttime routine. I watched his abs tense with every motion. Watched the way he bit his bottom lip. His eyes were half-lidded, lost in whatever he was watching--or maybe, maybe not.

Because the way he angled his body... the way his chest arched just so, the way he tilted his head back like he knew someone was watching--

I swear to god, he knew I was still there.

He never looked at the screen. Not directly. But it was a performance. It had to be. And I was the only one left to see it.

I was already hard. Rock hard. Palming myself through my shorts like some creep, breath shallow, eyes wide. I couldn't believe this was happening. Couldn't believe he hadn't noticed. Or maybe he had. Maybe that was the whole point.

His moans started soft. Barely-there sounds. But then his rhythm changed. Faster. His grip firmer. I could hear the slick sound of it. The wet drag of skin. His hips began to roll. He was losing himself in it. And I was right there, flushed and squirming, watching every second like I was under a spell.

He muttered something under his breath. A curse maybe. A name. I couldn't make it out.

And then--he came.

Hard.

His whole body tensed, and he let out a groan that echoed in my headphones. Ropes of cum splashed across his abs, his chest, his hand. It just kept going. I stared, stunned, turned on beyond belief.

He lay there for a moment. Breathing. Cock twitching. Dripping.

Then he got up.

Still naked. Still leaking.

He walked toward the camera. Slowly. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. His abs were streaked with cum, his hand glistening, his face flushed.

He leaned in.

Closer.

Closer.

His face filled the screen. His lips parted. Eyes still heavy and hooded. A few strands of damp hair hanging down over his forehead.

And then--just like that--he smirked.

Dead into the camera.

He winked.

And the screen went black.