Pink Prawn

This story is for Kate Valentine’s Flash Friday Prompt: Tan Lines.
Thanks Kate!
❤️Paul

What started as a dare is now all over Reddit.

She thought I was too modest for a nude beach. Well, the joke’s on me!

“Awww, my little cucky earns upvotes!” Then she struggles to suppress the laugh bubbling between her lips. Her fingers rise in a sorry attempt to maintain composure. “The confidence it takes to walk around like that is honestly impressive!’ No, wait, here’s another one, ‘Somewhere a chipmunk is missing its dick!’”

Bwahahahahahaha.

I can’t help but chuckle, too. It fucking stings but I want her to continue.

“Oh… ‘I’ve seen more sausage on a vegetarian pizza!’” It’s her sweet voice she uses when she’s cruel that causes my chub every time. She’s clearly enjoying herself.

She scrolls.

She swipes.

She pinches.

She goes quiet.

A stare of consternation as I remain kneeling bedside.

“Oh, my god, babe!” She turns the phone to face me. The blush blooms from deep inside. The mild panic I feel that my face is out there to the public along with… my striped shrimp. “The tan lines!” She’s in a fit of loud, contorting laughter. Shakes her whole being laughter. Rattles my soul and solitude laughter.

Her hysterics actually make me want to hide.

I’m not finding it funny anymore.

There’s my little package, sunburned pink. Pale skin patterns of the absent acrylic cage. The lines are sharp. Unmistakable.

She pulls me up.

I give a bratty huff.

“Oh come now,” she coos. Her finger traces the pale ring, then the wide white line down the middle of my cock. “It’s so cute!” She lightly tickles the underside, rousing me. Rising. Engorged with the small swell of pride.

“Yeah, the poor guy got burned in captivity.” I try to locate some semblance of dignity to counter her taunts.

“I can see exactly where the cage was,” she continues to follow this roadmap of confinement. “You’re my little pink prawn,” she chuckles and turns to grab the container of aloe vera gel pulled from the fridge.

She dips her fingers, brings them out coated in green gelatinous goo. It’s jolting when she applies it. My raw, pint-sized plaything doesn’t know whether to throb harder from her strokes or shrink from the cold.

She has me in a delirious juxtaposition that pushes and pulls. Her hand is warm under the cool stickiness. It’s her classic cruel tenderness that always undoes me.

“Stay still.” Her strokes pick up tempo. I can already feel my testicles tighten. She knows this too.

I try to control my breath. I stare at the condensation on the aloe bottle.

I can feel an orgasm bubbling to the surface. Thighs lightly shake. Knees slightly buckle.

A swell.

A pulse.

She releases and ruins.

Spurts of white land on her breasts.

She smears my semen into her skin.

“Gotta treat the burn,” she purrs.