I facetimed my friend after he caught me jerking off to him - Chapter 3

I hung up so fast I’m not even sure I gave the phone time to process it. The call vanished, but the shame stayed. Heavy. Raw. Burning hot in my chest.

I laid there for hours, naked under the sheets, heart pounding so hard it echoed in my skull. What the fuck did I just do? What the fuck did he just see?

He heard me. Saw me. Caught me red-handed, jerking off to a private video he never meant to send. A video where he moaned my name. And I moaned his back like I was begging for it.

I kept replaying it in my head — the way he said my name over FaceTime. Confused. Like he’d just walked in on me naked. Which… he did.

I turned my phone face-down and buried it under my pillow. I didn’t want to see it light up again. Didn’t want a message. Didn’t want silence either. Just… nothing.

The next morning, I woke up groggy, throat dry, stomach twisted.

First thing I did was check my phone.
No texts.
No missed calls.

Good. Or bad. I couldn’t tell.

I stared at the screen for way too long, thumb hovering over his name. I wanted to message him. Say something. A joke. An apology. A lie. Anything to diffuse it or just pretend it never happened.

But I didn’t.

I didn’t know how.

So I put the phone down, again. Spent the whole day zoning out, spiraling, thinking about Milo's face on that screen. Wondering if I’d ruined everything.

That night, I was halfway through convincing myself that maybe — just maybe — it didn’t happen. Maybe he didn’t see much. Maybe he thought I was talking to someone else. Maybe it was a glitch. Maybe I dreamed it.

Then my phone lit up.

Milo. FaceTime.

My heart jumped.

I stared at it, frozen. Thumb shaking over the green button.

Should I answer?
What if it’s weird?
What if he wants to talk about it?
What if he doesn’t?

I answered.

The screen lit up. Milo again — shirtless, just like last night, standing in his kitchen, holding a plate with something… vaguely edible.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Didn’t burn it this time.”

He grinned, casual as ever. No weird vibe. Like nothing happened. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“What are we working with tonight?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Sausages,” he said. “Thick ones.”

He tilted the plate, showing them slightly charred but still juicy, dripping with oil.

“I like ‘em fat, you know? Juicier that way.”

I laughed awkwardly. “Yeah. Looks good.”

But then, as he adjusted the camera to set the plate down, the angle tilted — and I saw it.

He was only wearing boxers.

Boxers with a very obvious bulge. Thick. Full. Pressed against the fabric like it had been aching all day.

He picked the phone back up, acting like he didn’t just expose himself, but I saw the way his fingers dropped to his lap. Rested there. Then slowly, softly, started rubbing over the bulge.

My mouth went dry.

“I was thinking,” he said, still rubbing slowly, “next time, I should try grilling them. Get ‘em extra hot. Split ‘em open a little.”

He squeezed his dick when he said that.
I swallowed hard.

“Though honestly,” Milo said, voice a little lower now, “nothing really beats my top sausage.”

And right then — smooth as hell — he slid his boxers down.

His cock flopped out, heavy and hard. Thick veins. Slight curve. Already wet at the tip.

My own dick throbbed in response.

“What about you, Andy?” he said, grinning now. “Did you cook something tonight? Maybe… a sausage of your own?”

I couldn’t speak.

I just angled my phone downward.

Let him see the outline in my briefs, already soaked with pre-cum. I pulled my cock out, slow, flushed and aching and throbbing for him.

Milo bit his lip.

“Fuck yes.”

He got up, took his phone with him, and walked to his bedroom. Laid back on the mattress, legs open, dick in hand. He started jerking, slow and steady, eyes glued to me through the screen.

“I’ve thought about this,” he murmured. “You jerking off to me. Wondered if you ever would. Wondered if you’d like hearing me moan your name.”

I stroked harder. My body was buzzing.

“I saw your face last night, Andy. You looked so fucking good. All flushed. All mine.”

His breathing quickened. I matched it, my fist working my cock in rhythm with his.

“You like watching me stroke it?” he whispered. “Like knowing I’m hard for you?”

“Yeah,” I moaned. “Fuck, Milo, I’m so hard…”

“Then show me. Show me what I do to you.”

We both angled our phones. Full view. Two dicks, two hands, two best friends jerking to each other like they'd been waiting for this their whole lives.

Milo was louder now. Panting. Dirty talking like it was second nature.

“Bet you’ve wanted this for ages. Bet you came to that video more than once. Bet you wanted my cock in your mouth. Or maybe in your hand. Or maybe buried deep in—fuck, Andy, I’m close—”

“Me too,” I gasped. “Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop—”

We both broke.

Cumming hard, moaning each other’s names, our bodies shaking on separate beds, screens catching every messy, beautiful second.

Silence followed. Just breathing. Our hearts calming down.

Then Milo grinned, lazy and satisfied.

“That was a nice dinner,” he said.
“See you tomorrow… for breakfast.”

And then he winked.