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Shard 8317.2: Thumbnail

Always the shopgirl.

They had talked about it for months, perhaps over a year of months. For the longest time, the talk was all that mattered, the talk was all they needed. The talk was the point.

One of them would have the video camera in hand, and while they fucked they filmed, telling each other men would be stroking their cocks to the sight, women would be fingering themselves. So hot, they’d tell each other.

It was a step removed from the exhibitionism of fucking in front of someone else—another one of their fantasies—which was itself a step removed from actually bringing a man or woman into the mix and fucking as a threesome.

They never took any real steps toward those any of these goals. No point to it. The talk was the point.

One night she saw the Upload button.

They had been discussing other couples putting videos of their sex online late one night, and so fired up the iPad and did a search and found a site. They browsed the thumbnails, looking for something interesting. She chose the first video, a man and a woman, fairly attractive, but not so attractive that they seemed like paid performers.

They watched for several minutes, fondling each other as they did. A woman knelt in front of a man. You could see most of her body, foreshortened by perspective, but all you saw of the man were his legs, and the bulge in his jeans. Then the woman in the video rubbed her face against the bulge, purring.

Without taking her eyes from the screen she said, “We have videos like this. That could be us.”

“It could be us,” he said. “It is us, kind of.”

“But we’re more attractive than they, aren’t we?” she asked, but when there was the slightest hesitation in his reply, she said, “Don’t answer that. That was vain of me to ask.”

He laughed. “We are much more attractive than that. You, anyway. You are way more attractive than her.”

“You are way more attractive than him.”

Requisite assurances now in place, they continued watching. The woman in the video unzipped the man’s pants. His cock, semi-flaccid, bounced out in front of her like an over-eager dog. She reacted as a child might react to a birthday present, smiling and taking his shaft in both her hands.

She said, “Your cock is more attractive than his too.”

He laughed. She laughed in return.

And that is when she saw the Upload button.

“So this is how you must put stuff online,” she said. “Hit Upload and suddenly the world is watching.”

An electric moment followed, similar to other charged moments when they had ventured into new territory. The belt he had looped around her neck. The restraints, the blindfold. The shopgirl.

Always the shopgirl.

“It’s free,” he said.

“It’s free,” she repeated.

They tumbled down the rabbit hole.

Little did they know how tedious that rabbit hole would be.

First, they created an account, name, password, email, phone. They got the confirmation code in an email, confirmed the account. The parameters next, name, tags, various legalities about there being no one under 21 in the video, no one performing without consent, all parties aware they were going to be online, yada, yada, yada.

By the time all that had been completed, the sexiness had begun to leak out of the moment. Only with all the information and metadata keyed in were they finally allowed to hit Upload.

Their brief excitement about seeing their sex online, as a stranger might see it, evaporated as a rotating circular arrow filled the video window. They waited impatiently for 30 seconds. A full minute. Ten minutes. Nothing but the rotating arrow.

He wondered if they would look sexy. He wondered if they would look like strangers to themselves. He wondered if the memory would pale before the reality.

Twenty minutes or so later, when the video finished loading, the rotating arrow was replaced by a thumbnail, a randomly chosen image from the body of the video. The frame chosen showed a blur of action, he fucking her from behind as he held the camera off to the side to show her red ass flexed in presentation to him, her back and neck arching in ecstatic response, her head thrown back, her hair a smear of black motion as it flailed around her like a dirty halo.

The thumbnail, blurry as it was, made his cock instantly hard.

Not because of the blur, not because of the actual picture at all, but because he remembered the fuck so vividly, that exact instant depicted so intensely. The picture dropped him into the moment all over again: the sheet and blanket and pillows spilled to the floor, the room reeking of sex, his hand reaching forward to grab her by the hair as he pounded her pussy relentlessly, the rhythm of her skin slapping against his, her cries filling the air. Seconds after the moment portrayed in the thumbnail he would slap her ass sharply, pull his cock out of her and demand, “Take it, take my cum, take it all over your ass,” as he pumped his shaft with his fist, covering her reddened flesh with his hot fluid.

The indistinctness of the thumbnail image gave it the patina of memory.

Replaying the moment in his head made his cock throb, and he slid his hardness against the crack of her naked ass. On the computer monitor the Play button, no longer greyed out, beckoned for the touch of a finger.

He saw her hand hesitantly reach out toward the screen.

“That video is going to have to wait a little,” he growled, grabbing her wrist, grinding his cock into her. She mewed and rubbed her ass playfully against him as his arm snaked around her torso to pluck at her already hardening nipples.


This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © 2018 Verbal P. Incandenza | Yeah, not my real name, but I still wrote this. Be cool. Please don't steal it.

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