"Alright, just give me a moment to set up my camera," Bishop said.
He moved to the side, pulling out his smartphone and turning on the camera, trying his best to act casual while his heart raced with anticipation and nervousness.
Chad gulped. He hesitated, his hands hovering at the hem of his shirt. His skin prickled with second thoughts. Am I really doing this? The idea of stripping naked—posing for nude photos—made his stomach twist. It wasn't just about taking his clothes off; it was the sheer vulnerability of it. The thought of standing there, exposed, while Bishop's camera captured every inch of him… It was nerve-wracking.
But at the same time… there was a thrill to it, wasn't there?
Not because Bishop was taking the photos—hell no. But because Bishop's internet girlfriend was going to see them. She wouldn't just admire him—she'd get off to him. He could already picture it—her staring at his body, biting her lip, hands slipping lower. It was a rush. The idea that someone out there, a real person, was pleasuring themselves to the sight of him… it was intoxicating.
And what made it even better? She was totally going to share the pictures online.
She was one of those social media girls—huge following, constantly posting thirst traps and reposting hot guys. That meant she wasn't just going to keep these for herself. She'd show him off. And once she did, Chad knew what would happen. She'd be moaning over him, touching herself while thinking about his body, and then she'd post about it, telling the world exactly what he did to her.
Life was too short, he thought, as Bishop said, "I'm ready… when you are."
Chad took a deep breath, steeling himself.
So he just went for it.
He turned his back to Bishop, still hesitating. His fingers fumbled at his shirt before he peeled it off, his shoulders stiff. He didn't want this to be a sexy strip at all. No slow, deliberate movements. No teasing gestures. Just get it over with. He unbuckled his belt, letting his trousers drop to his ankles.
And then… he stopped.
Standing there in just his boxers, he felt an intense self-consciousness creeping in. This is stupid. His heart pounded as he glanced over his shoulder at Bishop, who was waiting, camera in hand.
A sharp exhale left him.
Screw it!
Besides, there was something else—something far more embarrassing—that he didn't want Bishop to know about.
He had a sock wrapped around his dick—affectionately dubbed his "love sock"—to catch the jizz shots he got whenever he thought of his waifu. He had actually lost most of his socks and ended up having to use a small-ish Christmas stocking. It was kind of ridiculous, but hey, it did the job.
He reached into his boxers, fingers fumbling as he tried to discreetly remove the stocking without drawing attention.
"Are you trying to get yourself hard?" Bishop asked, raising an eyebrow. "Doesn't matter if you're a grower and not a shower… Some girls like them small… well… some, I've heard."
Chad tensed. What the hell kind of comment was that?! His face burnt, but instead of answering, he yanked his boxers down and turned around.
His massive dick swung left and right like the pendulum on a grandfather clock.
Bishop's jaw practically hit the floor. "Oh, dang!! I mean… woah…" His voice cracked. "My internet girlfriend is going to be... I didn't know they made them this big… I feel bad for the girl… it would hurt them."
Chad laughed and thought, "Damn right, she's gonna be moaning over these pics. And soon enough, she'd be sharing them too."
He looked down at himself, feeling weirdly detached from the whole situation. He gave his dick a quick rub—
And immediately winced in pain.
"Ouch!"
He had forgotten about the damn cat scratches.
Bishop, still staring at his dick wobbling left and right, mesmerised, said, "I see lipstick on your… umm… member… You didn't wash that off after last night or whenever? You wanted to keep it as memorabilia or a souvenir?"
Chad stiffened. That wasn't lipstick…
He couldn't say they were scratches from a stray cat. For a brief moment, he considered saying he had gotten into a fight with Wolverine, but before he could speak—
Bishop smirked. "You must've had a wild night with your waifu pillow last night, huh?"
That was the best excuse Chad could think of... and technically, it wasn't a lie. She just hadn't caused the scratches... this time. He shrugged and muttered, "You know it..."
Thinking about his waifu made his wobbly dick twitch—a tiny, involuntary jolt that sent a chill down his spine. Oh, no. Panic set in.
He felt it throb, throb, and throb again—each pulse stronger than the last. Just that one thought of her, that perfect, untouchable goddess, had sent his dick into overdrive.
I'm naked. There is no way to hide it. No sock to catch it…
His breath hitched as dread crept up his spine. Maybe—maybe if he focused on Bishop's ugly mug, he could kill it. That usually worked, right? It helped him before, back in class, when one of those Mini Skirt Mafia girls had been grinding on him, pressing her soft thighs against his lap, with his dick going deep inside one of them. He barely remembered their faces. They were nothing—blurry, unimportant!
His waifu, though? She was real. Not in the flesh, but in his heart, in his mind—so vivid, so flawless.
His dick throbbed again, betraying him.
He couldn't stop it...
He unleashed a torrent of cum, his load spraying wildly across Bishop's bedroom floor. Thick, wet splats smacked against the carpet, leaving glistening patches that soaked into the fibres. A few rogue spurts arced higher, splattering across Bishop's prized anime figurines—sticky droplets clinging to the meticulously painted faces of a wide-eyed waifu and a stoic mecha pilot, their plastic surfaces now defiled.
Bishop froze mid-fiddle with his camera, his fingers still on the lens as he whipped his head around. His jaw dropped, eyes widening in horror at the chaotic mess. "What the FUCK, man?!" he yelled, voice cracking with a mix of disbelief and disgust. "You just hosed my room with your jizz! It's all over my shit!"
Chad, flustered, smeared the mess into the carpet with his bare foot, muttering, "Sorry, dude… I was just…" His voice trailed off, awkward and thick with embarrassment.
Bishop's tone shifted, surprise cutting through his irritation.
"Holy shit… You're rock-hard now. I've been meaning to ask if you'd get it up for the shots… never knew how to bring it up. You were jerking off to size it up for me, right? You just lost control. No big deal. You're fucking huge now… Let's snap these pics before it fades.
Chad, guilt-ridden over the mess he had just made, threw himself into Bishop's photoshoot to redeem himself. He leaned against the wall, one hand gripping his slick, softening cock, still twitching from the load he had just shot, while the other rested on his hip, a mix of exhaustion and defiance in his stance.
Fully naked, his erection not yet faded but standing high, he met the camera with a heavy, seductive stare.
Vivid Pokémon posters—Charizard's blazing fury, Mewtwo's cold glare, Pikachu's cheeky spark—flashed bright behind him.
His raw, post-climax moment clashed against the lively, innocent anime backdrop.
Multiple shots were taken, and Bishop's voice cut through the room: "Perfect… yes, just like that… Looking great… Keep it up, perfect!" His tone was focused, with a hint of satisfaction after each shot.
As he watched, Chad noticed Bishop drawing nearer. If he didn't stop soon, he'd chop him down. "So, are all the pictures done?"
A pause, then, "Nearly done. Can you take a couple with you in my bedsheets? Like, you opening them, with your shaft sticking up—like it's inviting her inside?"
The words caught Chad off guard, but the challenge was clear. "Fine," he grumbled, the weight of the moment settling on his chest. "But these are the last ones."
He shifted his body, sprawling across the soft, colourful Powerpuff Girls bedsheets. His hands grip the edges, fingers digging into the fabric as if trying to anchor himself. Fully nude, his erection juts upward, standing proud and unapologetic. It was thick, defiant in its stance, pointing skyward as if daring anyone to look away. A wide, mischievous grin stretches across his face, his eyes glinting with a bold invitation, a challenge that's too enticing to ignore. The pastel pinks and blues of Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup seem to mock his raw, pulsing energy, clashing with the unrefined masculinity of his exposed body.
"Perfect! You're doing great! She's going to love this!" Bishop's voice boomed, brimming with excitement and validation. He leaned over, showing Chad the over 200 photos on his phone—a chaotic gallery of every angle from his massive snapping spree.
Chad slowly rose, the weight of the situation still heavy on his shoulders. He begins to gather his clothes, eyes darting to the screen. "So, what does that message mean on the screen? 'Uploaded to shared family cloud storage?'" His voice was laced with confusion, the reality of the situation setting in.
Bishop wasn't sure what Chad was talking about, and when he saw it, he went, "FUCKKK!!!"
Then, the floorboard groans ominously as something heavy and enormous approaches, the air thickening with every step. The ground shakes slightly, and the creaking sound intensifies, as if the very building is trembling under the weight of the approaching force.
Bishop's voice quivered as he said, "You...you have to hide, man…"
"Why?! What is going on?" Chad asked, his voice steady but filled with confusion, as Bishop hurriedly ushered him toward the wardrobe. Chad wasn't sure what was happening, but the urgency in Bishop's actions was clear. The ground trembled beneath them, and the ominous sounds of something massive approaching only heightened the tension.
Bishop's grip tightened on Chad's arm, his eyes wide with fear. "Get in there, now!" he snapped, almost shoving him into the small wardrobe, his gaze flicking nervously toward the door. Whatever was coming, it was too big, too dangerous to ignore.
But the door refused to close, with Chad's massive erection jutting forward like an unyielding doorstopper as Bishop shoved against it with increasing force. Chad's face twisted in discomfort, a pained groan escaping him. "ARGH!!" he gasped, his hands instinctively gripping the doorframe. Only then did Bishop glance down, his eyes widening in realisation as he understood what was causing Chad so much pain.
Bishop yanked Chad out of the wardrobe, unsure where to stash him, and spun him around in a panic. Chad's erection—still defiantly at full mast—swipes across a shelf by the laptop desk, sending a row of figurines and a glass of lemonade crashing to the floor in a sticky, chaotic mess. Footsteps echoed outside, growing louder, and Bishop's eyes widened. "Quick, under the bed!" he hissed. "With the bottles!"
"Wait, WHAT?! The bottles of your own urine!" Chad sputtered, incredulous. "I thought you were kidding about those!"
Too late. The door creaked open, and a furious female voice cut through the air: "Why the hell are you uploading nudes of a random dude to our Cloud?!"
The door flew wide, revealing a woman in a loose tank top—no bra—paired with sweatpants slung low on her hips. Her long, dark brown hair is piled into a messy bun, strands escaping like she's too annoyed to care. She strides in with the casual menace of someone who owns the place, her presence filling the room.
"Sis, I can explain!" Bishop stammered, flailing for words as she stormed closer. She stops dead, her gaze locking onto the scene: Bishop, frozen mid-excuse, and Chad, buck naked, his erection jutting skyward like a lewd skyscraper, dripping jizz onto the carpet. Chad's clothes are strewn everywhere, and the room looks like a tornado hit a frat house—figurines toppled, lemonade pooling, cum that's streaked across the floor like Slimer's slime.
The woman—his sister?—eyes narrowed to slits. "You'd better explain!" she said, her voice trembling with shock. "Because… what the actual fuck?!"