She hit send on the Snapchat and waited, phone in one hand, fingers already rubbing her clit through her panties. The snap showed her tits squeezed together, nipples hard, with the caption "Thinking about your load on my face again." It vanished after ten seconds, just like the last six she'd fired off that night.
Her phone buzzed back fast. His reply was a short video: his thick cock in his fist, stroking slow, precum leaking from the tip. The text overlay read "Get ready to swallow it first." She moaned out loud in her empty apartment and shoved two fingers inside herself.
They'd been doing this for weeks. Snapchat made it easy to be filthy without leaving a trail. She'd send him close-ups of her spreading her pussy, videos of her fingering herself until she came, and he answered with shots of his cock throbbing, sometimes with another girl's spit on it just to tease her. Tonight she wanted the real thing, not pixels. She typed fast: "Come over. I want the facial in person."
He showed up twenty minutes later, already hard in his jeans. She opened the door naked and dropped to her knees right there in the hallway. "Fuck my mouth first," she said, voice raw. He unzipped and fed her his cock without a word. She took it deep, gagging on the first thrust, spit running down her chin and onto her tits. He grabbed her hair and used her face like a toy, hips snapping forward while she looked up at him with watery eyes.
"Send a snap of this," he growled. She fumbled for her phone, angled it up so the camera caught her lips stretched around his shaft, and hit record. The video was only a few seconds long but it showed everything: her throat working, drool everywhere, his hand tight in her hair. She sent it to him while he was still fucking her mouth.
He pulled out and hauled her up, bent her over the kitchen counter, and slammed into her cunt from behind. She was soaked. Every stroke made wet sounds fill the room. He reached around and rubbed her clit hard until she came, legs shaking, pussy clamping down on him. "Don't stop," she gasped. "Keep going until you paint my face."
He fucked her through two more orgasms, then yanked her off the counter and onto the floor again. "Open your mouth," he ordered. She stuck her tongue out, eyes locked on his cock as he jerked it fast right in front of her. The first thick rope landed across her cheek and nose. The second hit her lips and tongue. He kept stroking, covering her forehead, her closed eyelids, letting it drip down onto her tits. She stayed still, taking every drop like she'd begged for in every snap she'd sent him.
When he was done he grabbed her phone, opened Snapchat, and filmed her cum-covered face. "Look at this mess," he said in the video, then sent it straight to her. She smiled through the mess, licked her lips, and swallowed what she could reach with her tongue.
They kept going like that for hours. She'd clean up just enough to send another snap, he'd reply with a new video of his cock getting hard again, and they'd meet back in the living room or bedroom for round two. By morning her face was sticky with dried cum in places she hadn't wiped, her phone full of disappearing snaps of every position and every load. She saved none of them, but the memory stayed sharp: the exact way his cum felt hitting her skin, the taste, the way Snapchat made every filthy request feel urgent and secret at the same time.
She already knew she'd send him another snap before noon. Something simple like a close-up of her clean face with the words "Ready for more." He always answered.
