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If only you knew what you did to Timothy. Here he was, changing his entire schedule to give himself some time to… alleviate the feelings that came from your interactions.
Timothy never talked to anyone before you. He feared that others wouldn't respect his schedule, or that Timmy would go on some sort of rampage if not kept under control. But then you showed up with those glasses and showed the utmost respect for his schedule, catching him by surprise.
He was trying to figure out how to confess to you that these feelings were of a romantic nature, but for now? Timothy just had to do something about the much more embarrassing feelings that also came with it.
My god. Carving out time in my precious schedule to pleasure myself to the thought of the human? What has become of me? Timothy thought to himself as he took deep breaths.
After the world's most awkward explanation to Betty and several prayers that no one would say a thing about it, Timothy was sprawled out in your bed. His own self torment over what the fuck had happened in his life to lead to this moment prevented him from getting fully hard, so he let his imagination wander. The schedule allowed for that, luckily.
Timothy hadn't done this before. Trying not to focus on his lack of experience, he thought of you instead. Sometimes he swore that you were trying to fluster him, with that flirtatious tone of voice that always made him weak in the knees. Timothy also swore that you knew how it made him react. That smirk you'd have plastered across your face as he held onto his dignity for dear life? He was lucky to have gotten this far without embarrassing himself. Just barely.
Timothy scoffed at himself for getting fully hard so quickly. But as long as he finished in twenty five minutes, all would be according to schedule. And so, he got to work.
His pants were practically getting tighter by the minute, and he removed them slowly as if fearing his next move.
Knowing it was too late to turn back, Timothy reached for his already aching cock. It had only been five minutes since this session started, and here was Timothy acting like a pent up virgin (which he was, but damn, he assumed he would be able to show more restraint).
Timothy had dreamt about this a couple of times already, but hadn't allowed himself to fully explore the fantasy. He closed his eyes in order to picture it more vividly.
He held his cock in one hand, and traced circles over his thigh with the other. All while pretending it was your hands.
You chuckled in his imagination. "Timothy," You said his name breathlessly as if it were a prayer. "If you wanted me this badly, you should have said it sooner."
An imaginary slow upward stroke on Timothy's cock became real as he tried to navigate this process. Having never done this before and apparently being really repressed, this alone caused his hips to jerk upwards in time with his hand movement.
A scoff. "I've barely even touched you and you're already so sensitive. How long have you wanted this, baby?"
A long time. Way too fucking long, and he was only just now indulging himself. Timothy stroked back downwards and tried to focus on what he imagined you saying next.
The pitch of your voice dropped about half an octave, now sounding almost ominous as you loomed over him. "I should've known you were a slut. I see the way you look at me, Timothy. Like you need something from me that nobody else can provide you. Like you want to be screaming my name so hard that no one in this house could possibly doubt who is making you feel the best you've ever felt in your fucking life."
Speeding up the pace, he shivered at the thought of you looking and sounding almost like you wanted to devour him.
"Master, please…" He couldn't stop himself from saying this out loud, the lines between fantasy and reality slowly becoming a blur.
"Master? Of course that's what you want to call me. Say it again for me, Timothy, like you need to be fucked more than anything."
Timothy, in his lack of experience, had rather clumsy strokes. This didn't stop him from feeling like this was what he so badly needed, though. "Master, please!" He whined in a slightly higher pitch that almost sounded foreign to his own ears.
"That's more like it," Your imaginary counterpart chuckled softly. "Since you sound so beautiful when we've only just started, I'll give you what you need."
Timothy's stroking sped up so rapidly that in the back of his mind, he worried a bit about his hand cramping later. But every other part of his brain was repeating your name, much like he was doing verbally. If he had much room for any other thoughts, he would be embarrassed at how quickly this entire process was unfolding.
The only thing on his mind was getting fucked, and it was a thought he almost didn't want to go away.
"That's it, baby, you sound so fucking gorgeous," He imagined you praising him. "And all for me."
Apparently, Timothy really liked the thought of being yours. Not just to fuck, but to love and cherish. The thought of you calling him a slut made his face burn, but the thought of you claiming him as yours across all domains was a sensation that covered him from head to toe. He never imagined that a burning sensation could feel this heavenly, but fuck, he was glad to be proven wrong.
For a moment, it almost felt like you loving him back was a real possibility.
Several images flashed in Timothy's mind all at once, all to various degrees of softness. You kissing his thighs, occasionally nipping at them hard enough to leave marks. You holding him gently after he's all worn out, telling him how good he was. You exploring his body, in hopes of getting to know it much better than he did.
But what drove him over the edge wasn't any of the imaginary dirty talk or how he thought your touch would feel. Sure, it got him this far, but the final straw was something much more simple yet deeply intimate:
"I love you, Timothy."
Timothy came all over his hand with a whimper, chest rapidly rising and falling once he was finished. Many complicated feelings had suddenly hit Timothy; shame for what he just did, embarrassment at how easy it was to make himself finish, and a twinge of sadness as he realized that he was alone.
He pulled out his pocketwatch. Still fifteen minutes left until the next thing on his schedule.
Timothy sighed, trying to ignore the pain in his chest as he recovered from the orgasm. After all, he was a man of timeliness, and there was time left for a round two.
If only you knew what you did to Timothy, in more ways than one.