A custom video based on a custom erotica! Filmed in night-vision. Remember that night I broke into your house? Not much planning went into it, really, I just liked the way your home looked as I was jogging past. It must have been two or three in the morning, lonesome and dark. The half-moon was brooding overhead. That is the best time to escape into solitude and cement. Cold pavement smacking beneath my rubber soles, muffled by the fog of morning. Your window was cracked open in smiling invitation. I don’t normally do this, cross the sidewalk border into my neighbors’ yards, or enter their homes without being invited in. But something about that crooked picture on your dining room wall beckoned to me. It’s visible from the street, in case you didn’t know. Even more so from the planter once you move past the palm fronds and press your nose against the glass. Dew sat like crystal on the sill, dampening the gap enough to make my fingers slick as they curled around the frame and lifted. I pulled the window open, slipped inside so silently your neighbor’s dog didn’t even bark. There were signs of life in this home of yours. An unfolded blanket strewn on the living room couch. The scent of tonight’s dinner still lingering in the kitchen. Socks sitting beside untied shoes at the front door. The picture in your dining room was actually a painting. It wasn’t the best work I’d seen, but it had the air of something cherished. It had a history. I meandered through a few more rooms in the house, fixed a crooked photo on your wall, then took a piss in your guest-bath toilet. The walk to your room was littered with creaks and groans. The floor of your home needs a little TLC, but you didn’t seem to notice. You didn’t even notice when I pushed open your bedroom door, the latch clicking as I turned the handle, the creak and catch of your hinges. You rested there, soundly; comfortable and safe, sprawling beneath your blankets. A king in his castle, belly full, guard down. Your member showed erect beneath the thin sheet tangled ‘round your torso. The human body does this wonderful thing called “nocturnal penile tumescence.” At the end of a REM cycle, it releases testosterone causing those untimely morning erections and exciting midnight wet dreams. But you were unaware of your own arousal. I decided to help you out. So I grabbed a spot of lube from your bedside table and softly caressed your member. I stroked it gently over the bedding, running my fingertips lightly over the skin of your thighs. Your snores deepened as I slowly pulled back the blanket and I felt my own throbbing cock pulse against the fabric of my shorts. The pleasure you were about to receive at my hand, all while resting and unaware was something I envied. Softly I pulled your cock from its fabric sheath, stroking up and down the length. It became harder, and a small bead of precum leaked out of the tip. I tasted it. Ambrosia. I pumped faster now, and your breathing became more agitated. Would you awaken? How would you react to seeing a stranger stroking your cock, in your home, in the middle of the night? Imagine such a feeling as waking from a delicious dream into such a preposterous scenario. And yet here we were. I, bringing you ever closer to orgasm, and you, resting and available to my wiles. I reached down with my other hand and cupped your balls. They tensed, as though ready to release. But I was not ready for you to release. Not yet. I stalled my pace. You whimpered in protest, now thrusting into my cupped hand. You were fucking me. You were fucking someone. You were fucking. What was the dream you were having? Had I snuck into your thoughts, as well as I had crept into your home? You mumbled something, A whisper. At first I thought it was my name, but then how could you possibly know who I am? You said it again, fucking up into my curled fingers. I tightened around your hard dick. This time you spoke clear enough I would have thought you fully awake. “Fuck me, I’m cumming.” And then it blew, spilling out all over my hand and your stomach and sheets. I licked my fingers, stroking you a few more times just to see your body pulsate and throb and writhe and to hear your deep moan of pleasure. And then I left you there, sitting in it -- not before kissing your lips and tucking you back in, of course. After that, I couldn’t help myself. My own erection grew so hard and distracting I couldn’t just go back out jogging. I rubbed one off into one of your couch pillows and used the blanket there to clean up a little. I still remember how you smell. I remember exactly how you taste. But what I remember the most is that, as I was leaving your room, just as I glanced through the crack of the door, I saw you were grinning ear-to-ear. Lying there, covered in your own mess, blissfully soaked and warm and glowing, I imagine you were the happiest you’ve been in a long time.