"You just let ol' Murray deal with this one, champ," he would say, twisting his wrist that had the fat Rolex on it. Arthur legs would be trembling, his now frankly out of control precome would end up leaking onto Murray's expensive wool pants, staining them. But Murray wouldn't be upset at all, he'd just wink at Arthur as Arthur began to thrust his hips against Murray's hand. "Atta boy, Arthur. You just need to let go. Just let go and let it squirt out. Don't worry about the mess."
The sounds of skin slapping skin filled the apartment and Arthur was never so relieved that his mother slept like the dead. Biting his lip, Arthur knew he was so fucking close. His hips humped the air and his hand was entirely slick with sweat and precome, making obscene wet smacking sounds as he sullied his role model with his lust.
"C'mon buddy, shoot it out for me," Murray would insist. Arthur was going to come and get it everywhere, he knew it, it was going to fuck up Murray's set up, get his filth everywhere. "What did I say? Don't worry about the mess. C'mon Arthur, shoot it for me, come." Arthur had never felt so exposed yet so accepted but he knew when he did, there was no going back. It was going to splatter across Murray's desk, his chair and even against the wall. "I want you to, Arthur. Just relax and trust me. And after this maybe we could try it with a live studio audience..."
That thought did Arthur in. Fucking up into his own hand with the thought of Murray's hand on his prick, Arthur's back arched as his pelvic muscles spasmed, ejecting stream after stream of come across his chest, some of it even landing onto his face. The ropes of come kept flowing and Arthur groaned brokenly as his body slumped down bonelessly. He caught his breath slowly, his prick still twitching and leaking come.
Now covered in his own mess, he thought of Murray. Despite it all, he discovered he still yearned to one day meet Murray and be his guest on the Murray Franklin show.