Being up over two weeks without sexual release for the first time ever is starting to gnaw at me (sixteen days, but who’s counting…oh, yeah, I’M counting). I wake up with a serious case of the carnivorous butterflies every morning and find myself kinda jumpy and buzzy at different points during the day. I have a feeling Belle’s craving a little bunny lovin’ herself, but what with Mr. Winky currently in recovery mode, there’s no hope of getting him wet in the foreseeable future.
This morning my urges were so powerful they stopped being about having sex, per se, and were more about just consuming her. I wanted to simultaneously bite her, envelope her entire body in mine, crush her in my arms, and just fuck the holy hell out whatever was left. It was all very reptilian. Of course, I didn’t do any of those things. I tried my very best to remain the sweet and gentle mate she requires me to be.
And that, my friends, is where a lot of this orgasm denial stuff trips my trigger. My animalistic, testosterone-soaked hunk of burning love being smothered by the cool cascade of her feminine power. I’m all strain and frustration and spring-loaded desire and she lies there exuding collected calmness and just smiles at me. If we were cartoon characters, she’d be a sexy sheep striking a Mae West pose and I’d be a wolf with a steam whistle blowing out of his raggedy top hat.
Belle tells me she might allow me to come to orgasm tonight, but only if the piercing looks and feels better and only through manual stimulation. No penetration. My mouth goes dry at the thought. I so badly want to come but I also so badly want to fuck her that I may – impossibly – keep waiting until the new hole in my dick heals more completely. Pardon me while I go curl up in the corner and softly whine to myself.