When the means become the end

Belle’s last orgasm was Sunday night, so I’m not supposed to be expecting anything until Wednesday night at the earliest. However, the continuing unlocked status of the cock has left me more focused on it than usual. Last night, as Belle was drowsily watching the football game, I was snuggled up against her and slowly dry-humping her leg. Based on a strict reading of the law, I may have been crossing a line, but I was careful to keep my hands off restricted body parts. She was clearly unimpressed with my efforts, however, and it was obvious I wasn’t going to get anything from her.

“Can I mess around with it?” I asked hopefully. Meaning, of course, could I play with her cock.

“Well…be quiet about it.”

Shortly afterward, she was out like a light, but I was on. Tenting the covers over my crotch, I jacked off for 45 minutes by the glow of the TV. I edged myself again and again, though never spilled a drop. Perhaps assisting in this remarkable conservation was the stretchy silicone cock ring I was wearing. It certainly contributed to the erection. After three quarters of an hour of near non-stop stroking, my balls felt twice their normal size and my epididymides were pronounced and swollen (presumably caused by the constriction of the ring). The act of masturbating, once a necessary means to achieve the desired end, is now an end unto itself. Physically, I had the urge to come many times. I felt all the internal mechanisms prime for launch, only for liftoff to be scrubbed again and again. Mentally, though, I was reveling in that space I formerly tried to pass through as quickly as possible. I don’t know that I’ve ever jacked off nearly continuously for 45 minutes (absent any porn) in my life, but I do know that doing so has become just as seductive and habit-forming as when it always ended in a gooey mess. Also, being able to do it with such abandon and in such close proximity to Belle somehow made me feel closer to her and contributed to an overall happy disposition.

This morning, Belle’s Outlook alert box popped up with her day’s meetings and to-do items. Included in that list was a reminder consisting of a single letter – my first initial. Saturday is my next day to orgasm, as chosen by me blindly and randomly. New-found love of endless masturbation aside, I am very excited for the weekend.

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