“I’m going to help you sleep tonight.”
I’ve been struggling with sleep for the past few days. A bought of denial-induced insomnia.
“By letting you give me an orgasm.”
Unf. “I don’t think that’ll help me sleep.”
“You letting me come.”
Snort. “That’s not going to happen.”
“You don’t want to come anyway.”
“Say it. ‘Belle Fille, I don’t want you to let me come.'”
Whimper again. Squirm.
Quietly, “I don’t want to you to let me come, Belle Fille.” It was truth, but being forced to say it was like a high heel grinding my inner sub into a tight, hard corner. The kind of space where it’s most content.
“Of course you don’t. You want to get me off and then, because my orgasm is your orgasm, you’ll get sleepy after and fall asleep.”
I had my doubts. Especially when she started talking about her “boyfriend” and how he’d never say anything like that to her. That he and his big cock always came. All I could do was whimper into her nipple as she said these things and I fingered her clit and thought about this mythical alpha male who’d likely laugh at the locked penis and the way she kept me.
“I’m going to make you work for this one, Thumpie. I’m going to enjoy myself.”
It did take a while. She got wetter and I kept sucking and fingering but I never felt her start to get close. Eventually, she took over her own tits and was tweaking and twisting her nipples while I watched and kept my finger on her snatch, rubbing and flicking and penetrating in all the ways I know, through hours and hours of practice like a musician knows his instrument, she liked best. Even that wasn’t enough for her and she got her vibrator and gave it to me but quickly took it back leaving me nothing more than a spectator to her self-pleasuring.
She came, slowly and deeply, but I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel her pussy clench against my fingers or her back arch or any of the waves of ecstasy that go with her orgasm. I didn’t share it. I heard it and saw it, but I didn’t know it like I usually do. It didn’t go through me. I was just the fluffler that got her into position.
Of course, I don’t begrudge her anything. We have sex so she can come, always, and however she wants. We never have sex so I can come. Whatever we do, if it’s what she wanted, is what we should have done and I don’t have a right to take issue with any of it. She’s right that even though I may crave my own orgasm I never want her to give it to me. I don’t need any orgasms. I only get them when she wants to feel me come in her. Even that can feel more about her than me.
She was left drained by her effort and its successful culmination and I was left pretty much as I was before. Tired but not sleepy and now that much more wired and trying to push images of her and another man out of my mind. She fell asleep quickly and I tried but couldn’t connect with it. I kept thinking and tossing and feeling separation angst (I have some trips coming up) all the while trying to keep sexual images and thoughts as far away as possible.
At about 11:30, I got up and took the last Tylenol PM in the house. I don’t like taking it but I could feel the kind of panic in me that usually unspools into zero hours of sleep. Then I went in the living room and read more of the book I’m getting through. By 12:30, the pill was taking over and I was yawning. I sent back to the bedroom, stripped, crawled in next to her, and tried to get on the road to Sleepytown.
Eventually, I did.