Belle and I are on our mid-Summer RV road trip. I say “mid-Summer” because it’s technically true (the days are getting shorter now) but we’ve found in the Rockies (both Canadian and where we are now in West Glacier, MT) the local version of mid-Summer is still 2-4 weeks away.
In any event, part of my issue with this trip has been one of our dogs. She’s adorable and I love her but she’s a rescue and emotionally needy to such an extent that, if we had her right after we got married, I’m pretty sure we never would have had kids. Her M.O. is to maintain a position directly between us every morning no matter what we do. When we’re at home and can distract her with breakfast and close doors, that’s fine. But in our trailer there is no door between the bed and the rest of the space and she’s…persistent. Her pointy little nose works its way into the most tight embrace.
That led to me not being able to get Belle off for longer than I would have to go otherwise. Sure, I’ve gone longer, but usually because we’re apart. In this case, she’s right there but our canine cock-blocker (if you can even say someone in my position is being blocked that way) can’t be sequestered anywhere long enough to allow me to attend to business.
Except for yesterday morning. Our dog was in bed with us, but off to the side(!!) and didn’t make her usual move to get between us. So we took advantage of the opportunity.
At that point where Belle was juuust about to hit the point of no return, I found myself sympathetically moaning in an almost whining kind of way. I was tensed up like I was about to come instead of her. I needed it that badly. For days I had been short tempered and generally grumpy and this was why. Not that I needed to come. Of course not. Because I’m me, I needed to feel her come. I needed to feel her pussy spasm in orgasm under my finger while the tube of the Steelheart pounded between my legs. I needed to feel the animal desire to stick myself into her wet warmth. To feel that craving gnaw at me. And it did.
It was several minutes of anguish and pain. Even more than usual. Much more than usual. She could see on my face something was up and asked if I was OK. Then I was presented with the kept and denied man’s dilemma. I could say, “GODDAMN IT I WANT TO FUCK AND COME,” but my rules say I can’t ask for that and I really, really, really only want to get to do it when she wants, not when I want, and by even saying I’m that desperate I could sway her into giving it to me out of pity but I know — I know — I am not deserving of that pity. So I’m sitting there roiling inside, unable to say what I want because it’s not supposed to matter (and I do not believe it does) and, besides, do I really want it anyway?
So after a few seconds, I simply said, “I’m fine.”
Minutes later, the worst of it was past. My balls felt enormous and tender and the tube was still full and I could tell it was sticky inside, but the weight of not getting her off, which is all that matters, was lifted. I felt better the whole rest of the day. And yeah, I want to do it again, but I’m able to better process that I don’t decide when it happens. I’m better able to deal with the wait.
Later that day, we were on an open-top bus tour of Glacier National Park and she was sitting next to me and had her hand alternatingly on my thigh or forearm and absentmindedly was moving her fingers over my skin. It was like fire. Perhaps unknowingly, she was silently tormenting me with that simple touch because I was so on edge and so needy and so desperate. The tube kept pressurizing and my mind kept racing and I was all frantic sexual energy on the inside. But managed to maintain my cool on the outside.
That one orgasm — her orgasm, not mine — allowed me to center myself. To feel more like me. And it happened even with the damned dog laying there next to us.