Handjob

I think I’m going to come this weekend. Belle’s been dropping hints. I think, after the month and half (or whatever it’s been), that she wants her cock inside her.

On the one hand, I could describe the usual angst that goes along with coming, etc., but on the other hand I’m really fucking horny. Really. No, I’m serious. Really. I was looking forward to the challenge of staying in and orgasmless until October, but yeah, coming would be nice too.

Thing is, I don’t want to come just a little. I want to come and come and come. I want to spew for days. And, of course, because I’m the charmingly complicated fellow that I am, I also don’t want to come. Not at all. Like, ever. Complicated.

The other day, she offered me a session with the njoy Pure if I accomplished a small list of chores over the course of the day. What I really wanted, though (and what I’ve wanted for weeks) was to feel the cock, nice and hard, getting stroked. Besides, she wouldn’t want to be there when I fucked myself with it and I really wanted to connect with her. I wanted to be with her, no matter what happened. The Pure is a solo activity with Belle. So, after finishing my tasks, I asked if I could exchange the Pure time with a 15 minute edging session. She agreed.

That night, she unlocked me and I placed the various metal bits that came off onto my bedstand. She started to play with the cock. It seemed a little dazed in that it took a while for it to start to plump up. Like it was being duped or something. Like it didn’t trust what was happening. But it eventually came around and she started a nice rhythmic pumping on the rapidly inflating meat that caused me to arch back and close my eyes. It was fantastic. Stroke stroke stroke stroke stroke. It was so fucking nice.

Then she let go. I panted. I wasn’t really ready to come, but I was getting into the groove pretty well. After a few minutes, she started again with the pumping. Same story as last time, except I could feel the disused ejaculation mechanism warming up just before she let go again leaving the meat hot and bobbing. My left hand grasped and ungrasped wanting so badly to wrap around the hard cock that was so close, but she hadn’t said I could and I sensed I wasn’t allowed.

She started in again and I felt myself fall into the sensation of her handjob, the thin, sensitive skin sliding under her hand, over the flare of the cock head, back down the shaft. I closed my eyes again and felt nothing but the strokes: up down up down up down, again and again. Nothing else existed except that hand job. And just as I was slipping away – just as I felt the orgasm that had been waiting six or more weeks to come into being start to build – she let go. I groaned. Sweet Jesus, I wanted that back. More than air.

“Can I do it? Can I stroke it?” I pleaded as calmly as possible.

“Do you think you deserve it?” she asked, “Did you do a good enough job to have earned that?”

I thought about it. Fuck it, I thought. Say yes! Just say yes, yes you did and get to it!

“No,” I said quietly. Meekly.

“I don’t either,” she replied as she placed the baggy fully of icy water onto the still-hard cock.

It was so cold, that water. It hurt. The blood in the engorged flesh fought back, but I could feel it deflating just a bit with each thump of my heart. We had previously agreed that I’d go back in the device when the session was over, so once I felt the cock wither sufficiently to allow me to put it on, I reached for the metal.

“You can stay out for the night.”

ARGH! The cock was now cold and small. Useless. And she was rolling over to go to sleep.

“I might jack off in my sleep, you know.” It’s true. I’ve woken up doing that more than once.

“Try not to,” she said back to me, shortly.

So anyway, yeah, now I think she’s going to really fuck me. This weekend, I bet. Maybe I’ll come, maybe I won’t. Maybe she’s just fucking with my head. I don’t think so, though. At least, I don’t think I don’t think so.

Like I said. Complicated.