Wishing Kayla, all the M-M authors, bloggers and contributors, and especially the loyal Masturbation Monday readers, a Happy Two Year Anniversary.
I writhe in anticipation waiting for him to ejaculate, spray his come all over my face and breasts. I crave a piece of him in any way I can get it.
From my vantage point I can see that he's close. His shaft is rock hard, the skin so taught it's shiny. Veins pulsing. The head has taken on that purplish hue. It all but throbs every time he pumps his cock on the upward pull. He's not jerking. There's no sense of urgency. But I know, he's using every ounce of willpower he owns to go slow. Draw it out, for both of us.
It's driving me crazy. My mouth waters. My heart pounds. And my pussy, oh God, my pussy hurts. My bum feels wet against the tabletop, all my juices gathering there.
I tug at the bindings around my wrists, but know it's futile. He'd never allow that.
I want to touch him. I want to be the one who brings him to climax, wrap my hands around that thick beautiful cock. Or better yet have him slip his dick into my mouth and rock in and out with that same slow rhythm he is still torturing us both with.
I open my mouth, silently offering, begging him with my eyes.
He doesn't even acknowledge. Doesn't smirk arrogantly or shake his head. His tempo never falters. I may as well not even be there.
The muscles in his neck chord. The pulse at the base of his neck throbs rapidly. The tension building in him radiates through his entire rigid frame.
A drop of pre-cum drips from his slit and falls as if in slow motion to the floor.
"Oh God, yes, come, come, fucking come all over me!"
He freezes. Then drops his hands to his sides.
I want to bite through my traitorous tongue. I hadn't realized I'd even spoken aloud.
No! No. No. Please!
Once more I twist at my bindings but this time in frustration and disappointment. I bash my fists off the table and bite my tongue so I won't make another sound. Though I'm on the verge of tears.
With a grimace—the only glimmer of emotion he's shown since we entered the room— he attempts to tuck his distended cock back into his pants but it's a lost cause. He's too long, too hard. He pulls his shirt over instead, depriving me once again.
Please! The word is forming on my lips. But he gives my chin a slight swat, closing my jaw, gnashing my teeth together. He knows me too well.
He does an about-face and walks to the door. He turns out the light. Closes the door and leaves me.
Darkness envelopes me. My own rapid inhalations are the only remaining sound in the room. It pisses me off.
Unrequited need pulses at my core. My breasts tingle. I want to come so badly. I squirm. I press my tailbone into the table. I try to close my thighs—as much as I possibly can, with my ankles still tethered—and arch my back hoping beyond hope that just the right contour of my body will add some much needed pressure to just the right spot and it'll be enough to topple me over that narrow edge. I try imagining him licking my greedy cunt. Or him ramming into me savagely, over and over. But nothing helps.
I cry out in agony, disappointment and anger at my own weakness. I don't care if he hears.
I let my futile tears fall.
In time—Christ knows how much time—my body calms but the ache in my outer labia remains, as a bitter reminder. I'd endure it for hours if not days, depending on his whim.
I knew the rules coming in. Perhaps next time, I'd have the discipline to obey them and in return reap the spoils.
A big THANK YOU to the fabulous Kayla Lords and all she does to keep Masturbation Monday going strong. I especially enjoyed the month of may this year. How about you? And I can't say enough about the inspirational memes. Sometimes, I just sit and watch for a few. Come on, I know you do it too.
Make sure to hop on over the Masturbation Monday central for
this week's master list of M-M participants.