Have you ever wondered if you could maintain something for 15 minutes if the stakes were high enough, that you weren’t used to lasting that long unrelentingly? How’s that for a question?
Well, I’ve thought about it. I mean, not unprompted, of course. The prompting comes from you…
You sit down, cozying up next to me with this grin on your face. “We’re going to give you a test today!” is how you open the challenge. “Do you have a favorite metronome speed?“
OK, now, let’s be real. I’m not stupid. I’m not answering ANYTHING knowing you, particularly with that grin on your face. “Um…” is all I say, squirming uncomfortably. “I’m not sure I want to answer that, ya know, all things considered.“
So you show me your app. It’s a metronome app, all right. Little bar moving back and forth, ticking away. You show me how fast it can go, and how slow. The speeds are insane on the high end. “OK, I get it. But….“
“You’re going to pick a speed. *I’m* going to maintain that speed for 15 minutes. So pick wisely. You have to survive without stopping me, or, of course cumming, in that timeframe. If you do, well, we’ll just say that it’s worth it. Each beat, one stroke. If you don’t make it, well, we’ll have to come up with something, now won’t we?“
Suddenly I remember why I really didn’t care for music. I mean, listen to the tones as it rocks back and forth. Sure, the first few beats seem doable. But then I think about sustained non-stop for 15 minutes. HA! It’s almost laughable. But you know me, silly me. Always up for a challenge (not like I have a choice, really).
I play with it a bit – you have it set to have 2 clicks per beat. One at the top, one at the bottom. So the rhythm will be perfectly maintained. I toy with the values around 30, even jokingly moving up to the 60’s and 70’s. “You have 30 seconds to decide. Did I mention that? Oh, and nothing below 22 please.“
Suddenly I get this squirmy feeling inside that I’m in trouble.
I choose 25. Now, for those playing along, that’s 25/minute, 2x each beat (top and bottom).
You start it to get used to the rhythm and are playing with me, showing what you’ll be doing without touching me and I’m already hard in anticipation. That grin hasn’t subsided, and just the whole attitude is wicked.
You lean over and start… it’s really quite slow. I think I may have this (though I’m not silly and realize that things are just getting going). I’m determined though, so in my head I’m thinking about my favorite shows, doing math, trying to get in the groove of just about anything except the tick-tock of the metronome.
I’m doing pretty well, but 15 minutes. 15 minutes is a long time, particularly when not only is the speed relentless, but your grip is changing, and frequently. Sometimes you have a feather touch, sometimes a death grip, sometimes half-and-half. Around about 6 minutes, shit gets real. I can feel that change.
That change that comes where things start to feel like they’re almost outside my own body, taking over – it’s the animal side of things, I guess, or it’s just lust taking over in general, but there’s always this point where it washes over my brain in this wave of sensations. I feel every little bit of every stroke and that metronome is echoing through my head and it’s all combining into this movie that’s playing out that I have increasingly little control over.
Of course, you’ve learned to sense this point in me too, so you start to smile, even more, you know that point has come and gone and that now it’s a matter of time. Enough time to make it to the end? Not if you have a say. You start favoring a tighter grip, running your thumb just so… driving me crazy. I’m wiggling around, still trying to concentrate on anything else, but the strokes are washing over me, one-by-one now. I’m losing this and still have time left. Too much time I fear.
Tick-tock – both the clock and that damn metronome are pounding in my head now – and shot after shot is racing up and down my spine. I swear it’s increased in speed, but I know it hasn’t. I also know you’ve won. I’m working now to beat the clock, or get close, but I feel those waves, that convulsion going on deep inside me. Every trick, everything I know, every muscle and ploy I have to control things is firing. It’s almost like I can visualize it all rushing to meet your hand, my cock.
“OH!! Look at that!” is all you say as I finally lose all control and explode, whipping my head back and forth and trying not to short circuit… because you haven’t stopped. “Looks like I still have 2 minutes, better keep going – it’s time to pay me back, with interest”
Tick-tock – Oh. My. Gawd. I want to smack your hand away, to push you away, but on you go, still stroking, still varying hard, soft, light touch, deep, deep strokes. I’m struggling to get away, but you’re having none of it. My head is screaming, my cock is screaming, my insides are continuing to alternate between convulsing and seizing up trying to get things to stop.
Things turn foggy and I finally hear the timer going off. You stop both apps and smile.
“Looks like you failed your test. Sigh. Will have to work on that.“