We’re less than a few minutes into this and I can feel that it’s this accumulation thing that is going on. I can tell it’s going to get harder and harder to keep my head straight, especially with the 10s break rule. It’s not a very long time, and I can already tell you that the internal… squeeze is going to get to the point where it’s not enough time to reset.
In fact, now only about 4 minutes in, we’re at that point.
Every edge we hit, I’m struggling to get back under control before things start up again, either by your hand (which, of course, is never late) or mine. Mine requires my head and body to get their respective shit together and recover… in 10s.
I feel my body twitching from the inside out on this latest round, your round, and it’s my turn next. I can’t seem to get it under control and I can’t stop that urgency inside me. I know, too, that that 10s is coming, and fast. I see it on your face. See you watching the clock.
Then I hear it.
“11 seconds, 12, 13…”
Shit. I start up again, but the sensitivity is wildly over the top. I feel like just a few ticks of that metronome, just a few strokes… and I’ll be flying over the top. I can also feel myself actively dripping, and I’m not sure it’s all pre-cum, if we’re totally honest. I feel like I’ve perhaps ruined one or two already.
I stop, gasping. Doing all the tricks. You grab me and squeeze. “8, 9…” and squeeze again as you start up. You’re actually going faster than the tick…tick…tick is going now. Not a lot, but noticeable. My brain is melting.
I get to the edge again and you stop…. then add a stroke and stop. I feel my insides push, and hard, I feel myself losing that mental image of baseball scores or football or whatever else I could conjure up… and feel myself actively dripping. You start that giggle.
“8, 9, 10…” I hear, and start up again. It feels like this long, tortured, ruined orgasm. It’s like razor blades in my brain, and my head is screaming to stop or go over. Pick one. I have to keep going though – it’s been such a short amount of time. I’ll never get to 20 minutes at this rate, so I’m balancing how much I can hold back, with eating time on the clock.
It’s not working very well.
I stop… just. at 7 seconds it’s a full-on active dribble. You giggle again. Then grab me, ready to start on your 10-second mark. But my mind is flopping around like a fish on land, my body twitching from head to toe. I’m suddenly aware that I’m also sweating like nobody’s business.
This continues on. I end up missing the mark on the 10s, particularly right after you figure out that you can ruin it, leaving me to pick up the pieces and add the torture part just a few seconds later. You’re delighting in the now-purely-physical side of this game.
I’m at 80 swats in total. And I’m realizing as we near the end that they are coming and I’m dreading it.
But then it happens.
Just as we get to just a few minutes before the end, you whisper to me “cum, now.” and you keep going. I do, of course. It’s not like I have much of a choice or control at this point. I cum hard, writhing and almost painfully aware.
I stop to catch my breath and hear “14, 15, 16…”
Holy shit. You’re counting out more swats. I forgot the “no matter what” clause, that it has to continue for 20 minutes. I grab hold, so to speak, and start up again, now firming in post-orgasm torture, but weirdly, self-inflicted. I can hardly even hold still… for my own hand! It’s a mind-fuck that is twisted.
I manage one more edge, then you take me to the end of the 20 minutes and stop. I try to catch my breath, try to calm my insides. Try to get back to the present.
“OK. Now flip over…” you say.
I’ve always heard, but not yet experienced, that impact play after an orgasm is quite different from play prior to the O. I’m dreading it. You tell me the total, and you lay out the balance of the “tools” from your bag.
I’m completely braced, you can see it in my ass, tensed, bracing… you run the strap over me, telling me to relax, how bad could it be?
People are right about that whole “worse after than before” thing. Just sayin.
