Everyone was dancing, music was pounding, and my body writhed up against total strangers, but they didn’t feel like strangers, they felt like my new best friends. No one cared. Sure, we were dressed up in corporate clothes, but it was like beinga high schooler again, with no adults around. A couple was making out to my left, another couple was grinding to my right, everyone was making eyes at each other, hands brushed hands, hips swayed, and in the midst of the shadows and deafening music and sweaty bodies, I thought about that night.
Not Taylor — my mind automatically blocked out his face. But the feeling. The touches. The way my body tensed, then released.
I’d been too miserable this past week to feel anything resembling horniness. But now that I was surrounded by a crowd of young, fit people, it was like my sex drive had suddenly returned in full-force. The hunger, the need for it, to have sex again, almost made me fall over.
I didn’t do anything about it. Not that I could. Hell, it was a miracle I even made it back to my dorm. I woke up the next morning on the couch, my shoes and belt off, and a bucket and bottle of water next to me. It was kind of impressive I’d managed doing all that last night.
I unscrewed the water bottle — where had I got this anyway? I must’ve bought it somewhere — and gulped down the whole thing.
Taylor’s bedroom door opened. “You’re alive.” He was dressed, and looked like he had been awake for a while.
I grunted something, and found my throat hurt. Vague memories washed up of yelling in people’s ears over the music. Heaving up to my feet, I dragged myself to the bathroom, showered, wrapped myself in a towel and collapsed onto my bed before promptly falling asleep again.
I was panting and painfully hard, my cock throbbing with need. Release. I needed release. I tried to sneak a hand down, but my wrist was caught and pressed flat against the mattress.
“No touching yourself,” he growled from behind me.
“But I — I have to. It hurts,” I whined.
A roll of hips, deep pressure inside, and my thighs widened automatically.
“Fuck.” I was slurring. “Please, I need to —”
I snapped awake, baking under the midday sun, and shoved my curtains closed. I was drenched in sweat, wearing nothing but a towel which had unloosened from around my hips.
I shoved it aside, ensured my bedroom door was closed, and wrapped a hand around myself. A soft sigh escaped me as soon as my hand touched the hot skin. I was as hard as I’d been in the dream, my balls drawn up and tight. I hadn’t touched myself in more than a week. That whole conversation with Taylor had really done a number on me.
I shifted on the bed, spreading my legs wide, and stroked myself, enjoying the sensation of foreskin moving over the sensitive head. Not long now. I’d come, and then I could get on with the rest of my day.
Five minutes later, I was still jerking it, which was…not bad, exactly, but I usually finished faster. Not because I was a quick shot or anything, but I’d been wanking for years now, pretty much daily. I knew my body well, and I knew how to get off.
It must’ve just been the hangover. I let go of myself, and used my clean hand to grab my phone, open a private tab and pull up an erotica site. Reading filthy stories was what helped me win that dirty talk competition with Taylor —
Nope. I was not letting myself think about that.
I scrolled through the list of titles and chose one at random. The plot wasn’t original, featuring a bored house wife and a pool boy, but the story featured all the right swear words. I resumed stroking myself. It wouldn’t be long now.
Another five minutes passed and I still hadn’t come. I dropped my phone on the mattress and stared at my cock. Was something wrong? Was this some sort of medical issue? My dickwas still hard though, and I couldn’t ignore it. All I needed to do was orgasm and then I could get on with the rest of my day. I tried another story. Then another. Then, with a sinking heart, I clicked on the ‘gay’ category. The story I ended up reading was hot, really hot, especially the descriptions of the main character being railed by a tall, dark haired man…
I ached inside. Stroking my cock felt good, of course, but it was like something was missing.
It had been different that night. Being filled up…
I let go of my dick and reached for the drawer of my bedside table, searching through its contents. After finding the bottle of lube, I uncapped the lid and squeezed the transparent substance all over my fingers. Maybe if I was thinking properly, I would’ve taken a moment to reflect on what I was doing. But I wasn’t thinking. All my brain cared about was chasing an orgasm.
I propped myself against the headboard, sitting up with my legs spread. I’d start off with one finger. The lube was cool against my sensitive skin as I rubbed over the pucker.
Deep breaths. Relax.
I pushed my finger in, to the first finger joint. Okay, not bad. Then some more. It didn’t hurt, not as much as I expected. Probably because I was too distracted by my horniness. I used my other hand to pump my cock and keep it hard.
Once I’d pushed a single finger in as much as it would go, I tried to feel around for that spot Taylor had hit. It couldn’t be that deep, right? Surely I’d find it.
It was uncomfortable, though, the way I had to angle my wrist. I slid the finger out and turned around so I was on my knees, bracing myself with one forearm. I reached behind, and slid my finger in. It was hard to know what was going on, when all I could see was the pillow in front of me, but I pressed my fingertip against the walls, searching…
Where the fuck was it? My dick was softening and I was growing increasingly frustrated.
Maybe my finger wasn’t thick enough. That was the problem. All I needed to do was add a second. So I tried that.
