My hand lifts to the back of my head, scratching at it in humiliation as cum flakes sprinkle my broad shoulders. In comparison to her energy, I feel dirty and gross, a mixture of sweat, cum, and mud.
I look over to my shower before addressing the mirror.Fuck it.
I get down on my knees. “Please. I’m begging you. Please let me take a damn shower.”
“Good boy.”I swear I hear her disembodied whisper in my ear, soft and lyrical.“I like when my bulls beg.”I close my eyes as a phantom hand grasps my cock and cups my balls.
I want to come so much, I’m drooling.
She quietly tsks in my ear. I feel her release her hold, and the loss is enough to grieve over.“Bathe, my pet. You’ll feel better.”
Compelled to follow her instructions, I crawl to the shower. Exhaling heavily, I climb to my feet, turn the knob all the way to hot, and wait for cum to spew out. Instead, steam starts to rise, I quirk a brow.
“Did you…” I whisper, almost afraid to jinx the moment. “Is my punishment over?”
Reaching into the stream with my hand, I’m pleasantly surprised to find actual fucking water. Elation fills me and I step into the flow, letting it cascade over my body. It’s soothing balm to my weary soul. I let out a deep groan and lean against the smooth shower titles, resting my forehead and the tips of my horns against it.
Opening my eyes, I glare down at the rock-hard inconvenience and decide to attempt to beat off for the third time tonight— using soap as lubrication.
I wrap my fingers around my girthy length and can’t help but to instantly surge my hips at the sensation. It feels incredible. Applying pressure, I squeeze and pump my fist faster.
Needing more, I grip the rest of my length with my other fist, wielding myself like a sword as I thrust into my hands while stabilizing myself against the wall with my horns.
The pressure becomes almost unbearable, and just when I think I’m about to come... Nothing. The pleasure fizzles out like a busted firework, and I’m left wanting more.Needingmore.
The pain settles back in and I groan. “Goddammit!” I punch the slick wall, and tiles crack beneath the force of my frustration. “Why can’t I fucking come!?”
Throwing in the proverbial towel and embracing my new blue-balled fate, I shake my head and step out of the shower. My cock is harder than it’s ever been. Testing that theory, I drape a bath sheet over it and snort when my cock doesn’t even bow from the weight.
After drying off, I slip on some pajamas but have no choice but to keep the waistband just under my shaft, because trying to tuck it into my pants brought a kind of pain I never want to experience again.
Climbing into bed, I let out a sigh, feeling the edges of sleep pulling at me the second my head hits the pillow. I’m so exhausted that even the throbbing ache in my groin could not keep me awake. Yes, I was pitching a rather uncomfortable tent with my heavy blanket, but my fatigue was heavier.
Grumbling, I uncover the engorged head anyway, leaving only my erection exposed. Maybe the chill in my room will ease the swelling.
Seconds later, the darkness overtakes me, and I fall into its weightless abyss.
I dream of moonlight and milk and jasmine.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ASTERIOS
My body feels compressed, like a lead blanket is lying on top of me. I helplessly stare at the ceiling. My limbs are too heavy to move. Even my breathing is shallow from the weight crushing my chest. The sound of a thousand bees humming inside a metal tube drones on in the back of my brain.
And then I smell it. The alkaline aroma of spermine.
The odor suffocates me. I try to yell for help, but the words get caught in my throat. Am I dreaming? Is this a nightmare?
No. My eyes are open. Through the window, I can see the full moon in the dark velvety sky. It shines down upon me, casting a soft glow upon my dim room.
A figure appears near the foot of my bed. Just a shadow at first, but the more they step into the window’s draping moonlight, the more of them I see. I’m mesmerized by the ethereal sight.
Flowing white hair frames lavender eyes and a heart-shaped face before billowing out in a ghostly zephyr. Her skin is like alabaster. A white translucent gown, delicate and fluid, clingsloosely to her curvaceous frame, with the trailing fabric rising and falling under the gusts of some spectral wind.
The moonlight hides nothing from my view. I can see each voluptuous curve beneath a gown that has the color and transparency of mist. My eyes take in her large, heavy breasts. The dusky nipples peek through the sheer material, teasing and tantalizing. My mouth waters. My palms ache to caress her shapely hips and thick thighs and pet the silver softness covering her mons.
It is her.
