Why am I so horny?
My heat is over. I know I didn’t pay as much attention in sex ed as I should have, but I really don’t think this is normal. I should be feeling better now, not crazed.
I stuff a hurried hand into my pants and loosen my drawstring with the other. I start stroking before I’ve managed to free my dick properly.
I groan in relief.
On the other side of the door, an alpha groans so loudly the shower door rattles.
I ignore it and focus on the matter at hand. I stroke firmly, squeezing my root and dragging the sensation up my shaft.
God, it feels good.
And it feels good that it feels good. Man, I missed my dick so much. I love this. Love how it feels. Love the tight squeeze. Love the decadent sensation sinking into my bones. The gentle flutter of my hole. The hot ring of pleasure throbbing between my legs. The empty ache of a fuck tunnel begging for more.
Wait.
What?
What the fuck is going on with my ass? And more to the point, why am I not coming from jerking my dick?
I keep tugging and tugging until my right hand cramps up and my face is drenched in sweat, and…nothing.
I’m spewing precum like a machine and my balls are rocks the size of a fist. My orgasm is right there. I can fucking feel it, but I can’t get it out. I can’t let go.
I sink to the floor, changing hands, tugging myself harder and with a lot less coordination.
It doesn’t help.
I’m on the edge. My vision is hazy, and the heartbeat in my dick has synced with the one in my chest. The mark on my neck pulses and aches. I’ve never been this close to orgasm and not come. It’s fucking horrendous.
I jerk harder and faster.
I have to come. I can’t keep it in. I’m going to go insane if I don’t.
A whiskey voice rumbles on the other side of the wall. The sound slithers under the door, under the floor tile, and enters my body through the soles of my feet. It burns a path up my legs, pooling in my balls, forcing me to bite back a pained sob.
My orgasm is everywhere. Under my skin. Close to the surface. Swollen and distended. Fighting for freedom. Desperate for freedom.Desperatefor freedom. A massive, unstoppable force that my body can’t contain.
Yet, I can’t fucking come.
After God knows how long, both my hands are cramped into unwieldy claws, I’m panting like a dog, and my dick is too sensitive for me to keep touching it.
I accept defeat gracelessly and drag myself to the shower. I shampoo my hair twice, and yes, I do spend a little more time than usual washing my ass, but not for any special reason. Definitely not because of anything Branson suggested.
I’m highly committed to personal hygiene. That’s all.
I pat my ass dry as carefully as possible and go back and forth on whether it’s a good idea to sneak a peek in the mirror while I’m in here.
It’s obviously a bad idea. The aftermath of a heat-fucked hole is one of those things that’s better to imagine than it is to see for yourself. Everyone knows that.
Against my better judgment, I take a look.
It’s the wrong decision.
My asshole is bright red and puffy. A thick, swollen ring that looks like exactly what it is. A wrecked hole. A ruined orifice. A fucked-out fuck hole that’s been knotted with gay abandon.
I thought there was no way it could look worse than it feels, but I was wrong. Dead wrong. To make matters worse, when I see it, I don’t feel any horror or even a smidgeon of regret.
