Bear is feeling better. I can tell, because he wanted a blowjob. I was only too happy to oblige, though I did check my watch beforehand. There was an Elder Scrolls Online beta stress test to be attended at 6.
Our customary blowjob position is essentially a 69, just that Bear likes to use his hands, not his mouth. As I am sucking Bear, he starts touching my cock. I moan. I hump my hips a little, involuntarily. When he touches my frenum, I shudder and moan more and my attention on his cock increases in urgency. I swirl my tongue and take him in deeper. I can feel him react to my reaction, can feel the head of his cock swell up in my mouth, can feel the ridge of his cock head grow firmer. I am riding the feedback loop. No more thoughts of Elder Scrolls.
“I like how you react when I touch your frenum, now that you can’t any more,” he says.
Whimper. God, I love hearing that. It feeds right into the “script” in my head. The one that says that I am his fucktoy, that I receive pleasure only (“primarily” corrects a little voice) from him.
He comes, and I take him into my throat as he does. I press my nose against his pubic mound. When he is spent, I release him, wipe my mouth, and give his cock a kiss. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you,” I say.
He did not have me come. Honestly, I hoped he wouldn’t. I tell him as much. “I know,” he says.
The next day, I am hornier than I have been in a week. While Bear was sick, I was coasting along. Sure, I was horny, but not in an urgent way. Now it’s urgent. I want to be fucked, and to feel Bear come again. I want to be teased. I want to come, I want to feel my hand around my cock and I want to stroke and I want to come and spray semen all over my belly.
Later that day, Bear says “I am waiting to feel horny enough to hump you.”
“I’d love to have you fuck me,” I say.
He’s teasing my cock, and I’m loving the attention. “You know,” I say, “I can’t help but count how long it’s been.”
He chuckles. “Uh-huh.”
“You’ve only had me go longer than this once. That was 21 days, when you were correcting me.”
This time, it’s a little laugh. “Uh-huh.”
After a while, he asks, “Well? How long has it been now?”
“20 days tomorrow morning,” I say.
“Want to break your record?” he asks, grinning.
Whimper. He chuckles again.
Pause, then “Records are over-rated,” I say. Bigger laugh from him.
“Are you going to give me a hint when you are going to allow me to come?” I ask.
“No,” he says.
“I didn’t think so,” I say. “I had to try anyway.” More chuckles.
He takes his hand away. I moan and arch my back. “Press it against my thigh,” he says. I comply eagerly, fumbling in my haste to get on my side and press my aching erection against him. I can feel pre-cum where it is dripping on my thigh, cool. I snuggle into him, feeling very much kept.
“You can get on your front whenever you want,” he says. After a little while, my erection subsides, and I do, and we go to sleep.
Records are over-rated. I’ve seen this in other blogs: A week leads to two, leads to a month, a quarter, half a year, a full year ohmygodhowdoesanyonedoafullyear – and then a sort of ennui can set in, a “where do we go from here, now?” energy. The nerd in me is interested in records, but I’m telling him to shut up. I am interested in the dynamic between us, and I am interested in how I react to Bear when I am this horny, and how much he enjoys those reactions.
I am also invested in obeying Bear. A lot. And I dig, a lot, that I don’t know when I’ll come next. I dig that he doesn’t need a rhyme or reason. I am happy when I really want to come, no reservations, and he says “No.” I mean, it can’t be much longer now, can it? God I want to come.