Page 228 of Phobia
He bites his lip, brows furrowing. And he shakes his head a little. As if he’s sayingno.
“Why the hell not??” I growl, fist working harder, and faster.
His head does another shake, a petulant movement that’s making me insane. I’msecondsfrom erupting, and I want him to come too, but he keeps insistently refusing, and I don’t get it.
“Stubborn boy…” I whimper. “Why won’t you justcome…for…me…”
The words are barely out before I’m busting my nut all over the place. Milking cum out of my cock onto the floor while I whine and gasp, andcryhis fucking name.
“Asa…Asa, Asa, Asa… you’re so… mmmfffgoodat getting me off.”
Prying my eyes open, I gaze at him, dazed and fluttering down, waiting for him to fuckingcome, because otherwise, what’s the point?
But instead, he drops his dick. Just lets go of it. And I witness him releasing a shuddering breath, face lined in discomfort.
I’m familiar with the feeling… Blue balls are agony.So why would he be doing it on purpose??
Unless… he’s some kind of sexual masochist?
I mean, I like edging, but the point is to get off eventually, right?
Asa squeezes the head of his cock, all swollen, engorged and shiny. Then he brings his fingers up to his lips and licks them. Forme, with our eyes melting together.
I lift my hand in response, lapping up my own cum from my fingers.
He makes a face like he’s miserable, and I smile wide, because it’s sofuckingadorable, despite not making any sense. Chuckling, I shake my head.
Asa bites his lip, smirking at me with his face all flushed, before he crashes onto his bed. Out of sight.
I laugh some more, at how damn cute and strange andgorgeoushe is.
That boy’s gonna need a release…
And so help me, Iwillbe the one who gives it to him.
Chapter 4
Call me Mr. Giggles.
I’m at the stage in my sleeplessness where I can’t stop laughing. I’ve been sitting here, on my living room floor, giggling at nothing for the last hour and a half.
Maybe itseemslike nothing. But to me, and my manic sleepless state, it’sfunny.
“Barnaby,” I cackle, wiping tears from my eyes. “You rapscallion!”
It’s a cockroach. I’ve named him Barnaby.
I like giving things names, in case you haven’t noticed.
It scurried out from under Lena’s bedroom door, and I’m hysterical over it.
“She’s gonna beso mad,” I chuckle, staggering to my feet.
Standing up, I wobble for a moment. Things gets blurry, and I think I’m hallucinating. I trip over my feet stumbling toward the cabinet beneath the sink, grabbing a can of Raid. Then I open Lena’s bedroom and spray a bunch in there, laughing maniacally as I do.
She’s really going to be pissed if she comes home and sees this place so dirty. I’ve tried to clean the rest of the house—admittedly, not doing a great job, because I keep either almost falling over, or bursting into hysterical laughter, or both. But Lena hates when I go in her room. And I know why…
She doesn’t want me to see her paraphernalia.
