Page 41 of Three Pucking Ex's Brothers
“Fuck, don’t go there,” I snap at myself because Idon’twant to think about that right now. I don’t want to think about the dirty things I let myself think about when I’m alone and in need of release.
I set to trying to clean up the kitchen, if only to focus on something else other than how hard I am at the moment. I need to focus. I need to think aboutanythingelse.
I get halfway through the dishes before I realize I’m still hard as a rock, and I need to take care of myself.
It is morning, after all, and usually I jack off first thing in the morning, before I shower, but seeing as this morning was certainlynotpart of my routine and I was reeling off thatneedto provide and care for myguestand my brothers…I realize I haven’t had time this morning to properly milk my cock.
So I regretfully throw down my dishcloth and head for my bedroom, if only to wash myself clean of these unearthed desires and needs I haven’t felt in too long. I tell myself it’s a means to an end. That it doesn’t mean anything.
I head for my toy chest and set about grabbing the things I need.
A jar, my automatic stroker, and one of my expandable silicone cock rings.
It doesn’t take me long to set up, as it usually doesn’t, but this morning I’m moving faster because I’m agitated. I know I won’t be able to focus on anything—cleaning, calling Brett, the gym—until I come.
Because ever since I was forced to come, coming has become an almost unbearable ache.
Especially if I try and ignore the desire.
Which is why most of the time, I milk myself before I start my day, and edge myself through the rest of the day if needed, and then do the same thing before bed. And on the really rough days, I just put the cage on and take it off before bed. It helps keep me focused on everything else Ineedto be focused on.
I’m out of my pajama pants in a matter of seconds and once I’ve got the cock ring around my base, I grab my lube and lather my cock. The feel alone is damn near palpable, and I’m half-tempted to use my hand, but I know this will go quicker with the stroker.
And I want this to be quick. I want to get this over with so I can breathe and focus on what I need to—and that’s calling my brother and getting the full story and figuring out what to do from there.
Especially because I fear Russ is headed for danger if finding him curled around Nora this morning is any indication. Drunk or not, he needs to be careful. We don’t know all the details and the last thing any of us need is Nora feeling like we took advantage of her given the circumstances.
I press my cockhead against the soft opening of my toy and slide my cock in with ease, closing my eyes for a moment as I enjoy the wet, slippery, tight feel.
It’s been seven years since my cock has been inside a woman. I know this isn’t the same, but it’s been so long that I sometimes think if I close my eyes, I can pretend it is. Even when I spent a year hiring subs, I never got close enough to fuck them.
But in the emptiness of my bedroom, in the privacy of my thoughts, I can close my eyes and pretend even if it’s just for a little while, that it’s the same.
So that’s what I do. I close my eyes and start to thrust, slowly, relishing the feel of the ridges and bumps inside the toy. I let my thoughts wander as I often do, once I start to build a rhythm.
I could put on some porn if I wanted, but that usually takes time, and like I said, I want this to be quick. Not drawn out. I need to get this over with. Need to put Nora and my fucked-up fantasies and unearthed desires to rest once and for all.
I thrust my slippery cock into my imagined tight pussy—Nora’s tight pussy—my hips moving of their own accord.
I fall forward, opening my eyes for a moment as I position my toy against my bed, my weight holding it in place so I can thrust deeper. I brace one leg out on the side of the bed for balance and close my eyes again, imagining it’s not my toy against this bed, but Nora. Imagine her bent over, that round ass and wet, pink pussy glistening for me. I let myself wonder what that would look like.
Would her lips be thick and pink? Would her clit be big and swollen, like her perfect breasts? Would she cry out when I stretched her with my thick cock?
Would she be able to take me?
I imagine slipping my cock between her wet, warm folds. My balls pull tight and I brace one hand on the bed as I pick up my pace. I thrust into her, harder. Faster.
I imagine her heavy breasts hanging, my hands finding them with ease as I tease her nipples until they’re stiff peaks. Imaginewrapping my mouth around them and tasting her flavor. I bet she’d taste sweet.
Oh, fuck.
I imagine my lips trailing down her body, imagine watching my cock disappear inside of her, her stomach bulging just the slightest from my thrusts. Imagine how her pussy would stretch for my thick cock.
And because I’m a fucked-up asshole, I imagine telling her I’m going to come. Begging her to get off of me because if she doesn’t I’m going to fill her full of my cum.
I tense as my cock throbs, my balls tightening. I want to stop, because I don’t want to come. Not like this, but…I need to come.
I need to come so fucking bad, right now, and I love it as much as I hate it.
