Page 26 of Integrated (Mistress & Master of Restraint #11)
The hot spray of the shower beads along my achy neck and shoulders, loosening their tautness and heating the pain away. Insomnia or not, a man gets exhausted after days without rest. I’ve lost count on the number of hours I’ve gone without sleep. It has to have been days ago. Christmas Eve, maybe? Perhaps even before that since I’ve had a good night’s rest.
No sleep, restlessness, and stressed out the ass, I wish I were still insane, so one of my halves could take the brunt of the discomfort. But how can I truly grasp reality if I don’t experience all of life’s many facets from happiness and pleasure to melancholy and agony?
Then there is the emotional side that alters how well I handle physical exhaustion. The past few days have been emotionally draining, adding to the affect, to where I’m almost comatose on my feet. I couldn’t make a fast thought or move if my life depended on it.
A nap is out of the question since I have too much to accomplish today. I’ve already eaten breakfast, so I only have one other stress-reliever left at my disposal.
Pleased that I’ve already satisfied Cortez this morning, I don’t want to ruin the vibe between us by taking anything from him, especially pleasure. I want to give to Cortez, make him feel as special and needed as he is. Taking seems wrong on so many levels, especially since I feel like the biggest douchebag on the face of the planet at the moment.
I don’t deserve affectionate or intimate attention yet, because I haven’t earned it.
Reaching for the conditioner, I turn to face the tiled wall of our large shower stall, ensuring the spray doesn’t wash the slipperiness away. Resting my forehead on the tile, because in a moment my body will be too lax to hold me up, I squeeze a palmful of conditioner in my hand.
I do this every single time I shower, whether or not I’m even horny. It’s just another ritual that soothes, comforts, and centers me. It doesn’t matter if I just had sex five minutes prior, because this ritual isn’t about sex. It’s just another variant of all the other obsessive-compulsive behaviors I possess.
Everything must be the same: water temperature at lukewarm, forehead resting on the cool tile, the same brand and amount of conditioner, one hand cupping my nutsack, while my fingers bracelet the base of my hard dick, as the other hand gives me my release. It must always be the same, or the anxiety doesn’t dissipate, and the release won’t soothe me.
This act is not about pleasure or orgasm– it’s a ritualistic routine of my OCD.
“Ugh!” I grunt out in shock as my fingers breach my body, angling toward the spot I will rub until I pop. Rapidly pumping into my ass, my fingers violently press on my prostate.
This ritual started after I awoke from my first sedation when I was thirteen. I don’t need my doctorate in psychology to tell me I’m recreating my first sexual experience, nor that I’m gaining the comfort and soothing feelings Cortez always provides me.
Cortez makes me feel loved, cherished, honored, and needed. He makes me feel important.
I always end up standing in my shower, finger-fucking myself, denying myself the pleasure of my hand stroking my cock, as I remember our first time in the woods outside of our home. I recreate the event in my mind while my hand works me the way Cort’s cock had that very first time.
“Ah!” whispers near my ear as a very warm chest presses into my back. Palms splay across my torso as Cortez curls around me from behind.
Startling, breath seizing in my lungs, I freak over getting caught in a very intimate act that no one, not even Cortez has seen me perform. How did I not hear him enter?
“I’ve often wondered why you have this frou-frou conditioner, being that our hair is the same texture and I don’t need to use it. Have to say, I usually whack off with the thick stuff… but I guess that’s its true purpose, isn’t it?” Cortez purrs into my ear.
Frozen, three fingers deeply wedged inside my body, I close my eyes in mortification. I’m embarrassed, but a new feeling overrides the fact that my ritual was interrupted. My heart wildly pounds out of my chest as adrenaline floods my veins.
What’s Cortez thinking?
What’s he going to do next?
“But then again,” Cortez murmurs as he peers over my shoulder to look down the length of my body. “I see you aren’t whacking your abused, purple cock off– you’re strangling the poor thing.”
I gasp as Cort’s scorching hot hand brushes mine away from my dick, then gently replaces my violent touch with his tender one. “Are you trying to stay your release?” I quickly nod my head yes, never denying I have shit for endurance. “Here, you’re doing it wrong.” Cortez’s voice is quiet, thick, deep and low. Aroused. “I’m surprised you haven’t popped a vein doing it like this. You don’t have to be angry with it– just tightly squeeze.”
“Aahh…” flows as a heady groan, still unable to use speech as Cortez schools me on how to touch my own dick. He of all people would know better than me. I want to tell Cortez how his touch is a soothing balm on my tortured flesh, while enlivening me like no other.
Everything is muted, less, numb, until Cortez touches me. Everything pales in comparison to the way Cortez sensitizes me.
“And these–” Cort breathlessly rasps into my ear, causing me to shiver. Fingertips skate down my forearm, over my wrist, then along my fingers, until one of his fingers breaches my body right alongside the three of mine already impaling my ass.
“Cort!” I would’ve climaxed if it weren’t for the tight grip on my cock and balls, offering a punishing refusal. I throb and ache from the intense pressure building inside my body adds a sharp, painful edge to the pleasure.
“Four fingers feel nice, doesn’t it? Even better than just three, hmm?” Cort uses that seductive tone, which always gets me to do whatever the hell he wishes. Breathing low in my ear, slowly he thrusts our fingers inside my body.
Sensation overload.
Suddenly intoxicated. High. I don’t deserve this attention, so thorough and loving and pleasurable. Cortez should be harming me for all the pain I’ve caused him, but he’s good and caring and forgiving. Instead of punishing me like I would have done to him in the past, he understands my pain by comforting me and showing me how much I mean to him.
“Because one finger belongs to you– your one finger manages to make mine feel better inside me.” I shamelessly admit. “My God, you smell so good.” Releasing a heady groan, I turn my face to the side to nuzzle beneath Cort’s ear, luxuriating in his woodsy scent.
While softly chuckling to himself, Cortez pulls our fingers from my ass. “Look–” Cort commands and I obey.
“See?” Turning slightly, he holds our entangled fingers that were inside of my body next to his extremely aroused cock. “I’m sure this will do much better, don’t you think? Thicker, longer, curved just right to hit you where you’re so desperately trying to reach. Hmm?” he murmurs, the sound vibrating my eardrum.
“Yessss,” flows on an eager breath, the word spoken from quivering lips. Suddenly nervous and excited, my body begins to uncontrollably shiver in anticipation.
Holy shit, Cort is going to fuck me in the shower.
Cort’s never done that before. We’ve done many things in our quest of sexual enlightenment, often not to each other. But there are still a few things we don’t share on principle, things that have always been off limits. This side of Cortez could create another addiction within me.
Salaciously offering myself up to Cort, I slightly bend at the waist, pushing my ass back against his cock. Happily taking the invitation while trailing a taunting laugh, Cort teases me with his cockhead. Swirling around my opening, he doesn’t slide inside, ramping up my need.
“Please,” is nothing but shameless begging. I attempt to impale myself on his cock as he passes over the bud of my ass. “Stop teasing.”
Punishing me for begging, Cort squeezes where his fingers bracelet around the base of my dick and balls. Releasing nothing but a song of pure pleasure, Cortez thwacks my ass cheeks with his cock, making a slapping sound that seems to delight him even more, judging by the laughter that flows from his chest.
“Is this what you want?” Cortez’s lips curl where they rest against my shoulder. Slowly he feeds his cockhead into my ass, but none of his length.
Breathlessly writhing from the feel of the two, thick inches pressing inside my body. “Always, Cortez,” I reverently admit. “Just your head feels so much better than anyone fully impaling me. Only you do this to me.”
A deep grunt flows around the shower stall, and this time it isn’t just mine. Combined, Cortez and I shout out in ecstasy as he joins us as one. The feel of his body painfully slicing through mine, always slightly too large for me to handle, drives me back into lust-fueled madness.
We turn animalistic, releasing our pent-up frustrations, pain, and regrets by changing it to pure, unadulterated passion. Trying my damnedest to find a handhold on the slippery tile wall, my palms slickly slide on the surface.
Cortez pounds into me from behind with the same intensity as our first coupling in the woods– the only difference is how we both know what we’re doing now. Cortez knows how to give, and I surely know how to take.
Blunt teeth set into my shoulder, slick chest pressed against my back, hand wrapped around my cock, Cortez thrusts into me so rapidly, his sack is stinging mine from the forceful slap of it against my flesh. Feral sounds emanate from his chest as he fucks me, and I blissfully take all he has to give.
Close to release, Cortez issues a warning. “No more punishing yourself in the shower– no more OCD bullshit. If you need the feeling only an orgasm can give you, come find me. You don’t ever need to masturbate again, because I want to do it for you. I’m insatiable– I can go all damn night and day. You’re never showering alone again.”
“Okay,” is a whimper of acquiescence, because as Cortez speaks, he pounds harder into me. I exalt in the brutality of the act, so close to that first time, but not nearly as violently explosive as our second time.
“I’ll fuck you like this every day in this shower if it’s what you need.” Cort’s words tickle my flesh as he speaks, since his teeth are still set into the meat where my shoulder connects to my neck. “Once in a while, I want you to brutalize me back.”
“Oh, God! Yes!” My shout gets muffled against the tile wall where my face is pressed against its coolness, cheek sliding along the surface as my ass gets pounded.
This demanding side of Cortez is a rarity, almost as rare as him so willing to share his body in such a way. We’ve been insatiable in the past few months, but I’ve only returned the favor three times to Cortez.
“And, Ezra?” Words light, sounding highly amused, Cortez teases the hell out of me. “Feel free to keep whacking off on me every morning, but if I catch you cleaning off your spunk again, I’ll punish you. I love wearing you all day– every day for the past twenty years.”
“What?” Groggy, speech sluggish, I’m shocked beyond repair to realize Cort has known all along.
“You’re not deaf.” Cort grunts near my ear at the same time he releases his death grip on my cock and balls. Unleashing my scream of pain mingled with pleasure, he pours fiery hot into my ass.
We turn into mating animals as we rut and fuck and come… and it’s glorious.