I’m pulling an all-nighter because until tonight, I forgot how to love myself.
I don’t mean like that, come on. I am plenty confident. I am talented. I am cute. I am me and I own it. I know how to love myself like that.
I mean I am remembering how to spend a night looking at my pale skin under the lights in my room and not just accept it, find myself sexy. I am remembering the spots that if I touch, I get a sensation similar to an itch but with this irresistible burn of feelings we don’t have words for. They’re good feelings. They burn insatiably with the most piercing good one could imagine. Or maybe beyond that. They move and shake and zip around my body, each stroke, each touch, shit, sometimes just each glance.
The contrast between the dark hairs and the pale skin make my penis a visual spectacle. I poke, and stand back looking in amazement, wondering how such incredible euphoric sensation can come from such an ordinary thing.
This visual pleasure intensifies almost instantly when I grab one of my toys; items most would – and definitely have in the past – laughed at me for. Soft, I mean soft beyond words, lush, wonderful handles with explosions of fibers protruding from the ends. Makeup brushes. Like I said, I get laughed at.
I don’t get laughed at tonight. Just me, my beautiful, innocent, soft skin, being caressed with these amazing brushes. Starting around the bottom of my neck, moving straight down my chest and then carving around the inner parts of my thighs, I am no longer in control. The soft, silent pleasures which light my neurons up like a city at night take command. My eyes roll back and I exhale. Almost losing my entire self, the hand and the brush move on their own. They find the bottom of my shaft and stay there for a moment. A dull, thankful feeling arises below my stomach and moves up my whole body, tickling the insides which have become the warmest and coziest they can feel.
The feeling moves up, inside my body, up my chest, explodes outward around my nipples, and my hand makes a dive down my shaft toward the head of my penis. Thousands and thousands of hairs, softer than comprehension, make their way across each cell of skin on my cock. The brush moves up, down, up, down, circles just below the spot where the pale skin meets my head. I cry out in a feeling of beautiful hopelessness; I am at the mercy of this soft brush running and dancing across my cock. I most likely look ridiculous, but if you could know how I felt in this moment, you’d be gasping for air too. This simple movement of skin and fibers and muffled screams and tingling phantom sensations which keep exploding out of my skin seemingly, they all build with each stroke.
I’ve got the lights on. I can see every piece of what is happening upon my poor cock as this domineering brush becomes more aggressive and pokes my cock head repeatedly. Some of the hairs feel their way toward my urethra. It’s just enough to send an entirely more intense level of electricity through my entire body. I gasp audibly. My legs buckle. I look down at my pale cock, the dark brush, and with my other hand I grab a feather duster. The duster now soothes my upper chest, caressing my nipples endlessly in unison with the brush strokes. It feels like a soft blanket of wonder, sending goosebumps across my chest and nipples. My face feels the cool shock of the chills for a second, my body convulses, and I catch my breath.
Looking down, the brown of the feathers resting on my pink nipples, the black of the kabuki brush resting just above my cock, I let go of these items. The brush falls onto the bed, rolling right across the skin of my scrotum and catching every hair as it does. I lay my head on the pillow, and melt as I exhale.
I am nowhere close to orgasm, but every god damn stroke is better honestly.
I am staying up tonight because I’d rather this continue than me come and sleep it off, admitting defeat, depriving enjoyment.
Laugh, call me tame if you want, but until you understand, it is your loss.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ig6n8c/im_pulling_an_allnighter