For the past three days, I’ve had a single thought swimming in my head, one that causes my heart to race and my body feel flushed. It’s the thought that has had me teasing myself every chance I get. Whether it’s running my fingertips across the denim fabric of my jeans to tempt my swollen cock throughout the day, causing it to twitch with every lazy stroke. Or when it’s the skin on skin in bed at night, my left hand inside my boxer briefs continuing the luscious torment of bringing myself to the edge of exploding but holding it back.
There is nothing I want more than to shoot off pent up ropes of cum, to allow my cock to throb uncontrollably, feel its thickening under the tight grip of my hand, and erupt. Even now, as I write this to share, I often take a little break to carry on my play. A thumb and index finger, my shaft clenched in-between, rhythmically running up and down towards an inflated glans. And God, if I’m not careful I’ll lose control. But I have not and will not.