#11 IN ACTION
(PARIS)
Buried deep below the everyday life of our society lives a world of nightmares-of violence and murder no one dares speak about. It is called the Sinner's Society.
In the murky waters of Chicago's underworld I'm arranged to marr...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Lips swollen and cocklet throbbing in my shorts is how he leaves me with Ours and Madonna in the guest room for some hours. On our way I meet almost everyone possible. Ross and Luke the unkempt lot just awakened. Dom in his boots and leather jacket read the take on the world. Landon looking like an old blend of scotch knitted in suit and coarse voice. Alex introduces me to Mickey and Jinx. I've seen them at Paradise but never had the opportunity to speak.
I won't bore you with the details of the hours that follow. Basically, I virtually run to the bathroom and the lights flick on. Shutting the door, I lean against it and let out an exasperated sigh. I can hear Ours big puffs of sniff and his claws scratching now and then on the wood.
I can't allow him to kiss me again.
I'm wound too tight.
I'm going to explode.
He's teasing me. Taunting me. He's doing it because he knows I'm torn. He's a smart man. He's scrambling my senses, but worst of all, my mind.
Undoing my shorts and pushing it down to my knees with the lace knickers, I palm my hard cocklet. It throbs, desperate for friction... desperate for the kind of attention it has been denied yet again.
Closing my eyes, I start stroking myself. It isn't soft; I certainly don't savor it. My teeth sinks into my bottom lip as I stroke rough, and fast, more about relief than pleasure, needing to release some steam or I'll be a miserable, short-tempered bastard for the evening.
Even more so than usual.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I grate quietly, leaning my head back against the door as I feel my orgasm building, pleasurable pain ripping through me. I bring my other hand up and bite the knuckle to hold back the noises vibrating my chest. My back arches off the door as orgasm rips through me in my palm, loosing myself in the mind numbing feeling. A moment, a minute, an hour. I open my eyes, shoulders sagging; some of the tension recedes from my body.
I walk over to the mirror to inspect myself. It's as I suspected. My eyes are swimming with unshed tears, my lips swollen and red, and my cheeks are flushed. I try in vain to straighten myself out. Bend over the sink, washing my hands and splash water across my face in an attempt to collect myself. I unbend and keep my eyes closed trying to control my erratic breathing.
