When 9:00 rolled around, I whimpered when I heard the electronic chime.
"Fast or slow?" you asked.
"Just get it over with," I pleaded.
"A wicked smile formed on your face, "I think we'll go the whole 3 hours then."
"But that's not fair," I protested.
"No, I guess it isn't," you agreed and slowly and methodically began teasing me again.
This time you added the sensation of a small, fine bristled paint brush, which sent me spiraling toward an orgasm almost immediately. Over and over, you brought me to the edge and left me, watching my, expressions, taking in my pain, suffering, and most of all, agonizing frustration.
"I can't take any more," I begged and I saw your hand slip between your legs for the first time.
"Oh, dear, we have barely even started," you laughed. Almost as if on cue, the chime went off, alerting us both that it was 12:00.
"Why stop when we're having this much fun?" You chuckled. We both laughed. Yours came from somewhere deep inside, mine from a quiet resignation that I would keep suffering for you.
"We haven't even made it through the first day," you reminded me, "and you are already weakening." You smiled, "and I like that."
Slowly, I felt your grip tighten around my cock, and then a gentle squeezing, almost a pumping until I had grown hard in your grasp again. It had been 12 hours and I was so in need of relief. I shook slightly as you continued stroking me. You inhaled deeply, watching me shake.
I managed to whimper a "please," just before a tear welled up in my eye and ran down my cheek.
You scooped the tear up on your finger and placed it on your tongue, leaned down and whispered in my ear, "Mmmmmmmmm."
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