I’d…I’d never done this before. Like an infirm I’d barely left my bed, once to toast some bre
I’d…I’d never done this before. Like an infirm I’d barely left my bed, once to toast some bread which I called my dinner. Several times for water, for the bathroom, on shaky legs.. Once I’d even made it to the shower, to scrub off the filth I’d been wallowing in since arriving home from work yesterday. But here I was again, in the dark on my miserable mattress, soft pajama shorts around my knees, scrolling through her feed. Watching, refreshing, waiting for new pictures, new comments. I’d gone beyond obsessed. Maybe I didn’t even know it at the time, but there was something wrong…It’s like my cock was mocking me, challenging me, hovering thick and throbbing once again over my belly, raw. It had been…I’d lost track. An unbelievable number of times, since yesterday, each one draining me, weakening me, but giving me no real, lasting peace. The relief was always just temporary; and it inevitably returned, swelling. I’d allowed myself to fall into a spiral, the old t-shirts laying in a pile, thickening at my bedside with my crust and goo, a testament to my pathetic, masturbatory bender. I’d always been well-endowed, but it was much bigger than it should be.“g-go away..!”Like a distraught, deranged, demented cretin, I’d taken to speaking to it, cursing it, begging it for mercy. “st-stop it stop it stop” I’d say, all the while flogging myself, wide-eyed as I goggled at a new bra shot, or an old bikini pic from the beach. But it, the only part of me that looked strong any more, nine-plus inches of veined, bullish meat on my thin frame, only laughed silently at my pleas. It had put me in a daze, any willpower I’d ever had not even a factor anymore. I’d just promised myself for the fourth time - just before midnight - that I’d stop, that i’d try to get some sleep, finally abandon the brutish thing between my legs when a text came through…my first all day… shit shit shit. of course i’m not going out now - not only am I a wreck, I’m too chickenshit, I thought to myself, and besides…she’s home. With her cat. dammit why…? Why am I…? Amidst all these other ugly feelings, this loathing self-reproach, I’m also jealous, laying here alone, in the dark, in the glow of my phone. Seeing all these guys she’s teasing online, these men “simping” for her…it burns me up. Or hearing about Friday night, at the bar they’d been at, the “goons”, as Amelia called them, probably flirting, leering, drinking, dancing. Why was I feeling jealous, possessive? I knew it was unreasonable, but it…it vexed me, and just fueled my already-angry cock to thicker and thicker lengths, made it throb with rage. It had dwarfed me all day, bullied me, and I was too emotionally bereft to fight but ffffffuck….I can’t…I can’t have others… doing that…with her…