Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
I’m rubbing myself through my pants as I step into the bathroom. Empty. Into a stall… I take my dick out. Two strokes, and I’m coming into a thick wad of TP. Oh God. I still feel fucking stuffed, but I think I can do this now.
I fix my pants and wash my hands and try to walk back to the atrium like there’s not something in me.
Adjusting the scaffolding requires some movement, and my legs are still a little shaky. I stop for a while and sketch in a sketchbook. My hand is sweaty, and my fingers are tense. I swallow and try to focus. I can do it.
I sketch some grass and trees, ignoring the low level buzz in my pants and one unexpected bump of the plug on my p-spot.
I breathe slowly. When Pearl shows back up, I’ve just finished setting up more scaffolding. I kept my dick down by thinking about funerals. Which has me feeling kind of raw, but at least I’m not on the verge of cumming my pants.
“How are you feeling?” Pearl asks.
“Better.”
“I’m so glad. Did you sleep okay at your place last night?”
“I did.”
I make it through the small talk, and she’s gone again.
It’s almost time for Luke—if he shows like he said he would. I’ve been thinking I should go into the bathroom so that when he presses the remote, I can come without making a scene. He might get pissed that I’m not in the atrium, but that works for me. I’d like nothing more than to defy him.
Instead, the buzzing starts ten minutes early—when some people are walking through. I swallow a moan, sinking down into a crouch because my legs won’t hold me. He walks by as I pretend to fumble with a box of brushes. I’m breathing heavy, pouring sweat. I see his hand go into his pocket, and the toy jolts. I stand halfway up and sink back down again. Then I half run to the bathroom, where I come in my briefs, clutching the sink.
The fucking plug’s still going. I text him with shaking hands. Stop. It happened.
The toy goes still. It feels heavy in me. My eyelids feel heavy.
A certain Star-Lord will be here in a bit. We’ll be coming through.
You wouldn’t.
;)
I wipe sweat from my temple with a hand that shakes. Then I step into a stall and pull down all the shit I’m wearing. I find my dick half flaccid for the first time today. The briefs are cum-pasted around me. I try to clean them, but they still cling to my junk. I grit my teeth and tell myself he wouldn’t turn it on when they’re in the room. That’s way too risky.
I wash my hands with soap and splash my face with water from the sink. Then I clench around the plug. It’s pretty snug, but I’m still sort of worried I could lose it somehow. Still, I leave the bathroom feeling more collected than I have all day, trying to forget its dragging presence when I move—which I try to avoid doing.
I manage to do a few more sketches of parts of my Eden scene, standing by the scaffolding in case I need to grab onto it. When I feel steady enough, I move slowly around the room, gritting my teeth as I inventory supplies. When Pearl comes through again, I tick off a few more things I need, and she says she’ll get them by morning. I show her the newest version of my scene, and she says she loves it.
“We trust you, Vance. Our committee loved your work. A lot.”
I crosshatch the canopy of trees, trying to figure out proportions. That’s when I hear the sharp echo of footsteps. I hear low male voices and shut my eyes.
Please don’t do it.
I pretend I’m still sketching as their shoes clack behind me. I can hear them talking, but they don’t get close. After a minute, the footsteps amble on. Half a minute later, I jerk as he starts me up again.
3
Luke
I can tell he’s struggling from the way he moves around the room—lots of small, slow steps and random pauses. After I get back to my office and find him out of the camera’s eye—presumably back in the bathroom—I turn the plug off. He texts a few seconds later.
Fuck you.
I turn it back on and get a Christ and then a stop.
I stop, and a few minutes later, he strolls back into the atrium. I watch as he leans against some scaffolding. He’s got a pencil in hand, but there’s no way he’s working. When my guest and I walked by a little earlier, I could see the tension in him.
For the next two hours, I watch as he moves slowly around the room. I notice that he tries not to bend over, and it makes me smirk.