What To Do If You Can't Stop Throbbing For Her
You’re obsessed.
It’s not a new thing, it’s been growing for a long time and you can’t stop it. The urges, the need to consume your mind with thoughts of her in order to live a happy, healthy, functioning life. You tried soo hard to be normal and go on dating apps and forget all about her, and yet, you run back to her every time. Just one text… only to spiral into conversations that paint your life more vividly than any other drug could. Nothing can touch you when you’re coasting on a high of having talked to the woman of your dreams. Nothing gets you as hard anymore, porn is pointless, the same genres you used to be able to cum to in seconds you stare at disgustedly. There is nobody but Her.
You try not to bother her. Every one of your interactions is too sacred for you to squander the opportunity to talk to her on some useless, uninteresting, forced dialogue. You know she has a perfect life to tend to. You really try to savor the words she shares with you, her thoughts, her musings, her laughs, her time. You’d give it all up if it meant knowing she’d never frown again, and you do your best to make sure she’s never inconvenienced. Money means nothing to you anymore but a way to please the woman you love. Pleasure notes, you refer to them, as you pluck every bill out of the tattered wallet your ex girlfriend bought for you because you can’t afford a new one, and put everything in that of a woman who will never call you her own. You don’t wave it in her face, you do so oh so discretely, so that when she finally does have the off chance of having to pay for something, she’ll see the money you snuck in and put a smile on her face.
It’s all you want, really, to benefit her like she’s done for you. She’ll never go out of her way for you but she doesn’t have to, her mere existence is favor to you enough. You’d do anything for her. Which is how you ended up here, retrieving an innocuous package from the mailbox, knowing exactly what’s coming for you: a cold, hard, chastity lock.
You’re a normal guy. You’ve never done anything like this, you think to yourself as you try to force your dick past the unforgiving stainless steel rings of solitude. Chastity is a new thing for you, suggested only once by Her, in a joke that she certainly forgot telling you but burned something in your soul to remember for a lifetime. It was simple, really, she was browsing through her dating apps and casually mentioned that you’d never be one of these guys, a contender to take her out and fuck her like a real man, no, you’re locked up. Metaphorical? Yes. But she planted a seed so deep in your mind you couldn’t shake it and now you’re restricting your manhood (or lack thereof) for her in your tiny little bathroom (downsizing became a thing after your habitual cash dumping into her wallet), picturing the keys draped around her décolleté. Visions of her sabotaging your attempts at lockup now swarm your mind as your dick tries to grow through the cage and you wince, but the pain she’s caused you without even lifting a finger feels… kind of good. Amazing. Unmatchable. You dream about her perfect little hand clasped around your dick. Fantasies.
She has no idea why you walk funny now. Or does she? The lock makes a clinking sound but you’re exercising self control. You wear extra pairs of boxers to try to mask the sound but it feels as if the whole world knows you’re her bitch now. You wonder if perhaps you should have ordered a size larger, your dick throbbing and about to explode in the cage the second you think about interacting with her. It’s become your favorite feeling, this secret knowing that she’s the reason your dick feels so tortured. Even better knowing that she’d howl with laughter if you told her what you did to yourself, all squished and unnaturally mangled to fit inside a tiny, inch wide device you elected to force upon yourself.
You’re both not one for unnecessary conversations, you know that. So when she holds out her perfect palms, you know exactly what to place in them: a thick wad of cash, and the keys to your cock on a diamond tennis necklace.
