Page 18 of Injustice and Absolution

After ten minutes of my rigid dick failing to become even the slightest bit flaccid, I resolve to go to bed and try to ignore the pulse of my swollen, purple appendage. Turning off the cold water, I grab a towel and wrap myself in it to dry off. The normally soft material feels like sandpaper scratching the sensitive skin of my cock.

I groan in pain as I put on deodorant and spray myself with cologne. Then I search my drawer for a pair of pajama pants, deciding to forego boxers altogether. Throwing a shirt over my head next, I angrily slump down onto my mattress and try to control my breathing.

Irritation slithers across my skin and sinks into my veins. I’m pouting like a child who didn’t get their way.

As I close my eyes and inhale deeply, all I can picture is Delilah. The way her long raven hair falls over her shoulders, framing her perfect tits.

Tonight isn’t the first time the cold treatment couldn't alleviate my aching cock. Recently, its effectiveness has been declining at a rapid pace.

Perhaps I’ve been going about this all wrong? What if, all this time, I’ve been making matters worse? If I take care of myself, maybe then she wouldn’t consume me like she does now.

Give in to your hunger.

My demon feeds on my deterioration...

And I let him.

Reaching beneath the elastic waist of my pants, I grip my eager, awaiting cock. As I allow her likeness to creep back into the forefront of my imagination, I work my fist up and down my throbbing shaft. The memory of warm amber wafts into my nostrils as I let her permeate each sense within my imagination.

A sound I don’t recognize vibrates along the walls of my bedroom as waves of pleasure push me out into an unforgiving sea.

Delilah.

Her name floats through my mind, not allowing myself to say it out loud.

Grinding skin against skin, I pick up the tempo of my fist as the beginnings of electricity shine in my vision. I knew it wouldn’t take much, considering how long it’s been since I’ve allowed myself this pleasure.

The moment before arriving at the crest of my orgasm, a squeak in the floorboards outside of my room alerts me to someone’s presence.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

With a firm hold still on my cock, I lay frozen in my bed, silently barking at whoever it is to go away. Maybe someone has come looking for an extra bathroom? They’ll be gone soon, and I can get back to the task at hand...

Literally, in my hand.

But then the last voice I expect to hear sings to me from the other side of my door.

“Royce?”

Delilah.

Is this a sign? It feels more like a punishment from God himself for giving in to my demon. I pull my hand from my cock, my waistband snapping against it. I keep in my cry of pain as I place my feet on the floor next to my bed.

What the fuck is she doing here? Crazed with my most painful unshed orgasm yet, I stomp to the door and throw it open, scaring her.

Fear is written on her face, but there’s something else along with it that I’ve never seen there before.

Determination.

I’m eager to find out what drives it, but my pained cock bellows from beneath my waistband, which is thankfully—blessedly—hidden beneath my long T-shirt.

I watch as she fights to summon the courage to explain her arrival, and part of me wants to root her on. To encourage her bravery. To coax it out of her.

“I-I wa-” she begins before steadying herself. “I want to know what happened to my father.”

This is not what I expected her to say, but I remain still, face rigid. I can’t let her know I have the answers she desires.

In a silent battle of wills, neither of us moves. Waiting for the other person to give in. I would have won that fight had it not been for a painful twinge from my pleading cock to fucking finish the job already.

---