Page 35 of Sicken of the Calm
I can do this.
“One,” I start shakily. Two,three. I almost sob in relief as both fingers push back in, slowly this time,in and out, almost soothing. I keep counting. His mouth is on me, but I don’tbreak.
I can do this. I can-
The fingers find my prostate. Istutter, but keep counting, in the thirties now. I’m burning up, rocking intohis fingers, into his mouth, pleasure and strain and numbers, but on the nextthrust, when he hits my prostate with those long fingers, he just keeps themthere, undulating, massaging. He hums around my cock and the mixing sensationsuntether me. I moan.
I don’t even protest when hepulls back, breath coming in choppy. I need him back on me.
I start counting again, but sixtyis an unreachable nirvana. Again, and again, and again, I stop and start. It’sEzra sucking one of my balls into his mouth and pulling. It’s his fingerssuddenly on my nipple, squeezing as he scrapes, ever-so-slightly, his teeth onmy shaft. It’s his fingers massaging my prostate as his hand massages the headof my dick until I don’t know what’s up or down anymore. It’s a hickey on the vulnerableskin on my thigh. It’s his eyes, his mouth, the ties around my wrists. Theanchor of counting keeps me from being able to drift away, making me slipdeeper inside. It forces me aware of every one of Ezra’s presses, of his everypull. There’s nothing but this.
How long have I been here? Howmany times have I started counting, only for my voice to burn to a crisp underthe flame of his hands? It must have surpassed the forty-minute mark, betweenthe counting and the panting and the writhing and the begging in between.
And, then, comes the nextproblem.
Ezra’s fingers are pumping in andout of me, his mouth moving up and down my dick. It’s paced, and ten counts agoit would have been easy to let the rhythm guide my counting. This time,however, I can’t. I’m almost to forty, but I’m about to come. Now, now – not intwenty seconds, but now.
“I’m gonna, Ezra I can’t-”
He pulls away immediately butdoesn’t even grip the base of my dick to try and help me curtail the orgasm. Iclench my muscle, using every ounce of will I have to stop the pleasure fromhurtling me over the brink. For a second, everything is so blinding that Ithink I’ve failed, but, no. My cock is still hard and red, shiny with spit andprecum. I blink and breathe, shaking.
“Good, Joaquin. You’re so good…”Ezra whispers, kissing the hickey he left on my thigh. I try to catch mybreath, but it takes me a while.
When I start counting again, myvoice is trembling. Ezra runs his thumb over the head of my dick, and even thatsends a jolt of electricity through me. I count through clenched teeth as hestarts jerking me off. Slow and loose at first, sliding against his own spit onmy dick, but as I hit twenty-five he starts speeding up, starts tightening hisgrip. Faster, faster, and then rubs the pad of his thumb in circles around myrim. I stop, the wave of pleasure rising too high, threatening to take me over.
“Oh God,” I say.
I wait for longer this time,hoping to edge away from the brink, but it’s difficult to do with Ezra rightthere. As he’s done a couple of times already, he checks my wrists beforesettling back. He only has a hand on one of my splayed knees, not even movingit. I’m glad for the point of contact, but the way he’s looking at me, watchingme as I tremble and sweat and pant through my teeth, desperate for him, isn’thelping matters.
I start counting again. The edgeof desperation in my voice isn’t lost on either of us, I’m sure, but it’s notlong before I break again, and again, and again. I’m too close but toodesperate to wait for more than a minute between counting.
One, two, three.
Two fingers slip into my ass andstart thrusting. He mouths at the head of my dick before sliding down slowly. Ikeep counting, trying not to speed up as I feel that familiar, burning ball ofpleasure expand. I keep counting until, God, I’m almost at fifty, I’m going to,I can…
In the next thrust of his fingers,he slips a third one in, slamming them in. By nothing short of a miracle Imanage to keep counting, my voice breaking and growing in volume but keepingrhythm, but as he starts fucking me ruthlessly with them, sucking on my head, Ibreak, a guttural groan that ends in a sob as he pulls away.
“No, no please Ezra please Ican’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” I babble because I can’t do it. I can’t getto sixty. I need to come, I’m going to run out of breath and sweat and pleadingif he doesn’t let me come.
There’s a hand cupping my cheek.Ezra is blurry over me and I have to blink to realize there are tears in myeyes. I’ve lost track of time, but we must have been at it for more than anhour and a half, now.
“I can’t do it,” I’m saying,voice hoarse and broken. Ezra is making a shushing noise but I’m shaking myhead. I’m so hard it literally hurts. My wrists are sore. My body is achingfrom straining and writhing.
Ezra kisses my forehead, and itonly makes me more desperate. I want to be good for him, but, but-
“Ezra, I can’t. I can’t do it, Ican’t.”
Ezra kisses my lips gently. Ibreathe against his lips.
“Yes, you can,” he says, and Ifeel like sobbing.
“I-”
“Listen to me,” he says gently,and I quiet. He pulls back just enough to look at me without going cross-eyed.“You’re concentrating on the wrong thing. All you’re trying to think about isthe counting, and you’re trying to push the sensations, the pleasure, away.That’swhat’s making this impossible. Counting is easy. It’s the pleasure that’sdifficult to withstand. You think you’re going to come faster if you letyourself feel it, but it’s the other way around. Stop fighting it. Don’t pushit away. Let yourself feel it. Let your mouth do the counting,” he says, voicesteady, eyes intent. I stare up at him. “Colour?” he asks. I swallow.
“Green,” I say because hisexplanation was a perfect description of what I was doing, without evenrealizing it. He looks at me carefully for a moment before nodding and kissingmy lips again.
“Ok. Take a moment. You can startcounting whenever you’re ready,” he says before moving back.
