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That doesn’t change how I feel.
I grit my teeth, trying to force myself to think reasonably. It’s a fair answer—if she’s felt this way for a while, her being drunk only means it’s given her the courage to say something to me about it. But that also doesn’t change the other fact of the matter—that I need to stop this before it gets out of hand.
Even so, Sasha, we shouldn’t be talking about this.
Her response is almost immediate, as if she’s been thinking about what she wanted to say.Why not? Everyone else seems to think you look at me like you want me. Don’t you?
Fuck. Lying is a sin, that’s for sure, but I find myself grappling with whether or not honesty would be the greater sin here. What could possibly be gained by telling her the truth other than to hurt her when it goes nowhere?
Of course, I want you. My cock throbs just at the thought, aching and hard, my balls so tight I can feel them pressing against my shaft. I want nothing more than her, but telling her that will only make her wonder why I’m not willing to take it further.
Max?
I let out a sigh through gritted teeth, doing my best to ignore my arousal as I try to focus on typing out a coherent response.
We shouldn’t be doing this, Sasha. You’re drunk, and this can only go badly in the morning.
That’s not an answer.
It’s the only answer I can give you tonight.
Writing that last sentence feels as if it kills me a little inside. It feels harsh, almost wrong, to cut her off so abruptly, but I don’t know what else to say. If I tell her how I feel, or let this go on, it will only be worse in the end.
I don’t want to lie to her, and I don’t want to lead her on. And what I want, more than anything, I shouldn’t and cannot have.
When enough time has passed that I know Sasha isn’t going to respond to my last message, I toss my phone to one side, closing my eyes.
I should go to sleep. But my cock throbs, thinking about Sasha in bed, her hair tangled around her face begging for fingers to run through it, and my frustration is finally too much, boiling over.
Somehow, that conversation and the frustrated emotions it roused was the final straw to break my self-control. I can’t have her, but I need something. After years of forcing myself down the path of self-denial with prayer and meditation, punishing myself for my involuntary weaknesses, the thread finally snaps.
I reach under the covers, pushing my boxer briefs down roughly with one hand as I grip my swollen cock with the other. The instant touch of flesh against flesh is enough to force a hiss of pleasure from between my teeth, my hips jerking upwards to thrust against my palm as pre-cum instantly drips down my shaft.
I don’t have any other lubricant at hand, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t think I could have stopped anyway. With my mind made up to allow myself at least this, my arousal roars ahead, taking over my senses so completely that I’m lost in a sudden sea of pleasure.
There’s no chance that it’s going to last long. My hand jerks along my shaft, mindless strokes of need, as my mouth drops open, a long, low groan filling the room. My fingers clench and twist in the fabric of my underwear, my entire body shuddering at the long-forgotten sensations that, for the last ten years, I’ve only felt in dreams.
Sasha fills my head unbidden, her soft lips and lovely face, her slender body that my hands ache to touch and stroke and feel. I want to hold her, taste her, learn her body as she learns mine, and discover all the ways of giving and receiving pleasure with her. No other woman has ever made meyearnlike this, made me need things that I thought I could happily give up.
I’d thought, on that long-ago night when that girl had tried to invite me into the backseat of her car senior year, that by never experiencing pleasure, I would never crave it. I’d been right for so long.
And now, it feels as if my world is shattering around me.
I gasp as my cock hardens in my fist, the sensations so much stronger than I remember them from the last time I stroked myself to a finish, a lifetime ago. My body feels consumed by it, every muscle rigid, every part of me throbbing, as my entire world becomes centered on my swelling cock and tight balls, the sudden rush of pleasure that seems to come from my core as my cock jerks in my fist and hot cum pours over my squeezing, stroking fist.
The groan of pleasure that tears from my lips sounds almost painful, filling the room as I buck and shudder, fucking my hand as I come hard. It’s Sasha’s face, Sasha’s lips that I see as I come, and the pleasure that rips through me feels nearly unbearable.
My God, what would actual sex feel like?
The aftershocks ripple through me, leaving me panting with my heart beating as if it might burst, but the bliss doesn’t last long. It recedes almost as quickly as it arrived, leaving me with my palm and thighs sticky with evidence, and shame washing over me.
Not just because of the act itself, but because of who I’d thought of while I did it.
How could I be so selfish?
The guilt burns through me as I jerk my hand away, throwing back the blankets and stumbling to the bathroom. I know what Sasha’s been through, what she’s endured. That I could sexualize her in such a way, lust after her for my own pleasure, makes me feel so ashamed that I can’t even look at myself as I wash off my hands, scrubbing away the evidence until my skin is raw and pink.
Sasha needs someone she can trust. And I know I have a choice in front of me.
