Buildup (3): The Agonizing Tease
Swipe—it's 2:37 a.m. Most people are fast asleep in their beds, gearing up for tomorrow. Swipe—sure, a few might be up wasting time or working, but the vast majority are out cold. And right now, me?
"Urgh..."
I'm diligently wiping down the thoroughly soaked bed. The fresh towel I grabbed from the bathroom has already absorbed a ton of fluids and turned into a soggy mess. Even after mopping up the water, the bed still reeks of sex and feels damp. At least it's not all bad—since I masturbated face-down and rolled to the side, only one section got wet. I can just throw the blanket over it, bunch it to one side, and sleep without too much discomfort.
"Gotta wash this..."
The blanket that was covering the bed—and everything underneath—is soaked through. If love juices reached the mattress... ugh. Just thinking about it is a hassle.
"Ahh..."
I try to wipe off just enough moisture to crash, but then I realize my body's in the same pathetic state as the bed. My crotch and thighs are slick, and the sweat that's dried and reformed all over my skin leaves every inch feeling sticky and gross. Looks like I'll have to shower before bed after all.
Shoooo—
Standing under the pouring water, I sink back into thought. Didn't I swear to myself I'd cut back on masturbating? Like, today? Looking at myself now, I'm the picture of a sleazy, pitiful slut. How long ago was that resolution? And here I am, covered in pussy juices at night, needing a full shower because I jerked off so hard.
"Get a grip, Seyeon."
I lecture myself again, strict and solemn and dead serious. This time... this time I'm really gonna shape up and quit cold turkey.
And exactly one day and a few hours later.
"Nngh."
I'm masturbating again.
What? Why? A whole day is some serious restraint, okay.
*****
Honestly, this was totally unavoidable. I tried to hold out. Proof? I woke up late, sure, but I held off for a full day after that.
Of course, I slept in so late that half the day was gone already.
Of course, instead of chasing dopamine through singing practice or workouts, I skipped all that and just gamed.
Of course, I scarfed down lunch, messed around, scarfed down dinner, messed around some more, and suddenly it was bedtime.
But that's still pretty damn good. Back when I quit my job, I'd spend five days a week like this anyway. After turning into a girl and grinding self-improvement—plus developing my body—for two straight days, a little playtime like this is fine. Healthy, even. It's my reward, a well-deserved break.
Yeah, yeah. This is totally fine.
Before I knew it, the clock had ticked past 1 a.m. again. Back when I had to commute, I'd force my eyes shut before midnight—even accounting for doomscrolling in bed on my phone. But lately, my bedtime's been creeping later and later. Eh, whatever. No early mornings or reasons to get up at dawn anymore. With my job gone, letting my schedule slip is just natural.
Around 1 a.m., my honest body starts fighting the drowsiness hard. Once the computer's dopamine drip cuts off, sleepiness floods in for real. My eyelids droop in sync.
I decide not to fight it. I drag my weary body the short distance to bed and flop face-down. The damp spot's mostly dried by now—barely any trace left. What, you thought I did laundry right away? Like any solo liver would spin the washer that fast. Impossible.
Anyway, I surrender my fatigued body to the fluffy bed. And with familiar motions, I grab my phone again...
"Argh, almost killed it."
I catch myself right before launching the VPN app. That essential for accessing porn sites. VPN—the bastard that's got me hooked on pleasure.
"I'm deleting you."
Who's the real culprit behind porn binges? The smartphone! But smashing my phone would bankrupt my broke ass. So next culprit: VPN! You're done.
My decision is swift and ruthless. My finger nails the uninstall on the no-fap villain, VPN. Threat neutralized... or so I thought.
What to do instead of jerking off? That dilemma doesn't last long. In my hand: the pinnacle of modern tech, every hikikomori's lifeline. A tiny dopamine machine.
I fire up the novel app I'd abandoned in my haze.
[Resume from last viewed chapter?]
...What was I reading last? No clue. Doesn't matter much—I never binge a single novel anyway.
Time to hunt for something tasty on the rankings, I think—just as I clear the popup and hit the main screen. That's when I realize I've fucked up.
This site? A hardcore male-oriented novel hub.
In other words...
"Urgh."
The main screen greets me with a massive-titted beauty smiling right at me. Auto-scrolling banner? Cutie with huge boobs. Scroll down? More cuties. Tits. Boobs. Nips...
I mean, come on—even the covers are all busty girls, no dudes or tomboys in sight. Tomboy genre's dead, huh?
I zone out scrolling thumbnails a bit longer, then force-quit the app. Any more of this, and I'll cave for sure.
...Webtoons. Yeah, webtoons.
But I overlooked something. That "reputable, wholesome" site full of rom-coms and gags? It's been flooded with adult webtoons lately.
Webtoon main page loads—yeah, the usual gag stuff's there, but the layout's different now.
"Eek."
Two massive adult titles plastered front and center. Not as boob-forward as the novel site, but after that warmup—plus a full day of no-fap blue balls—even this tiny stimulus hits like a truck.
Gulp—
Ah. No. Don't swallow like you're tense already, you horny mess.
I bail from the site like it's on fire. My flushed cheeks are unavoidable, but if I chill now and sleep it off, I'll be fine. I power down the phone.
Or try to.
Damn my thorough ass—I check the last notification.
Usually, I skim and ignore these default messaging app pings. But today's header's different.
Soon, the items you ordered—Ultimate Pleasure Wired Vibrator (Pink), Massive Black Man's Power [M], and 3 other items—will be delivered right to your door.
I knew what that message meant. Only one package I've ordered lately. That stuff. The adult toys.
Mystery foreign pink rotors. Three of 'em. The ultra-massive black dildo. And that decorative, lumpy, monstrous big L-size beast dildo...
That horrific monster cock heading to my place.
...I tap it anyway, even knowing full well.
And yeah, the contents match my guess. But this time's different from before. The shipping label lists the products blatantly.
Ew. Why spell it all out like that?
...Fuck, it's hot. Ah. This is seriously testing me.
My hand drifts south naturally. My pussy's already getting wet. I tug down my panties and pants just enough—legs not fully exposed, but my slit fully bare and ready for fingers.
I should hold out. But goddamn, it's hard.
Right as my hand dips lower on instinct, I barely manage a rational thought. It stops at my belly. I roll sideways, pants halfway off, frozen.
Right now, I'm drowning in the urge to masturbate. Rationally, I recognize it—but my instincts scream shamelessly to just rub one out now.
I'm already revved up, so stopping's tough. Compromise time, then. A point where instinct and reason shake hands.
The idea? Delay it. Bank this arousal for tomorrow. When the toys arrive. For an even better, premium orgasm.
Just a little longer. A tiny bit more patience.
I clasp my hands together, squeeze my eyes shut, and will myself to sleep. Cooling this heated body with sleep ain't easy. But hoping for that explosive payoff at the end of this ache... I spend another night soaked in excitement.