Part of sex addiction is sometimes saying no or the fates intervening and keeping you from joyous, body spasming, gushing giving in to your predilections.
Last night Cheyenne was available and I’d hoped to put together a little bdsm roleplay after church. We attend a funky, emerging church, praise and worship gathering type thang that kind of alludes to Jesus but it could just as easily allude to some guy named Bob. Still, I truly enjoy it. Anyway, I was thinking afterwards to let Cheyenne violate the tip of my dick with a tiny crucifix which would have been some twisted bit of theological, Thomas Aquinas wearing panties, tease and denial scenario. Didn’t work out, had to pass.
Then, the main event, as if the Madonna was not wearing underwear. My domme in a thong, goddess from on high Stacy, had agreed to the possibility of sex. I always just do domination orgasmatron activity because my fluids are my fluids, theirs are theirs and never the DNA twain should meet. Anyway I was business bonus flush and feeling frisky, made a madcap offer and damn she said yes. I’d tea bag Prince Charles while he was boinking Camilla horse face woman to have a chance to do Stacy. So this was jaw dropping, frightening and almost sweat down the small of my back inducing. However, my lovely bride decided to come join me in the town I was doing business in the evening the culmination of buckets of cum salvation was due to transpire.
Stacy had even promised to come up with a richly humiliating scenario for our “first time.” The possibilities of priapus putdown were immense! Okay..no more p’s….
See, my recovery is intact and wait…I had no fucking fun or release. That’s why recovery is so sweet! Let me fall to my knees and sniff the soiled jockey shorts of my Higher Power in celebration. Ahhhhh……
