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No two ways about it, I needed to fuck. I needed to fuck bad.

To be exact, my hard cock needed to fuck. It needed to fuck bad, since it had started staying so hard and throbbing after my wife got us all tangled up in that “sex-fast” nonsense that I couldn’t easily tuck it into my pants as I got myself dressed.

To be even clearer, my hard, throbbing cock needed pussy. It needed to fuck a pussy. Worst kind of way. It had been ten whole days since my cock had gotten off, gotten near a pussy, done what it’s designed to do, and I swear to dog I was about to have a blue-balls aneurysm if I didn’t get my rocks off soon.

What I can’t figure out is how in the holy hell I let myself — and my hard cock, and my wife’s hot pussy — get into this situation. I can’t figure out how I let my wife Roz convince me that a ten-day “fast” from sex would be good for our marriage.

Well, I do know how it happened. After ten years of marriage, things had gotten stale. Oh, I don’t mean to say we didn’t fuck regularly. We did, just about every day and sometimes more than once a day. That’s what made this period of self-enforced chastity just so fucking aggravating. My hard cock and her hot pussy weren’t used to going so long without spending time with each other, sometimes more than once a day.

But I’ll admit that our sex life was nothing like it was when that hard cock and hot pussy first got together. When we were dating–started at 18, just out of high school–and after we married, we rutted like there was no tomorrow: in the back seat of my car, in her bedroom or mine if we could sneak each other into our parents’ houses, in our dorm rooms in college when we hung a sock on the doorknob and had some privacy.

Then when we got married, we fucked for hours at a time, all over the house, every position we could imagine and then some. We spent hours reading each other’s horny bodies like sight-challenged people reading braille, with Roz studying the intricacies of my swollen big cockhead and me studying her red, engorged pussy lips, learning what drove each other wild. We sometimes made love, slowly and gently, letting the excitement build and last until we both erupted with hot streams of cum uniting our hungry genitals. We also fucked like animals in heat, sweating and swearing and shouting as we took our pleasure from each other’s body.

We couldn’t get enough of fucking.

Then, gradually, as often happens in long-term relationships, things started slowing down. We’d pretty much explored every position there was, studied every nook and cranny of each other, learned how to tease and edge each other to make our mutual cumming more pleasurable. Things had become vanilla, and Rosalind decided we needed to do something about it. In that blunt, slightly ditzy way of hers that made me fall head over heels in love with her, she suddenly announced one day that we needed to try a ten-day fast from sex, one day for each year of our marriage, and see how that might rejuvenate our sex lives.

I don’t know what made me fall for that cockamamie idea–How do you stop having sex to learn to appreciate sex, for fuck sake?–except that it was clear to me this meant a lot to her, and that my lame attempts at daily fucking weren’t really satisfying her as she deserved to be satisfied.

So I agreed to the proposal, knowing full well she had certainly talked it over with her best friend Trish, but not knowing that Trish is the one who put this idea into Roz’s head, telling her that she and her husband Doug challenged each other to periodic sexual abstinence periods, and this inevitably made their sex all the hotter when they resumed fucking.

Ground rules: no touching. Not only no touching each other, but no touching ourselves. We needed to abstain absolutely from pleasuring ourselves and cumming for a full ten days before resuming our usual sexual activities, and contravening the covenant we were making to abstain from sexual satisfaction would be a serious violation of the ground rules of the project and render it null and void.

Second ground rule: we could talk about sex and tease each other without touching, but moving beyond talking to action was off-limits. The goal was to make ourselves and each other miss and want it so badly that when my hard cock and Roz’s hot, wet pussy finally reacquainted themselves with each other, the rejoining would be explosive. For both of us.

Fool that I am, I decided that this project would be “interesting”–interesting enough to chronicle in a ten-day diary. Let me share that document with you now, a diary of a ten-day sojourn in hell, so you’ll see what I got myself into and why you’d be well-advised to think twice about agreeing to any such crazy scheme if your wife or girlfriend proposed it to you:

Day One:

Dear Diary,

This is going to be a piece of cake. I’m actually glad to have time off like this. I’ve got two years of Golf Digest sitting on the uşak escort lamp table by the easy chair in my study, and the time I’m saving now will let me catch up on them. And that box of Cubans still in their wrappers–they’re not going to smoke themselves. Maybe, in fact, I can get back to some daily gym time. I don’t like to admit it, but I can see signs of dad body creeping up, and it’s time to get back into shape.

When I say “time off,” I mean the long periods of time Roz and I always spend in foreplay in addition to the time we spend when we actually have sex. If I do say so, I’m a more than average lover who knows how to give a woman real pleasure and work her into a sexual frenzy. I pride myself on that skill and have worked hard to hone it. I’ve decided, by the way, that I’m going to avoid the F-word during this ten-day abstention period. If I can’t do it, I won’t say it. I’ll use euphemisms like “lovemaking” and “having sex.”

Roz and I almost always start our sex play with a long session of me using my well-honed skills to work her up to a fever pitch before my cock gets inside her pussy. We start by sensuously undressing each other without touching while we kiss. The touching starts only after we’re both undressed. Long, hot kisses as each button gets undone and each garment comes off.

Then I sit against the headboard of the bed and she sits in front of me, nestling my already hard cock in the crack of her ass, her delectable curves cradled in my arms and legs. I start making love to her with my mouth and hands. I begin by blowing gently around her ears and neck, lifting her hair–Roz always smells like the garden of Eden if sex is thrown into the picture–and planting small hot kisses around and on her ears before I move on to kiss and lick her neck.

By that point, she’s starting to writhe and moan a bit. I know what she wants. Her nipples are super-sensitive, and she wants me to toy with them. But I deliberately hold off on doing that to tease her and heighten the anticipation.

When I finally get to them, I only lightly graze her nipples with my fingertips, finding them distended and firm like delicious sweet gumdrops, as she gasps and says, “Please, Andy, don’t tease me.” I continue kissing and licking her neck while I make circles around her areolae before returning to touch her nipples after wetting my fingertips in her mouth, this time pinching them just a bit between my thumb and forefinger, something that inevitably makes her squirm in delight and gets her hot pussy flowing.

I then trail my fingers lightly and teasingly along her sides and abdomen, continuing to kiss her neck, until I reach her thighs, where I spend what she says feel like anguishing hours moving slowly up and down, touching, playing, until I reach her smooth, soft inner thighs, where I continue touching and playing without involving her pussy. This drives her crazy: “Please, Andy! No more teasing. Play with my pussy. Pleeeease.”

When at long last I reach that gate to paradise, I only graze her outer, then her inner, lips with the tips of my fingers, after I’ve moistened them in her mouth again. That goes on for minutes (more hours, she says) as she tries to force my hands into her love channel, onto her clit, and….

Well, fuck! Now I’ve gotten myself hard as a rock writing all that shit down. My fucking cock is leaking fucking precum like a fucking fountain. Goddamn.

This no-sex thing is not going to be as easy as I thought. As every guy learns from adolescence forward, cocks have a mind of their own. You can tell them to be good little boys and behave, and then they’ll show you up every time. And I do mean up. Mine is up and hard and precumming and I can’t do a goddamn thing about it, since I can’t touch it.

Lesson of the first day: stop thinking or talking about fucking sex until ten days are up.

Think about golf. Think about cigars. Fuck!

Day Two:

Dear Diary,

Okay, I think I have it under control now. Well, I thought I did, woke up thinking I had it back under control and that I could get through nine more days without a lot of fanfare if I avoided thinking about sex. About my cock. About Roz’s sweet pussy. About lovemaking–no F-word for ten days, I promise.

Well, fuck, I thought I had it under control until Roz came down to make breakfast dressed in that sheer, short nightie with nothing on underneath it. I was sitting in my robe at the little table where we have breakfast in the sunny nook looking out over our back yard, minding my business, sipping coffee I had made earlier, and there she was.

In that sheer nightie. Knowing that would turn me on. And sure enough, like clockwork, the spring in my needy dick did its thing and up it sprang, and before I knew it, my thick 6.5-incher was standing up through the robe opening like a cute puppy begging for attention. She knew what she was doing. She knew she was cock-teasing uşak escort bayan me, walking around in that short see-through nightie where with no effort I could see her hard nipples standing up and the beautiful cleft of her shaved pussy right above the hem of the nightie.

Fuck. This was not fair. She knew I had trouble controlling my cock and she was trying to make it even harder–every sense of that word–knowing there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it or with it for nine more days.

I saw her slew her eyes at me, mouth twitching as she tried to hide a grin, as she put the glasses of orange juice on a tray to bring over to me. Then, acting all innocence, she looked down at my robe opening in mock surprise and said, “Why, Andy, what on earth’s the matter with you, sitting at the breakfast table with Big Andy poking up excited like that? Do I have that effect on you in this nightie?”

“You damn well know you do, woman. That’s why you wore it to make breakfast, knowing I’d be sitting here watching you move around and bend that hot ass up in the air as you reached for things and let that sheer nightie move around your nipples and make them hard. You know I can spot that pussy that’s off-limits to me right now through the nightie, and wonder if it’s wet. And you knew all of this would make me hard.”

“Sweetie, we agreed not to touch each other or ourselves for ten days. We didn’t agree not to tease each other. Did we? I can’t spend time with Big Andy until ten days are up, but I can enjoy seeing the effect I have on him and how much he wants some time with my pussy. And, yes, it’s wet seeing my favorite handy standing at attention and saluting me this morning.” Then she hiked that nightie up and showed me her gorgeous slit with pearls beading the edges and the larger pink pearl of her clit standing out from its hood above the slit.

“And you know I can’t do a thing about this, even touch her and satisfy her with my fingers or toys, while we’re fasting from sex. You’re being naughty teasing her in this way.”

Me teasing her?! Godamighty, what was the woman talking about? She’d done all but take my hard dick and rub it on that luscious slit and clit to tease me, every minute since we’d gotten up. And here she was telling me I was teasing her? What in hell was wrong with this devil woman?

Handy: that’s the code word we started using to talk about Big Andy when we were dating. You’ve figured out by now that Big Andy is my cock. It’s not so big as in long, but is definitely big as in thick, a girth Roz says pleasures her pussy like no sex toy she’s every had inside it.

Roz invented the term “handy” to give us a way to talk dirty and tease each other when we’re with friends who have no idea what that word really means to us. Case in point: just last week we were at dinner with Trish and Doug, and she said, smiling sweetly across the restaurant table, “I do like to keep a handy tool around the house to fix anything that needs fixing. You know, honey, that tool–I can’t think of the name–that I use to fix almost anything. It’s just so handy that I never want to let it out of my sight.”

And I replied, “Yeah, darling, I know the tool you mean, and I think it has lots of names. You’re right, it sure comes in handy.”

Ever since we started making love, we’ve talked shit like that when we’re with friends, trying to keep a straight face, getting each other so worked up that the minute we get into the car and start driving home, she has my pants unzipped and Big Andy out, slowly stroking him from his big flaring purple tip to his full balls, until sometimes I cum like a geyser before we even reach our house. We keep a towel under the front seat to clean up the mess.

Once we reach the house and get inside, we tear each other’s clothes off just inside the front door and she takes Big Andy in her hand–that’s how the “handy” tag got started–and walks me to the bedroom, using my cock as a handle to lead me along, as she continues the hot stroking that started in the car, and….

Fuck! I’m doing it again. When you can’t have sex and can’t talk about sex, sex is the one thing that’s most on your mind. That’s one lesson I’m learning with this ten-day sex-fast crap. Where are those Golf Digest back issues when I need them? I have got to get my head out of the gutter and stop thinking about any of this. If that temptress incarnate my wife has turned into would stop teasing the hell out of me, I might be able to exercise more control.

Day Three

Dear Motherfucking Diary,

Go fuck yourself. I’m sitting here looking at this new blank page knowing that you’re in collusion with my temptress-wife to get me all hot and bothered as I write about what happened today, knowing that you want me to start talking and thinking horny and writing horny, when I can’t do a thing about what my hard cock aches to do.

So I’m not going to fall into escort uşak your trap today and say more about how this day went, except that this abstinence thing is for the fucking birds.

Though Roz seems to be having a good time with it, cock-teasing the hell out of me by going around with no panties, bending over “innocently” when she knows I’m looking, letting a tit fall out “accidentally” from her low-cut blouse. This is for the birds. I’m going to close you up and write nothing else today, sit in my study and have a cigar and let the world go by as I daydream about the end of day ten.

Day Four

Dear Diary,

Well, that happened. For the first time since I was in high school, I had a goddamn wet dream last night. Came all over myself and the sheets. And I know she noticed what had happened when we woke up.

I saw her looking over at the wet spot in the sheets and smiling to herself while she stretched, moving her luscious ass to tease me, letting her tits jiggle as she stood sideways, giving me a good glimpse of that hot ass and those gorgeous tits but keeping her pussy concealed from me. Then do you know what that woman did?

She said, “I’ve decided something. Since we’re not being intimate this week to renew our appetite for sex, and can’t please ourselves or each other, I’ve decided to do something I haven’t ever done. I’m going to do housework in the nude. It will be freeing, when all other avenues have been stopped up for us.”

And out of the bedroom she sauntered, naked as the day she was born, ass wiggling, to head downstairs and make our breakfast. Well, two can play that game, I thought to myself. So up I jumped from the bed, not a stitch on me and Big Andy sticking out proud and sturdy like a little soldier standing at attention, and down the stairs I went to join her in the kitchen.

And that’s how we spent the whole day, my cock swinging in the breeze or hard and excited by Roz’s hot body, pretending this was the most natural thing in the world. At one point, she said to me, “Hon, why don’t you and Big Andy go into your study and you have one of your cigars to relieve some stress? He looks miserable, all swollen and red like that, with no relief in sight for several more days. Be careful not to let ash fall on my handy, though! I want him in apple pie order when I can start using him again to please me after our fast is over.”

She knew what she was doing, bedeviling and tormenting me.

That woman has turned into the devil incarnate. And goddamn yeah, while I was leafing through last November’s issue of Golf Digest and not paying attention to my cigar, some hot ash did sift down onto my cock and it hurt like hell. She’s casting spells now, saying things and making them happen!

Day Five

Dear Diary,

Well, fuck. It happened again! Jizzed all over myself in the night like a pimply teen with raging hormones who looks at pussy in skin mags but hasn’t been able to find a real one to fuck.

This is getting ridiculous. This is what she accomplished by prancing around naked all day yesterday. This is what she wants to cause.

Day Six

Dear Diary,

Getting desperate. Went to the gym. Old Doug was there working out. Winked at me, the old sumbitch, and said, “What’s up, man?” Then, laughing like a loon, “Not much, from what I hear, bud. I hear you’re not getting any for ten days. How’s that working out for you? Are they turning blue and aching yet?” More of that loon laughter as he started working the pulley again….

I was so mad I could have chewed nails. Roz had taken it on herself to share our private live with Trish who shared it with Doug. Who in our circle of friends didn’t know now that I wasn’t getting anything for ten days, suffering the worst case of blue balls I’d had since I was a horny teen, having fucking wet dreams, for crying out loud?

I decided I’d work it all out, my anger at Roz (and Doug and Trish), my pent-up sexual energy, by pumping some heavy iron. And then you know what happened? I’m embarrassed as hell to say this, but when Doug came over to spot me on the weight bench and got next to me, my goddamn cock started to stand up like a pillar. And I know goddamn well he saw me pop that woody, because I saw him smirk.

Is that what my devil woman of a wife wants, for me to go bi or pan or whatever they’re calling it now? Never in my life have I had the slightest interest in another man and his junk. I’ve certainly never touched another man’s dick or had my own dick touched by a guy. Does she want to drive me to the point that I’ll fuck anything or anyone? Is that her plan? Does she want me thinking about fucking a sheep because I’m so horny I can’t stand it?

I’ll say it again: This shit is for the birds.

Day Seven

Dear Diary,

Okay, I’ll come out and say it: All I can think about right now is sex.

Men trekking through a desert with no oasis dream of nothing but water. Starving people fantasize about nothing other than food.

I’m starving. And she’s enjoying it!

When ten days are up, I’ll fuck her again, all right. I’ll fuck the shit out of her until she begs me to stop. Or begs for more, which, knowing Roz and her sexual appetite, is more likely.

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