Masturbation Process

I sat there with duct tape wrapped three layers deep around my hard hands. I had the door closed, the TV on and enough food to last me at least a few days. Of course I hadn't really thought about how I was going to taste my food with all this tape on me, but … it was just three days. I had read a lot about kicking habits and I was thought to go cold turkey.
I have been a chronic usual masturbator for two years now. At first it wasn't a constant  habit, not even a chip. But it happened that I'd just be exceptionally horny and go for it. Hands only, no non-bodily stimulation, just the basics. I didn't chat about it, didn't even really imagine it. I just was doing it.
Then I got a job at my office; work was stressful. I came in my apartment and relax in the tub, masturbating with the water pressure, or maybe I'd watch TV and find my hand slipping down my pants. Before I knew what was happening I was doing it without thinking many times. My fingers managed to find their way on their own. I would count the minutes until work-hours ended, just thinking of the time I would relax. I made sure there were extra charged batteries in the apartment. I installed them in my vibrators their own shelf.

At that moment it was getting out of my control. I wouldn't answer the phone, finding myself alone for hours, days, huddling underneath the blankets, on the couch, even on the floor, on the bed everywhere, just me and masturbation. I hid extra batteries from my house in my bottom drawer at work.

Then, I stopped going to my office completely. It was like a bad after-school practice. My friends took care of me, my mother thought I was gay and I had earned more free movies at the video store than anyone else in the neighbourhood. Finally, when at last I was out of money, glossy magazines and lube, I decided I needed a help. I thought about just cutting down, tapering off slowly, not making my system shocked. One day of that, I was looking for a professional help, but didn't have the cash or the time, Escorts in Kiev.
It was then that I decided to have everything under my own control. I took a holiday, holed myself up in the apartment and sat back. I wasn't going to open the door for anyone, to speak with anybody in Kiev and if I was crawling up the walls then so be it. There would be no anybody fucking myself. Or if there was, I would do it in consideration.

It lasted about an hour. Two episodes of 90210 and I was gnawing at my thickly wrapped hands. Those bathing suits, toys, that beach, those boobs! The duct tape hasn't been budging. I put my thighs together as tight as I could and squeezed, but I was way past that point. I began dry humping the arm of my couch, rubbing my crotch frantically against the upholstered fabric. Goddamn pants, always in my own way. I straddled the thing, aimed to get off.
I made my eyes tight as one of the lifeguards dove into the ocean, then came up for air, water dripping down her face. I was almost there—bumping and grinding the chair. Who needed help? I plunged on full cant ahead when suddenly a full facial smack of guilt was brought upon me by a knock on the door.

I froze, paralyzed by actions. Have I stop and try to keep up my regimen of one-handed celibacy, or continue and get off, screaming and shaking into the night?

"Nata?" a man's voice yelled. "It's Alex, your mother's neighbour, she sent me over to make sure you were all right."

"Uh…" some kind of extremely unattractive gurgle was trying to make its way out of my throat. Alex, the good neighbour, must have taken it as a cry for help. He broke down the door and was un wrapping my hands without time.

"What kind of monster made this with you?" He asked, aghast by the vast waste of tape on my hands.

I cried, I sniffled, and I made him feel pity for me. Three minutes had hardly passed before I was in his arms allowing him to comfort me and by the time that minute hand had reached the next number we were laying naked on the floor. His dick was thick strong and smooth and slid easily into my soaking wet crotch. Alex, my mother's neighbour, was a great fuck—the ultimate dildo.

He just lay there while I worked my wet snatch up and over him, rubbing my rock hard clit against him just the way I wanted to. He offered a few involuntary groans and that was all I wanted. I pressed my still mostly taped hands into his chest and slammed my body up and down as strong as I could. Within few seconds my over-stimulated clit was throbbing and I was shaking and moaning, coming all over his non-plastic prick.

He lay there, relaxed. I climbed off and gave my hands to him. He sadly completed untying them. We both knew I was too far gone and that, in the overall horniness of the most part of  my life, he was just another tool on my descent into masturbatory madness. He went away and I reached into my food supplies, suddenly extremely turned on by the slight curve of my spoon as it dipped delicately into the ice cream.

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