© 2012, All rights reserved – mimaster
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"I've got to get a map," I said as I shook my head.
My mind had started to wander, yet again. I'd been daydreaming off and on most of the last few hours as a way of trying to ease my tension and frustration. I'd already played a couple of cassette tapes along the way, and now I was listening to the radio, the first quarter of a pro football game between the Rams and the Saints coming through the speakers. It was the third game I'd listened to during the trip, and yet I was still who knows how long from getting back to the hotel. As I stared at the long line of traffic in front of me, I had a decision to make.
I had gotten a late start on my drive heading back to West Virginia, the end of my little Thanksgiving jaunt to Indiana coming later than I'd expected. I'd gotten off to late starts before, many times. But this time was different. I just didn't know at the time that it was going to affect the rest of my day as much as it did. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, another five minutes passed, the car only moving forward maybe fifty feet. Staring at the endless line of red tail lights stopped in front of me, I let out an exasperated gasp.
"I've got to get off this road!"
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The entire trip had been the whirlwind kind, extremely short and very eventful. When I'd started out, I wasn't really sure if it was going to be worth the hassle, since I'd be returning again for the wedding festivities less than a week later. But I couldn't imagine being alone in a hotel room for the holiday.
From the moment I arrived back at my parents' house, I knew it was the right decision to drive through the night to get there. Ann saw to that, with a little help from my mother. And not only did my fiancée give me one of the most incredible 'welcome home' moments a man could ever dream of, she went out of her way to keep me sexually satisfied the entire extended weekend, even though she started her period the day after I arrived. From handjobs in the car, to using her amazing oral skills in her parents' basement, to even allowing Tina to fuck me one more time, she seemed to thrive on finding different ways and places to make me cum.
One of them had been late the night before as we watched television on the couch in the living room of my parents. They had already gone off to bed, but we'd stayed up, not wanting our first holiday as a couple to end.
The couch was against the wall, tucked in a corner of the room. It wasn't the best place to watch TV, because it didn't face the screen. Instead, it faced the sliding glass door on the opposite wall, the television directly to the right in the corner of the room near the entry to the foyer. Yet Ann had insisted that we sit together there, because it was the only piece of furniture in the room for two or more people. She had me sit nearest the television, while she sat on the far side, craning her neck to see around me.
"Are you sure you want to sit like that?" I asked.
"For now," she said, simply content to be sitting close at my side.
My parents sat in recliners as my dad controlled the channels, flipping back and forth between two college basketball games that neither Ann nor I had any real interest in. But she pretended to. Then again, from the comments she was making, maybe she was more interested than I thought.
As she always seemed to do, she carried on a conversation while we watched, entertaining both of my parents, using the basketball games as a backdrop to do it. Sure, she talked about a lot of other things, but she'd always come back to something that happened in one of the games, which kept my dad into the excitement of each contest. At least, he was into it for a while.
No matter what was going on in a sport he would watch, no matter how compelling the events were as they unfolded, if it got late, he went to bed. I'd seen him get up in the middle of a double overtime in a Stanley Cup playoff game and tell me to let him know who won in the morning. So when he decided to go to bed at halftime of the game he was watching the most, it wasn't a surprise.
However, my mom getting up to follow him down the hallway most certainly was. She loved watching sports, and she almost never went to bed early. She likely did it to give us some time alone, since it was our last together before I'd be leaving.
Dad had handed the remote to me and when I asked Ann which game of the two she wanted to finish watching, she laughed.
"I don't care, Neil," she grinned as she reached for the button of my jeans before we'd even heard the door of my parent's bedroom close. Seconds later, she'd found a way to coax me into pushing them down around my ankles, her naughty smile making a convincing argument.
She grabbed a pillow, placing it against the arm of the couch, laying her head back into it. Before I could say anything, she lifted her legs off the floor, resting her bare left foot lightly against my balls, her right landing on my stomach.
"Relax and enjoy the game, baby. I promise I won't make this last too long," she chortled.
I found it interesting the way she said that. She loved playing with my cock, taking great delight in delaying my orgasm, prolonging my pleasure in the process. Of course most of the time that meant that she was giving me a handjob. Yet since it was her feet that were resting on my lap, her left foot gently nudging my balls, it was pretty obvious she had something else in mind.
Still, based on the few times she'd played with me using her feet, I would have expected the same treatment. She loved taking her time, no matter how she played with my cock. It was part of who she was sexually. She'd told me early on of her obsession for toying with a hard prick, calling it a fetish. She even showed me that night in a movie theater, and numerous times after. So when she said she was going to sort of let me off easy, it came as a surprise.
By her usual standards, I suppose she did tone it down. At least as far as the duration was concerned. But the fact that it didn't last as long didn't mean I was shortchanged in any way. Instead, she challenged herself. While she normally took great delight in seeing how long she could play with me before I came, she changed her tactic. Her new approach was to see how many times she could bring me to the very brink of exploding before the end of the basketball game.
You'd think a twenty minute half of basketball would last just that. But with stoppages and time outs, and the incessant commercials, the twenty minutes was a lot closer to an hour. She continued to play with me, her right foot pressing on my shaft, forcing it against my abdomen. Her other foot continued to toy with my balls, lifting and rubbing them oh so wonderfully.
Leaning back into the couch, I tried to concentrate on the game. In fact, she insisted. Every time I turned to look at her, she'd stop what she was doing and tell me to watch the television. She'd only allow me to look at her during the commercials. Each time there was one, she'd offer me a sexy stare, or seductively lick her lips, or flash me a pretty little pout, all while cooing about how much cum she was building up in by balls.
During every commercial break, she would also increase her efforts, working to bring me to that precarious edge. Once she had me on the brink, she'd use her magical talents to keep me there as long as she could. It was amazing how well she could read me. Even using her feet, she knew just the right pace and pressure to use to make me dangle on the edge of my orgasm. My shaft would pulse and flinch, and several times I was a mere second or two from exploding, yet she'd know exactly when to back off to keep me from cumming. It was like an erotic thrill ride, filled with ups and downs and twists and turns; each one more stimulating than the last, all building toward an incredible finish.
Yet the finish was delayed by strategy; basketball strategy, to be precise. The game was close and as time wound down toward the end, it was taking forever because the team that was behind kept fouling, hoping the other team would miss their foul shots. It was all an attempt by the team behind to get back into the game. It was something I'd seen thousands of times watching games on television or in person...or in games when I played. I'd always taken it for granted that the last minute or so of clock time in a game was always more like ten in real time. It never bothered me before. That is, until Ann started trying to time my orgasm with the end of the game.
She reversed how she was playing with me. With each foul or timeout, she would back off just enough to keep me from cumming. Every time the game action started, she'd pick up her pace a little, bringing me closer and closer, knowing that there'd be another stoppage of some kind to draw out the experience, none more excruciating than commercial breaks. She took great delight in working me up during one advertisement, then completely stopping during the next to kind of let me cool down, if there was such a thing.
