Whatever Roger might have hoped to gain from removing Liz from his life backfired disastrously. He realized this immediately the following day at work. If he'd been unable to do his job before, he was much more unable to do it now. He couldn't even begin to work on a task without his thoughts drifting to Liz within a matter of seconds. He tried again and again, but no matter how many times he tried to get something done, he just couldn't concentrate.
This continued through most of the morning. Roger didn't cause any more disasters since he couldn't do anything at all, but he realized that if he was unable to do anything, it would quickly come to people's notice. By the time the morning was turning into the afternoon, Roger gave up and realized that he would have to do something about the problem before he could return to work, so he went to speak to his boss and announced that he was going to take the advice that had been given to him and take some time off for medical leave.
"I think you're making the right decision," the boss said gently. It was obvious from even a casual look at Roger that he was not well and unfit for work. "You've been working a lot lately, which we appreciate," the boss continued. "But you have to look after your own life and health, and I think I can say it's apparent that you need some time to do that now. Please take care of yourself and get better soon; we'll be glad to have you back when you're ready."
And so Roger left his work in the middle of the day for the second time in a row. He walked out of the building confused and hesitant, not knowing where to go. The rest of the day stretched out in front of him like a canvas, a canvas which he could paint whatever he wanted on. What would he do with this free time that had been afforded to him?
The problem was he didn't have an answer. He'd been locked into a routine for so long of going to work, coming home, and waiting to go to work again that he didn't know what to do now. He went home and sat down on the sofa for a while, but he just couldn't relax. His thoughts continued to whirl in his head faster than he could grasp onto them, and his entire body felt heavy and stiff, as if his blood were made of tar.
Finally, he decided that this was a good time to try and crank out a good orgasm. After all, he no longer had Liz to control his orgasms, and much of his confusion and general feeling of being unwell was probably due to the fact that he hadn't emptied himself out in a long time. So he went upstairs to her bed-it took him a moment to remind himself that this was
his
bed again and not hers-and after taking off his clothes, he settled on the bed and began to stroke himself.
It sometimes takes a while for people to realize the things which they knew all along. Often people will realize something which they don't want to admit to themselves, and so they keep the idea in the back of their mind for a while. When they come back to the idea, it's not so much a process of realizing something new as a process of admitting to themselves what they'd known all along and coming to accept that reality. Roger had known the truth since last night; after all, Liz had explicitly said to him that he wouldn't be able to orgasm anymore without her butt covering his face, but he hadn't actively thought about this since then, probably because he knew it to be true but hadn't been ready to come to terms with it. This was why he hadn't tried to masturbate last night, or this morning before work. It was only now, with an indefinitely long period of free time allocated to him, that Roger attempted to masturbate and admitted to himself that doing so wasn't working and wouldn't work anymore.
It just didn't elicit a response from his penis. Roger would do the same things he had done in the past, touching himself in the ways that had always caused him to get an erection and then an orgasm, but it was like rubbing a towel bar or some other inanimate object. At best, he could manage a tentative erection which would last for a while, but he couldn't achieve anything close to an orgasm. After the state of dizzying sexual excitement which Liz had brought him to over the past few days, he had become numb to his own touch. If Liz had been sitting on his face, he would have spurted in a matter of seconds, but without her presence, he had lost the ability to orgasm. He needed to smell her butt, to feel it pressing against his face and pressing his head down, to experience the joy and humiliation of licking her in her most intimate places. Without this stimulation, he was unable to orgasm. He tried to fantasize about it, which successfully made his penis harder, but it was no use; thinking about it was a pale shadow of actually experiencing it, and he'd experienced it just last night, an experience so intense that it was seared in his memory.
He tried and tried. For hours he was naked on his bed, stroking himself with increasing desperation. He rubbed himself sore, only stopping when the chafing became so bad that he could see the skin on his penis turning red and raw. It was no use; he'd rubbed the skin so much that continuing was more painful than pleasurable, and so he had to stop. Once again, Liz had trapped him by getting him into a state where masturbating would lead to a chafed penis before it led to an orgasm. He was now locked into a body that was still full of semen, but with no way to expel any of that fluid. She'd turned him into a man who was destined to be desperately horny, perhaps for the rest of his life.
As he flopped down on the bed in defeat, his head lolled to one side, and he caught a glimpse of something behind the dresser, a twinkle from a reflection of light that seemed to be caused by something shiny. As Roger gazed at the source of this visual curiosity, he was just barely able to make out, in the darkness, the lens of a camera. And then he understood: Liz had planted a camera that she could use to watch his bed, probably a webcam that was broadcasting onto the Internet somewhere. It was likely that she was watching him right now. And who knew who else might be watching? For all he knew, Liz might have set up a public site somewhere where other people could see him masturbating on his bed at home. The thought was so humiliating that he felt a surging need to masturbate some more, but he just couldn't do it. In his horny state, he loved the thought of how sneaky and manipulative Liz had been, and rather than trying to unplug the camera, which would only have upset her even more, he decided to submit and leave it where she'd put it. If he was ever going to orgasm again, he needed to play by her rules. Maybe if she saw that he was willing to submit to her, she'd come back and sit on his face to help ease some of the relentless pressure that swelled deep inside Roger.
So instead of trying to masturbate, Roger decided to put on a show for Liz. She liked watching him humiliate himself, so maybe she would like it if he did it some more. Roger decided to do some shopping. He'd never been to a sex store before, but it wasn't hard to look up the location of one online, and after finding one that looked promising, he went in and bought a set of sex toys and bondage equipment. Coming home with his purchase, Roger wasted no time in stripping naked, getting back on the bed, and turning to face the camera. "Hi Liz," he said, speaking directly to the camera. "I'm sorry for what I said and did to you. To try and make it up to you, I thought maybe you might like to watch me humiliate myself some more. So I bought a few toys to help." Then Roger put a floor-mount dildo on the bed, the kind which has a broad flat base that is made to sit on the floor. It didn't work quite as well on a bed, but it would have to do. Then Roger gagged himself with a ball gag that had small holes in it. The holes were parly to allow the wearer to breathe through their mouth if necessary, but partly also to allow drool to escape. Liz liked to see Roger drooling with lust, so he hoped that this would help.
And then Roger settled himself on the dildo, so desperate for stimulation that he took it without lubricant.
Why am I doing this?
Roger wondered as he slid up and down on the dildo, his gagged face wearing an unmistakable look of appreciation as the dildo penetrated him.
Is this really what I want to be doing?
Roger couldn't help but wonder. But he couldn't think of anything else to do. There just wasn't anything he was interested in doing with his spare time, and his neglected prostate gland was so desperate for stimulation that he realized he would have ended up doing something like this even if he hadn't had the opportunity to perform for Liz on camera. There was nothing else left to do. There was no escape from the trap of sexual frustration which Liz had locked him into. There was no alternative other than to submit and do what she wanted.
