It grows impatient with me.

It didn’t want to take a break.

And I mocked it by cleaning up its zinc-fuelled Pollock tribute. The more I cleaned up, the more sensitive I got, as if it wanted to replenish what I was throwing away. And it pumped feelings of short-sighted pride into me as it pumped more blood into itself.

Soon, what was a persistent half-chub, which, I admit, looked absolutely stunning in the mirror once I cleaned the glass to a fine sheen, filling me with pride, transformed into a fat, twitching pest, which I knew would send me straight back to square one with an errant bump or rub. My cock seemed desperate to release again, but but I focused on scrubbing the floor and wiping down the wall. Thankfully I wasn't leaking more pre yet. (I noticed and knocked on my wooden cabinet thrice), but it wouldn't be long.

I couldn’t enjoy my newly cleaned bedroom, something that would make my mom nag Dad into buying me whatever little knickknack I could desire, because of one big, fat, twitching nuisance betwixt my legs.

I had a horrible need to bust. Dreadfully. Badly. But I couldn’t. I mustn’t.

There's no way I'll be be able to make it to school on time. And with my ever increasing libido I wondered how I could possibly continue to keep my gigantic embarrassing secret under wraps.