Seventeenth and Eighteenth

There is no doubt that mornings are the worst. I didn't sleep on the mattress again; I must have slid off the dildo somewhere in the night, and I wake up on the hard tile floor right next to it.

What can I say? Maybe you should go back a few chapters, to yesterday morning; it all feels just about the same, I don't have new words for it now. Everything is just a bit worse today: the dull sore in my pussy, the muscle pain of thighs and belly, the hunger and the general constitution of a spent, wet rag; and all of that, topped off with a burning desire for coffee.

I'm disgusted when I look at the LCD. I have overslept again; I have only 19:15 left to complete my challenge now. However, somehow, there is good news as well… I have no idea how it happened, but the second number of the countdown has dropped to 13. How is this possible? Did I cum in my sleep? Has my performance on the chair been reviewed, was there another one hidden in the graphs? Have I been granted some unexpected lenience by my captor?

There is no way to know… but it sure helps to bring my mood up a bit.

I’m not exactly sure how I find the strength to heat up again. Of course, the deadly threat helps, but it is not everything. There is an unmistakable element of pride, as well. I have always enjoyed a bit of competition in my life, creating the mental state that makes it possible to achieve a challenge, even if that involves a fight. This is, by far, the biggest challenge I have ever faced in my life; but I have taken it on, and I’m doing fine.

And it is enough to defeat the resentment and disgust. From underneath the pain and the misery, I feed the arousal; and nurture and cherish it when it grow stronger, surpasses the misery, and takes control of me. It really doesn’t take a long Hitachi ride to bring me to the edge of ecstasy again; and when I plunge down, I welcome it like a dear friend coming back to me.

“Eighteen, “ I proudly say to the mirror.