Unlike the protagonists of his favorite erotic stories, Louis Dellid is not an endless fountain of sexual energy. After the expulsion of his goopy mess, his mind all-too-quickly floods back with the unreasoning that comes with any rational man. He breathes deeply through his nose, pulling the filled toy out of his cock with a long, sucky slurp coming from that silicone sleeve. His dick flops off to the side, dripping the last remnants of his spill out onto his waist.
"F… fuck…" is the only word he can let out, but his mind spins at incredible speeds. After all, now that he has messed up the bathroom with hair, lube, and other milkier fluids, he's left with the daunting task of cleaning up.
First is himself. He lifts one leg, trying to pull the thigh-high off, but it's tight and long, and he worries about ruining it as he removes it. With sweat building up on them, he'll have to wash them—another prospect he'll have to consider in cleaning. It shouldn't be much of a problem as long as he makes sure his mom doesn't come into his room to do his laundry for him.
And the trash! He'll have to take out the garbage. There's tons of hair there, and since he shaves every day and gets his hair done by a stylist, he needs to make sure that he takes out the trash every time he does this self-indulgence.
But would it be too much? Would it be something his mom would notice? What would she say when she discovers that he is purchasing sex toys and fucking himself in her house?
He groans and rolls into the shower, slamming the door behind him, spraying himself down, and letting the water wash away his concerns. Those are problems all for the future, Louis. For now, he should just relax and enjoy a warm shower.
But he takes showers in the morning after he goes to the gym. There will be an increase in water usage in the house. There will also be an increase of towels in the wash. How much would he have to change his routine so that mom didn't notice? Would she confront him about it? Leave him ashamed every time he felt about taking care of himself?
Oh, if only he could get his own place. Then, he wouldn't have to worry about all this. He could just take care of himself whenever he wanted or invite someone over for a one-night stand, a beautiful woman, or a cute younger guy or something!
Of course, there's that hurdle as well, the whole "Hey, ma, I'm Bisexual' bombshell that will have to be dropped sooner or later.
He stands up, letting the water wash over him so he can stop worrying about everything. Just enjoy the stuff running through his hair, down his face, slipping over his nice and sensitive smooth skin, and down, down, down.
"Ow ow oww!"
Louis slams the water shut, grabbing his cock and doubling over. He huffs and puffs, but that member throbs with an odd sensitivity, even as he holds it, stinging, burning, and hurting when the hot water hits it.
"E… extended sensitivity… heated lubricant," he sighs. "Fuck me, that is sensitive."
He lathers up his washcloth and wraps it around his junk, stroking it furiously. "I must be clean, I must be clean," he would chant to himself if he felt his words would actually do anything.
He steps out into the bathroom, the room's cold returning to him. He shivers, pulling out his undergarments and long, warm pajamas, both pants and a top. Every inch of the wooly outfit itches. He wraps his arms around himself, shuddering. "Oooh, dang, this is… this is gonna take some getting used to."
As Louis pads his way out of the bathroom, he notices a small light in the corner of his vision. It's the light to his sister's room, close to the bathroom. A space that should have been empty because she should have been at work as late as mom was.
His heartbeat quickens, and he tiptoes toward his room, only for the door to open and his sister to step out, hardly looking at him as she passes.
"H-hi!" Louis springs out.
"Mmngh, hi." She says, passing him and slamming the door to the bathroom.
He's frozen in the hallway, his hand darting immediately into his gym bag, ruffling through in the dark, feeling for every item he possesses.
Let's see… there's the box for the socks, the trash bag, the masturbator.
But no lube.
He rushes to the door and knocks on it.
"What?"
Pausing, Louis furrows his brow. "Uh… never mind."
There's a pause on her end before she grunts in response.
Louis returns to his room, collapsing on his bed, covering his head with a pillow, and burying his face.
Oh fuck, if my sister finds out, she's gonna know I'm a total freak. Oh, fucking fuck!
He lays there, unable to calm down before he can be absolutely, positively sure he was screwed or not. When she finally leaves the bathroom, he rushes back in, resulting in her giving him another wayward glance.
Inside, he scrounges around but can't find the bottle. He clutches his chest, breathing heavily, nearly hyperventilating before he catches the purple cap of the bottle.
It's nestled in the shower. Right where he left it and out of casual eyesight.
He swipes it up and marches out of the room, stomping back to his bedroom and into the shame of his own mind.
The stress was enough to kill his joy, even if she didn't see.