She cackled as I squirmed; laughed as I begged and pleaded. I was desperate to escape from my binds and restraints, tying me helplessly to her mattress.
It was her favourite game. Her niche. Her speciality. And I was, understandably, her favourite toy to play with and experiment on.
I was a mere pawn for her; caged in chastity for four weeks, but now released. My freed cock, proudly erect, twitched as her long gloved hands of the French maid outfit drew lines on my restrained body. My favourite outfit; she wore it deliberately to evoke. “Sssshh!” She whispered before seductively rubbing her tongue over her top lip.
Her eyes never left her prostrated slave, her mouth curling into a sadistic smile as I whimpered hopelessly.
My pleas were pointless; helpless and pitiful cries of desperation that fell on deaf ears. They were pathetic, she reminded me. Utterly pathetic. As was I.
Her long, stocking-clad legs, meshed in black seductiveness, brushed past my thigh as she leant across me, slowly blowing on my erect cock that twitched in anticipation. “My last client cried as I teased him.” The professional dominatrix gave a sultry look along the contours of my body. “And then I did this …”
Her tongue swirled briefly over the tip of my cock, sending fiery shots of lust to my groin and flicked my overwhelming arousal into a surge of expectation. I squealed; it was almost too much. Too powerful, too intense, too brief.
“I love seeing grown men cry,” she whispered. My heart pounded in my chest as she retrieved her favourite toy. It was torture. Sheer delicious torture.
Her feather duster swept along my body, tickling my nerves as it fleeted tantalisingly across my skin. Carefully stroking. Teasing. Flirting with me. Wanting to see my yield.
For the briefest of cruel moments her toy kissed my skin, stoking arousal from my pent-up lust and drawing cries from my lips. She surveyed her playground, choosing where I was most vulnerable to strike next. Smooth, gentle strokes of her duster, gliding agonisingly across my sensitive torso to excite and stimulate. To tease.
A flicker across my nipples, a seductive swish across my thighs, a gentle float across my body and then playfully dancing across the end of my cock. The softest, kindest of caresses, blowing lightly over my glans. It pulsed; my horniness surged as my cock twitched with every soft, subtle touch of her duster.
She teased me; my balls tickled, my cock mercilessly excited as her feathers worked my horniness into desperate cries and squeals. I was there; I was where I hadn’t been for four weeks.
She beamed as I writhed, watching and waiting. Expecting. Every inch of me examined and studied as her toy floated joyously over my cock. My lust swelled until I was thrusting my hips towards her instrument of tease.
And then she stopped. Flicked it over her shoulder, as my body fell past the my point of no return. I cried, begging her to touch my orgasmic cock as my dick twitched and dribbles of cum spewed onto my stomach.
But she just watched, enjoying my pain.
An orgasm ruined.
I was pathetic, she reminded me.
But I was horny. Aroused and unsated. Spent, but desperately unsatisfied.
She taunted as I was rehoused in my chastity cage before being released from my bindings. “Don’t forget to get the milk and tomato puree on your way home,” my girlfriend reminded me with a smile. “I’ve got bookings all day so you’ll have to put tea on when you get home.”
“Sure,” I muttered, still squirming from her machinations. “Can I just have …”
“Certainly not!” She commanded, slapping my naked butt as we exited her dungeon. “I’ve got half-an-hour for lunch, and you are due back at the office.” I snorted; I’d be beaten on my next lunchtime visit, teased and tormented until I collapsed with desperation. Or maybe she’d petticoat me and play her strap-on and my arse. Or a hundred different ways of dominating her appreciative boyfriend.
“I’ve had men go a whole year between pleasurable orgasms in the past,” she admitted to me as I got dressed. “But I think we can top that.” And with a cruel giggle, her feather duster tickled the end of my nose as I pondered, and believed, her threat.
Image from the EveryDayKinky Blog.