The Third Month. The Thirteenth Week. The Seventeenth Session. The Fifty-Second Hour.
He groaned with anticipation as I continued brushing my hands gently over his upper thighs. I repeated the motion again, this time making an effort to lightly graze the sides of his balls – gently enough to tickle, but, knowledged in his sweet spots, directed enough to tease. It took all the restraint I had not to begin massaging his balls as they rose and fell in their sack beneath his hard aching dick.
There was particular importance in
starting off the beginning of an unlocked session slowly. It allowed the boy to truly lust for his cock’s recognition before the eventual relief that would engulf them once they experienced once more the touch of their Master’s hand. However, my willpower to resist hand-fucking a post-locked cock has never been my strongpoint. I had done well so far to have gone just two minutes grazing his thighs. Even then, I’d escalated to ball contact quicker than planned but I suppose sometimes it’s better to play things by ear (an apt description given my ability to make boys moan with pleasure and groan in erotic agony). It was a good thing that this boy, prior to locking up, was always horny. Those were my favourite.
He was a regular of mine, one of many who I keep locked and under my control. The youth of today, with constant access to porn, are far too masturbatory. As a result it’s not surprising that I get as many "slaves" as I do. The libido of young men combined with the constant bombardment of sex in the media (and on the internet!) is too much, and they all give in to chronic masturbation eventually if another outlet isn’t available It just isn’t natural to have so much stimulation at all times. So, addicted to porn, men would contact me. Nothing gives me greater joy than controlling other men sexually. I’ve always found that that sounds absurd and ridiculous whenever I’ve written it down on a profile, and I’ve always thought it is perhaps a little twisted of me. “Contact me only if you want to relinquish control over your ability to touch your cock, and thus when or if you ever orgasm whilst I have you locked up.” And I do deliver exactly what I say “on the tin”. However, I have always included a further disclaimer stating that I was into delivering extreme denial and all my subjects were given ample opportunity to back out of a contract following a trial month. Most did. Most men were simply horny and curious; men with chastity fantasies but no real desire to be denied of orgasm for too long a period. Therefore, I always made the most of the first month, making sure to tease and deny at least twice a week. Importantly, no semen emission was permitted during this crucial period. If they wanted me to make them cum I wasn’t going to. Generally, I tried to avoid pushing them too far and making their cum boil over even in the form of a ruined orgasm. When the month was finally over and they quit that was it, I simply unlocked them. Men had found this surprising, and disappointing. They wanted to expel their built up loads in my presence as some sort of physical exclamation of their dedication to chastity for a month. Well they weren’t dedicated. One month was child’s play. My average was three months before intentional ruined orgasms began. Long term slaves were limited to attention once a week. No exceptions. If that meant sessions were short then sessions were short. These men needed to be reminded of the power their cocks had over them, and the power that they still would if only I’d let them. My boys may have seemed frustrated and, at times, in pain with the sheer extent of said frustration and arousal that I forced them to experience, but they really loved it. This was also their thing. They craved an absence of control that only I could offer them. Those who didn’t were weeded out in that first month. It was a solid system. I currently had two regulars, which allowed me to give them my utmost attention once unlocked: a full day for each of them. Experience had taught me that half an hour is long enough to get them begging, and that a full day allows me to see them cry.
‘You really did make a mistake in asking me to lock you up and control your orgasms, boy,’ I taunted, knowing that such an expression of my dominance would only serve to further enhance his arousal. Immediately I could see his cock pulse, fresh blood rushing in, the nerves exposing themselves and pleading for touch, despite knowing that there would be no orgasmic contractions to follow any attention. ‘Doesn’t look like you regret it though, does it?’
I was mesmerised watching his cock grow and pulse. For this slave it was his thirteenth week with his cock under my control, its experiences subject to my desires. The load resting inside him had been mercilessly built up over fifty hours of teasing and edging. Today was his seventeenth unlocking session and we were in the third month of his yearlong contract. Expiration of the contract wouldn’t guarantee orgasm. I once had a slave locked up for two years that I never brought to a satisfying climax. There was something about that past boy that had really brought out the sadistic side of me I suppose. When men submitted to me they submitted. And ultimately, my mood determined how much I would ever let their cock cry tears that weren't precum or shoot jets of warm cum.
‘Do you know how long I’ve been teasing that aching cock of yours in total for now, boy?’
With your cock locked up you are simultaneously acutely aware of time passing as well as experiencing it all as a blur. I knew this from experience. Still, you do always get a rough idea. I relayed to the boy that he’d had hard-ons that combined lasted over fifty hours without any semen spilling out from his ever-weeping piss-slit. His cock only grew harder and I could sense his mind racing. The tone I’d said it in had him hopeful for orgasm (though weren’t they always). (Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen?). Why would I say such a thing to not then follow through with forcing an ejaculation? Well, to tease of course! But a desperate and denied cock is just that. The slightest hint of releasing its juices and it’ll stiffen, nerve impulses firing, prepared to give maximum pleasure that a cock can offer to its owner just at a chance of being rewarded by being made to squirt. This was such a fun game - my favourite pastime.
‘Please sir, please make my dicklet cum today.’
“Sir”. “Dicklet”. Some of the men really got creative.
I grinned and watched him brace himself for my question.
‘Why?’
I could feel him sinking into the bed as if trying to escape whilst my hands kept working him. I asked this question of all my boys every time they inevitably asked the same question or pleaded the same thing: to blow their pent up loads. If they gave a bad answer there was no hope of their cum being propelled skyward, if they gave a good answer there was a slim chance. It really depended on how I was feeling the day of the request. Usually I opted for the withholding option. For some men even a ruined orgasm, one in which the semen simply dribbles down their hard cock from a minimum velocity emission without any orgasm, is found to be strangely satisfying for a reason that I can only assume is because something other than precum, some of the tension, is finally being released. Generally ruined orgasms only serve to make most men I’ve worked on even hornier, as it is very much an almost-but-not-quite sensation, a wasted release of some hard earned juice. I've always been quick to realise those that enjoyed it, and learnt to withhold even ruined orgasms from them. For men where ruined orgasms clearly were exquisitely frustrating and only made them hornier I sometimes enacted the opposite treatment, making sure that they leaked semen at least fortnightly after those first three months.
‘Because it’s been thirteen weeks!’ He finally stammered.
‘And?’ I asked, as I always did with such questions, ‘What is thirteen weeks?’ If it had been a day, a year, or a decade I’d have asked the same question. Actually, if it had been a decade I’d have been concerned but impressed myself!
Boys always found this question much harder to answer which I hoped really allowed them to realise the stupidity of their prior response. What is time, really? Is it not relative? For this slave a week had been an achievement. For others a month is an achievement. However, every boy is desperate to cum after not even an hour has passed when I play with them. Should I just abandon my role as a dominating keyholder and tie up and jerk men off instead? It was a stupid presumption that because I’d been teasing a man for any length of time that suddenly an ejaculation was warranted.
As my boy continued trying to think of a retort I greatly hindered him by never ceasing to stimulate his inner thighs, occasionally reaching up to tweak his nipples, occasionally darting inward to gently stroke the sides of his balls and, when feeling particularly generous, his perineum.
‘I don’t know,’ he finally managed, in between frustrated groans as I lightly stroked his body. ‘I guess it’s not that long. Not compared to- not compared to the longest you’ve ever denied someone.’
I frowned. The boy had not understood. I always found myself a little disappointed when this happened, and much less willing to give them release.
‘What is the longest you’ve ever denied someone?’
I didn’t hesitate. ‘Two years.’
‘No.’ They never believed me.
‘I am many things, boy. But I am not a liar.’ Immediately I recalled a prior session with this boy when I’d promised him the orgasm of a lifetime, the fingers of one hand working his prostate whilst the other soothed his cock. I never delivered on that promise. Copious amounts of precum alone had been emitted. ‘Well, except for when I am a liar,’ I added, with a wry grin.
I rarely blindfolded my boys. I wanted them to see their arousal, tied up and unable to do anything about it. I wanted them to see my arousal. I wanted my orgasm to surround them such that it became their orgasm – the sight of me blowing my load over them, the tightening of my scrotum and the raising of my balls, the pulsations of my perineum and the contractions of my cock, and the look of sheer pleasure, relief, and ecstasy in my eyes. I wanted this image to be forever engrained in their minds as they would reflect back on the unlocked session throughout the week, thinking about how the man who controlled and denied them was free to do what he himself wanted whenever he wanted. Free to jerk his cock, to have it sucked, to pound the ass of a horny slave. Free to explode his cum out all over them. I loved it.
‘How were you able to wait so long?’
That was new. That was a good question, though steeped in the same misunderstandings. No one had ever asked that of me before, presumably because no one had ever been able to empathise and simply didn’t care. The boys, after all, were just as selfish as me in their desire to give up control as was my desire to control. Clearly I had misjudged the boy’s initial line of questioning.
‘Well,’ I explained, the emphasised dominance in my voice slipping away. ‘Every session begins the same. Your cock goes from soft to hard. Time does not factor in. If I wouldn’t be able to wait a year then I wouldn’t be able to wait an hour.’
I could see the recognition in his eyes as the boy now realised why the reasons for his desire to cum weren’t valid. Though I had, in very clear terms, explained why. I still wasn’t impressed, but his concern was amusing nonetheless.
‘Also,’ I added. ‘If I wanted to see a guy cum that’s as easy as a Google search.’
I could feel his fear. The threat of never cumming while he was under my control not truly sinking in, his mind denying total recognition as if out of self-defence.
I continued my exercise in restraint, slowly moving my hands up and down his thighs and blowing my warm breath onto his ballsack. His arousal was divine.
I had grown a stiff one as I’d teased him – tied up with no choice but to endure my soft, grazing touch. My own cock was pulsing against my underwear, drawing it taut and so causing my cockhead to endure intense stimulation whenever I moved. I loved teasing myself in this fashion as I worked on my slaves, I think it made me slightly empathetic.
‘I don’t understand your logic...’
‘Oh? Well understand this: you will never cum as long as I have you locked up unless I want you to. This is what you wanted. I do not care how long it’s been for you. When I want you to cum, you’ll cum. If I don’t want you to cum, you won’t.’ Sometimes you needed to be blunt with them. Usually that gave the best response.
I’d increased the pace of my thigh massage and the frequency in which I’d brush up against the sides of his balls. Eventually it came to be that I was rubbing my fingers and palm of one hand over his balls, massaging them, whilst with one finger of the other hand I gently tapped on his frenulum with unpredictable timing to keep that cock of his swollen. Tap. ... Tap... ... ...Tap. I rubbed and rubbed and tapped and tapped. Occasionally the stimulation I offered him bordered more toward being tickling than pleasurable, but generally I was nice about it.
This boy was a real precum gusher, the kind that leaks strings of the stuff. This was particularly conductive toward polishing his sensitive cockhead. A pool of precum had by now formed on his belly, filling his bellybutton and painting his fuzzy snail trail. His stringy precum ensured that his cock always remained “tethered” to his stomach, the topside of his cockhead coated and glistening.
‘Please, just touch my cock...’
‘Sorry boy, but I've decided I don’t want you speaking today unless I’m asking a question. If you’re not quiet I’ll lock you back up. All I really care to hear from you is moaning.’
‘But sir...’
‘Would you rather I spend the day polishing your cockhead until you’re crying from the sensitivity?’
‘No...’
‘Then don’t speak another word, boy. You'll speak *only* when spoken to.’
His piss-slit widened as a fresh string of precum ejected.
I’d had enough of the foreplay. I really wanted to play with his cock. I was to settle for working his balls instead.
I slipped a Sports Fucker cockring over his cock and balls, dividing his cock from his balls. The increased pressure caused the veins in his cock to bulge exceedingly as the bottom of the cockring lifted his balls up and away from his body. A second Sports Fucker cocking was then applied to his ballsack, dividing it such that each ball was now separate, the skin taut and freshly shaven (a shave began all my sessions with the boys - not for aesthetics but for sensitivity). I lightly tapped each ball, sending short shockwaves of pain throughout the slave, then I began to soothingly scratch them with the edges of my fingernails. For this slave this was very effective stimulation, although just a warm-up for what I had planned. I kept up this stimulation for a while, still randomly tapping his frenulum, until I could sense his balls becoming less responsive due to the bondage. It was at this point that I took the second Sports Fucker cockring, the one dividing his ballsack, off. The increased blood flow throughout the slave’s scrotum had a drastic effect on his ability to derive pleasure from my skilled scratching. He moaned almost embarrassingly loudly at first from the shock of the sudden spike in pleasure as my fingernails did their dirty work on his heavenly tender balls and sack.
The stimulation was too much for me. I finally freed my cock from my underwear, now stained with precum. Having my cock free to breathe was a relief (I thought momentarily of the other boy currently under my lock and key, his cock often and doubtlessly pressing hard into his chastity cage in an effort to break free - poor boy). I restrained from playing with myself. Today’s session was to be about the boy – primarily, at least.
After some time I progressed to a set of soft makeup brushes. This stimulation was more to tickle than to please. Dusting his frenulum with the brush proved just as effective as it had in the past. For a change in sensation I used his precum as lube, making sure to collect it off his stomach and avoiding his cockhead – it was better to wait a long while before indulging him in any sensations there. I coated his balls and cock shaft with the slippery substance before getting back to work with my makeup brushes, which now experienced less resistance, opening up a new world of sensation for the boy.
When it came time to take the first Sports Fucker off, freeing his cock and balls, I also abandoned all stimulation, letting the blood rush and giving the boy a breather (all the better to prevent indifference to further stimulation). Once I was convinced things were once more ready to be teased (i.e. once he began moaning desperately) I went back to work, starting from scratch with my fingernails before “rewarding” the boy with my brush work.
Almost an hour had passed before I decided to focus on more than just his balls and frenulum. Given the absence of any satisfying cock stimulation there had been a slight decrease in his hardness, but not at the expense of any arousal. I pressed into his perineum and began working the bulb of his cock and his prostate from the outside, occasionally moving my finger down to rub against the sensitive ring of his asshole. In time I’d slip my fingers in but first I wanted his ass to ache for something inside of it and that took patience. Softly and carefully I worked the outer ring with a finger, lubing it up and gently probing just the outermost region. The feeling of his asshole responding to my finger turned me on even further. I wanted to slip my hard, crying cock inside.
Slowly and methodically I traced his rosebud, applying hard pressure as if going to penetrate, and then applying so little pressure as to be only grazing the surface.
‘Do you want my fingers inside you, boy?’
‘Yes, sir,’ he groaned.
‘Do you want me kneading your prostate from both sides, and playing with your balls?’
I’d realised long ago that with this particular subject verbalisation worked a treat in enhancing their arousal, and making the anticipation of attention and release unbearable. Some men found it detracting.
‘Have you earnt my fingers inside you, boy?’
‘I’ve been a good boy. I’ve let you lock me up for months now.’
I pulled my hand away from his ass, my teasing caresses of his tight entrance ceasing. ‘No. I’ve let you be locked up by me. I’m doing you a favour, boy.’
And so I put the Sport Fuckers back on him ('you've been rude, boy') and we repeated the first hour of brushwork and ball teasing over ('clearly you haven't been worked up enough yet'), reminding him what he had effectively denied himself of ('my fingers inside your ass, boy, that's what I would have been doing now'). It wasn't a carbon copy of the first hour of course, I had to be more enthusiastic in my teasing in order to keep him hard ('I'd have been fucking your prostate with my fingers boy'). Consequently, that sensitive tether between the foreskin and cockhead was the prime target, even lapping at it like a banjo string with my tongue, making sure not to hit his corona or cockhead (stimulation there was to come later). My playing with his balls had progressed to a full-on massage of the tender orbs, occasionally pressing them with enough force to elicit a mild response of discomfort evident in the twisting of his torso (I'd long since learnt the signs for this boy...). I was sensual, I was rough, I was light. I was skilled. He was putty.
If it weren't impractical I could do this for days. It wasn't *entirely* impractical to do it for days…I mean, obviously you couldn't nonstop perform a session like this on someone, I think their cock would be in actual pain from the prolonged erection. You needed to give them breaks, let their cock rest and their arousal dip. I had worked one slave before over a long weekend: Friday night, all Saturday, Sunday, and Monday morning. Come Monday evening, even with ample breaks throughout the marathon, that slave's cock was raw, his cockhead sore from my treatment and in particular the inner skin of his foreskin tender. Come Monday evening he was begging me *not* to touch it anymore even though at no stage had I let him cum or experience ruined dribbles and sputters. His denial period when we had those sessions had lasted five months. I denied him for a further eight, making sure we had repeated marathons. Sometimes you grow more attached to some men you torture. Whether that was a positive or a negative in the eyes of those men was never clear - a frustrated cock is a frustrated cock, the man is just along for the ride.
'Don't you wish my fingers were inside of you instead? Working at your prostate...'
'Yes, sir...'
'Don't you wish I'd grip your cock in my fist and jerk you off.'
His eyes pleaded at me.
'No.'
I slipped a finger down, rubbing gently along his perineum. It was a surprising motion, and the boy's shock manifest as a gasp and throb, the pleasure of my touch overwhelming him with its freshness. I pressed harder. He moaned loudly. I kept massaging his balls with one hand whilst I worked at his prostate externally with the other, some fingers slipping further to rub against the upper part of his asshole. I had him right where I wanted him and he was going to stay there for a while yet.
'You've gotten louder, boy. Is this feeling good?'
'Thank you, sir.'
'Not that's really an answer, is it boy? You do remember my little rule, don't you boy?'
Of course he remembered. I'd polished his cockhead before. He took it like a bitch, squealing and howling.
'I'm sorry, sir!'
'Should I make sure you're sorry?'
'No, sir. I'm sorry, sir. It's feeling *really* good...'
'Well, I'll let you off with a warning this time… but if you speak again, and it's not a direct response to a question, I'm going to polish your cockhead all night long, do you understand?'
'Yes, sir.' There was *fear* in his voice. My cock pulsed hard and I looked down to see a fresh string of precum escape from the slit. Fuck I was horny.
I recommenced gently probing the outside of his asshole with a lubed finger, as I'd done earlier. He groaned and groaned…desperate for me to enter him. After a prolonged buildup, gently rubbing his rosebud and applying pressure to tease and only tease, I pushed harder and he opened up for me. As my lubed finger slipped inside of him he let out a loud moan of pleasure, bucking his hips up. I moved the finger in and out of his asshole slowly, making sure to never exit, and making sure to only lightly graze his prostate as I moved past. I wanted his ass to enjoy this first so that he would be more ecstatic when more concrete contact was finally made with his prostate.
I applied lube to the next finger. Though some boys go soft with a finger in their ass this boy was the opposite, the veins in his already hard cock bulged with renewed energy as my second finger entered his mancunt. I could only hold back from stimulating his prostate, and thus driving him insane with pleasure, for so long. I made the come-hither motion and quickly found it. I was set.
It's usually at this stage that the men I work on lose themselves, finding themselves floating on an... endless cloud of pleasure (or a more apt-simile, I'm an cock and cum-master not a playwright). It's as if they always forget what it's like to have their prostate stimulated so directly. On the occasions where I let them speak I've noticed that men can be placed into two categories when I work them in this way: the "oh-fuck-oh-fuck-oh-fuck"ers and the endless-moaners-and-groaners. This one was an endless-moaner-and-groaner and it was fucking priceless to hear him go.
This was always a highlight of a session if performed. Sometimes the boys didn’t deserve the pleasure it gave.
I considered slipping a third finger in but then decided it wasn't necessary - I was hitting all the spots I needed; the boy was powerless.
As I watched the precum drip like an never ending stream from his cockhead I realised once more that I had not touched the boy’s cockhead at all throughout the current session. This was going to need to change at some stage, I reasoned. But for now I was quite content, working his ass and prostate with two skilled fingers of one hand as his balls and perineum were massaged with the other. Though many would consider me the dominate here, truly what I was currently doing was submitting, giving the other man pleasure for his sake, and not for mine. It just so happened to be that his pleasure would always be inextricably linked to frustration I suppose. And in that was where my pleasure derived.
'Satisfied, boy?'
I could see in his eyes the urge for him to say something other than an affirmative or a negative response, but I hadn't left the question open to that sort of an answer, and he wasn't willing to risk polishing in *any* capacity by giving a more thought-out answer. Eventually he confirmed his satisfaction and so my hands and fingers kept working their magic.
Some men can cum like this, fingers working at their prostate. Externally or internally actually, although in my experience cumming from perineum stimulation always required them to be *very* wound up - at least following on from some edges. I wasn't sure if I preferred the ones who I could make cum from it or not. Of course, I rarely let them cum when I did it, but it was nice to edge a boy without so much as grazing their cock. This boy *wasn't* one of the ones that could cum from my relentless finger fucking, and that allowed me to go on for as long as I wanted.
I did just that. When I eventually left his asshole, his mouth dry from the moaning, I saw his rosebud twitch for a while afterwards, as if asking me to come back inside, as if still radiating with sinful pleasure.
I let him rest. I let his cock go soft, it twitching all the while, desperate for attention. I could tell he was terrified that I was about to lock him back up and that that was why I was allowing him to go flaccid. I let him feel this. I let him worry that I'd unlocked him only to play with his ass and balls, his cock never getting any satisfying attention (granted, there was frenulum stimulation).
But then I gave him some semblance of reassurance.
'Don't go anywhere, boy. I'll be back.'
But was that truly reassuring for him to hear?
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