The Third Month. The Thirteenth Week. The Seventeenth Session. The Fifty-Second Hour.
'Ready for more, boy?'
I only let him stew for around fifteen minutes. It was long enough to make him realise that I probably wasn't going to be a complete cunt and lock him back up again when I returned. No, I wasn't finished with him for the night. I had let him feel the intense pleasure of my fingers rubbing his prostate and now he needed more, something different.
I tweaked his nipples as I wondered: what was it that I'd done to him so far? Ball massage: check. Frenulum teasing: check. Prostate play: check. All in all, not a lot of variety for such good responses. Like all men. I guess the one thing I really needed to do by now was give his cock some satisfying attention. For around two and a half hours the boy had been unlocked and I'd still not groped his shaft. Sometimes I impressed myself.
I moved my hands away from his chest, and down to his cock, a little swollen but not yet semi-erect. I gripped it at the base, my fingers moving the skin up and down gently, stimulating his cockhead and foreskin, causing his dick to enliven.
'Is this what you want, boy?'
I only got a nod for a reply.
'No?'
And just like that, I stopped. I'd groped his dick now, I was done, right?
I watched as his cock continued to stiffen in the absence of stimulation. All it took was the *thought* of attention to get a cock going.
'It looks like it wants me to continue.'
I could see the bound boy desperately holding back from speaking out. Like a good boy he remembered what the punishment would be.
'Go on, boy. I fucking dare you to say something.'
Silence. It was beautiful. But now I was just being mean, wasn't I?
Finally I gripped his throbbing cock in my hand firmly. He groaned. I squeezed, feeling its hardness approvingly. I began jerking him, slowly. I could see in his eyes the intense pleasure as the skin rolled over his corona, his sensitive smooth cockhead, and then rolled back down again. It truly benefits my boys when I am withholding. This wouldn't be feeling as good were it not for the denial and extended teasing.
I kept my fist working at a slow pace as I moved my other hand over to his ballsack and squeezed his nuts with enough force to send a jolt of pain through him. I began to massage his nuts again, only occasionally dipping into intentionally uncomfortable movements - enough pain to let him remember that, though I was doing this all for him, he was not in control.
I was feeling pretty frustrated myself. Nothing turned me on more than teasing my helpless subjects. However, as my hands always remained occupied on him my own aroused cock had been left to throb on its own, dripping and neglected like his once was. Technically thus far this had all been a more enjoyable experience for the boy than for me, right? I'd practically worshipped his balls and now his cock was finally getting some satisfying attention.
"Satisfying". Well for now at least. After a while his cock would want more than gentle stroking. His cockhead would swell and he would want to spray his cum, unleashing his more than two-month built load in contractions of paralysing pleasure.
Squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt…
Of course, I didn't even want him edging yet. I just wanted him to feel, and remember from prior sessions, what it was like to have your cock ruthlessly toyed with, kept hard but not close, kept stimulated and weeping precum, kept needy and aching.
'Is that feeling good, boy?'
'Yes, sir.'
He skipped a beat before replying. He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell me to speed up, if not to let him cum then to at least take him to the edge so he could feel that pleasure - the feeling of waves cresting and cresting, ready to crash at any moment, and then, doubtless, he wanted me to bring an end to the intense edging experience with a climax of unbridled intensity and ferociousness.
And then it was back to his perineum, kneading his prostate as I rubbed his cock. The boy was in heaven and all he needed to do to experience this was lay there. No "real" effort on his part.
'You really want me to bring you to the edge, don't you boy?'
'Yes, sir.' A meek response. I reflected briefly on how his intonation had morphed over the course of the evening, as our play kept on and on...
I slipped a lube finger inside his ass, shocking him, then removed it almost immediately, also ceasing any stimulation of his balls, perineum, and cock. I saw his cock and asshole both visibly twitch, as if asking me to finally pump his shaft hard, as if asking me to come back inside.
'Aww… poor boy.'
I stared into his eyes and could sense his desperation, and his desire to even so much as be permitted the ability to vocally beg me. Beg or no beg, the boy was under no circumstance going to receive mercy. I was having too much fun.
I gripped the base of his cock with one hand, squeezing to feel and fuel its hardness, and the boy made an approving grunt, fresh blood rushing in and causing his cock to throb and pulse with need. With the other hand I targeted my thumb on the ridged band beneath his frenulum and began tracing small circles. Like putty his cock swelled once more, his ignored dickhead flaring, the colour ever-deepening as time moved by.
My slow torment of his foreskin and full-bodied grip of his lower shaft continued for longer periods than the skin-gliding strokes I would offer in between. His groans alternated from that of pure frustration to that of satisfied relief. In due time I decided that something else was in order...
As part of the preliminary process of a boy assigning themselves to be under my control I always request that they describe the porn that they usually masturbate to, the body type of models that they prefer, the acts they fantasise about, and what really gets them going in real life.
Of course, a lot of what they get off to is often focused on male milking, cum control, and tease and denial. It's the vanilla stuff that they are aroused by that I am most intrigued by, and I therefore direct my questions to garner the responses that I want. "What type of men do you like? "Slim, fit, hairy, muscly? Any particular attributes?" "Close up shots of penetration, or facial reactions?" "Got a thing for watching guys make out or worship a cock?" "Describe. Tell me what it is you like." "Tell me what it is that really gets you off." "When you're with a guy what is it you most like to do?"
I also ask them to send me some of their favourite movies, clips, and photos.
The boy I had strapped down currently had told me that he had a penchant for furry, fit hunks. He also told me he was an ass man - furry asses framed in jockstraps, furless asses framed in jockstraps, asses defined through underwear, toned muscle butts, shaven or hairy holes, point-of-view penetration, ass shots with balls visible, ass shots without balls visible, ass shots with an emphasises on the taint, side ass, views from above and views from below, legs spread or together, etc. etc. The porn world is, of course, limitless with variations on this theme. Unsurprisingly, this boy's favourite video starred two hairy studs that took turns topping one another.
In addition to using this information to influence the teasing that I would inflict on them physically, I also used it for what could be deemed a more diabolical purpose: the ability to tease them with barely a touch.
Now, I ceased my physical teasing and stroking of his cock and with the press of a button the sound of men moaning filled the room. Not me. And definitely not the boy (well, maybe frustrated groans). With the flick of a switch the source was turned on. Made clearly visible to the boy were two men fucking. It was a sensual bareback scene. Both men were just hairy enough to match the description and images he'd provided. It was the type of material the boy doubtless fantasised about and jerked off to. It was perfect for keeping him hard with minimal effort.
'Just a little something to keep you entertained, boy.'
He could now see the pleasure that he wasn't experiencing: a hard cock encased inside another man's gripping asshole, the shaft and head being relentlessly pleasured with every thrust.
I made sure he remained hard but nothing more. I never unnecessarily stimulated him. The sensitivity of his balls consequently meant that to keep his cock at full hardness I didn't even need to touch it. When I did touch his cock I would use one finger only, rubbing it in circles over his frenulum, or flicking the sensitive skin back and forth, creating that itchy-blissful feeling. The kind of feeling that builds and builds but never reaches a satisfying peak, leaving you yearning for more and more of the stimulation in the dire hope of eventually passing that frustrating threshold. However, the body doesn't work like that. Most boys require more to cum or very prolonged frenulum work. Sometimes I would use my tongue, working it up and over his almost ticklish balls and licking all the way until his corona, letting just the tip of it feel the warm caress of my tongue, but nothing more. I wasn't to dare touch his cockhead yet. If ever I stroked his cock they were only slow upward strokes, again terminating the movement before his cockhead was reached. The absence of direct stimulation there would guarantee a good response when it finally did receive attention.
As my treatment went on so did the movie.
Eventually the next film commenced, a cum compilation.
'I want you to think about all of these hard cocks shooting cum while you can't because I won't let you. I want you to think about how good it must feel for them. I mean, you can hear, can't you? Sounds like it feels real good, doesn't it boy?'
I teased him for as long as the film took to finish, forcing him to endure a painful erection whilst watching as men ejaculated massive loads onto, across, and into one another. Gushing, geyser, and jet-like loads, landing on the face, chest, or ass of willing recipients, their bodies posed for optimum reception, all smiles and gaping holes.
I let go of his perpetual hard-on.
'Your cock must be begging to explode that cum out,' I understated. 'Do you want to cum boy?' Then, when I got no worded response, 'Do you know how long I've been teasing you for tonight, boy?'
And so the boy would have realised, I hope, that time is relative and desperation does not discriminate.
'Do you want me to stroke your cock? Do you want me to move that delicious skin back and forth over your glans until the dam inside of you breaks and all those months of cum comes rocketing out?'
Still stubbornly stoic.
'Do you want me to stop, and lock you up instead?'
Moans of mercy. The sound of music.
'But of course you don't...'
I resumed using my hands, one hand cupping the delicately sensitive and erogenous underside of his ballsack and the other slowly moving the skin of his cock back and forth, but not even bringing it up to his corona. I was going to be nice but didn't want him cresting anytime soon. That he had to earn.
And earn it he did. I kept reasonably consistent with my movements, only varying whether my ball massage extended to his perineum and the firmness of my grip round his cock. By now his cockhead would be tingling with only the anticipation of being touched through his foreskin.
I considered changing my method of stimulation, pondering whether I should draw his foreskin back and make a repetitive juicing motion over his ridged band and frenulum. I decided that option would be too pleasurable for him and bring him to the edge too soon. And so I continued dodging his corona and teasing his balls.
For this particular boy the ball stimulation would be the most pleasurable of what I was currently doing. While my stroking hand would be keeping his cock hard and offering a mild rush it was the dancing fingertips over his ballsack that would be sending him to seventh heaven. That was my goal in all I was doing at the moment, torturous and almost ticklish pleasure. I wanted his cock to feel denied of touch despite the relentless attention it was receiving from my hand. I wanted that cockhead of his to weep precum unaided by my touch. And I was getting exactly what I wanted. As I always did.
Had I not kept him as hard for as long as I had his erection would probably start to wane by this stage, if only because my strokes and massaging had slowed down to such a rate that they were only really serving to remind him of just how hard and sensitive he was rather than anything else.
'I've been going for a while boy and you still haven't cum. Does that mean you don't want to?'
Groans that could just as well have been from a madman escaped him (well, no doubt he was *going* mad).
'No, sir,' he added, mouth clearly dry from the incessant noises he'd been making.
'No, you don't want to cum? So I'm right then.'
'NO SIR. I *do* want to cum.'
'Be careful of being demanding, boy. Because I bet that cockhead of yours would be real sensitive by now, always lathered in precum and moist for attacking...'
I could feel his body recoiling instinctively, recalling prior sessions of cock polishing. Yes, even the most stoic of man was undone when I had their head in the palm of my hand, literally.
'Do you want me to speed up my strokes? Would that make you cum?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Do you want me to give your cock a firm grip, and pull down on your balls a little?'
'Yes, sir.'
I was reciting to him the conditions that I knew would bring him to that glorious edge, and, upon hearing his affirmation, putting the suggestions into action.
With my thumb and index finger encircling his ballsack, pulling it away from his shaft, my other fingers were free to continue the massage. As the skin was made significantly more taut when pulled out and away from his cock each movement of my fingertips brought a heightened feeling of electric waves of ecstasy coursing through him.
'Do you want me to stroke your cockhead?'
He hesitated and didn't respond. A clever choice.
'I mean pleasurably. Do you want me to extend the stroking of your cock to more envelope that sensitive sponge at the tip?'
He nodded. Hard. I thought so.
From working on many men I had picked up on the fact that jizz release could only come from particular strokes or directed movements over the cock. Of course, there was variation, and every guy was different (some came from nipple or prostate stimulation alone), but by and large stroking without any corona or cockhead stimulus ensured only one thing - a frustrated erection.
And so I humoured the boy, my hands massaging and jerking quicker, and the strokes now forcing his skin to roll up onto the edge of his cockhead where it meets the shaft before rolling back down again. With time these narrow strokes over his corona would be enough to ensure expulsion of his pent-up jizz. But I certainly was still in no rush to grant him either an edge or semen release.
'Do you want me to speed up some more, maybe jerk the skin up and down the entirety of the head?'
He nodded twice in quick succession.
'No.'
I was well aware of what I was making the boy currently experience with my stroking, which I was only decreasing in pace as I continued to torment him. With each upstroke an intense sensation would shoot through the corona of his swollen and ignored glans, and with each downstroke the tautness of his cock would deliciously stimulate his cockhead from within by pulling it down against the hardened inside of his cock. With each downward motion the boy would feel as if he were soaring toward orgasm, only to be surprised when the next stroke didn't send him there at all but instead offered much of the same feeling. It was an seemingly endless illusion of progress. Technically not an illusion at all, as it was slowly bringing him there, but just at a rate so agonisingly slow as to be unclear that any progress was being made at all. Macro-evolution.
I periodically taunted him, never changing my methodology. 'I know you want to cum, boy. So why won't you?' 'Why won't you cum for me?' 'Cum for me boy.' 'What's stopping you?'
He would blow by this technique, he just needed to wait, to let it eventually overcome him.
Eventually it almost did, as I finally brought him up to that peak, ever decelerating my movements as he neared the apex of blissful, mindless release. Once I knew he was there, and it was very obvious from both his balls trying to retreat from my hand toward the root of his cock and the, by this point, absurd noises coming out of him. And so I let go of his cock and balls, letting him feel the intense euphoria of having reached the edge, as well as the intense frustration of having still not cum. His painfully hard and aching cock pulsed as if desperately crying out for further stimulation but did not emit any semen. The boy released nothing but moans.
'That must have been close, boy. Why didn't you cum?'
No answer.
'I'm confused. I thought you wanted to...'
After a minute rest I began again. I'd gone right back to avoiding even the edge of his cockhead in my stroking, and it now wouldn't matter given how worked up he was. This time I was to bring him to the edge massaging his perineum and the sensitive tissue of his inner foreskin alone.
I decided to encourage him this time, telling him to "do it for me" and "shoot his load all over". "Just let it fly, boy." "Pop." "Pop for me."
Instead I let him edge. And then I began yet again, focusing on even slower strokes until when they too brought him to the edge I temporarily timed out and gave his cock a precisely timed two minute break from stroking. Once cooled down a little I let him edge. And then I let him edge some more. And then some. And then some more. I let him edge until the edges ceased to be truly enjoyable, the desire to spurt a need to relieve his aching cock and balls.
‘I’m gonna let you shoot, boy.’
A lie.
‘I’m gonna let you shoot.'
A lie.
'I'll let you cum this time.'
Another lie.
No matter how many lies I told it was as if the men never realised I was *never* going to let them cum. Hope always remained. As long as their cocks were hard there was hope, there was desperation, and there was utter, utter, frustration from the deep seated knowledge that they would not be jettisoning their seed anytime soon despite my promises.
I decided it was time, after hours, days, *months* of teasing.
‘I’m gonna let you shoot, boy.’
I was pumping his cock hard and fast, just stimulating his corona as one of my fingers continually massaged his frenulum. His body was tensing. I'd not worshipped his cock so intensely until now. He was going to cum... the orgasm of his life was moments away. Then, feeling the strong pulsing of his cock in my fist, I let go.
My timing couldn’t have been more accurate.
Ropes of cum shot out of his piss-slit with surprising force. The boy went silent. It was dense ejaculate, as it always is after extended denial periods and doubtless caused some discomfort as it travelled through his tender balls and urethra. A total of six spurts escaped, all thick, but the first significantly more powerful than the subsequent five. A seventh pulsation of his cock resulted in some remaining semen pitifully dribbling down the shaft. I carefully scooped this emission up with my hand and broke the silence between us with a small chuckle. He followed with loud and frustrated groans, bewildered and broken by my action in cutting him off from orgasm and “wasting” the cum that he had been forced to let build in the past two and a bit months.
Hearing him moan and groan the way he currently was pushed me over, and I could feel the sadistic side of me taking over, wanting to hear more of his music. I eyed the cum I’d collected in my palm and eyed his beautiful, glistening cockhead. Due to the prolonged attention it had grown more purple than pink and it had fully swelled during the ruined orgasm and so was now quite plump, and sensitive. I looked him in the eyes and made sure he knew what I’d been thinking when I looked at my hand and his cock, and, with a devilish grin, went to work:
After ignoring his cockhead throughout the entire session the sudden palming after his ruined orgasm was even more intense than it would have been before any semen escaped. After even a ruined orgasm the cockhead becomes significantly more sensitive than before. And the lack of any stimulation to his cockhead only served to enhance what it felt like now that it was getting overwhelming attention.
The boy squealed uncontrollably: ‘Noooo!’
‘Oh no,’ I taunted. ‘You spoke. Do you remember what that means, boy?’
‘Noooooooo!’
'I've already warned you twice!'
As always, because it suited me, I’d decided not to be a liar. I was going to, without mercy, polish this boy’s cockhead until his screaming progressed from incoherent to defeated and then came right back round again. I was going to ruthlessly work the tip of his spent cock as if my life depended on inflicting as much of the torture as I could. I wanted to see if this slave could be forced to further ruined orgasms by palming his dickhead alone.
His cries were never-ending. I used his cum as lube. I used my spit as lube. I kept his cockhead moist and polished it until it turned a darkened purple and his cries went hoarse. This was my first time polishing this slave in over a month. I’d been uncharacteristically kind the past sixteen sessions – exceedingly so. I was going to make up for it. His cock never limpened from the overstimulation and thus the overstimulation remained just that.
I kept palming him irregularly with one hand as I jacked myself off with the other. While I did intend on fucking this slave later on today the boy’s squirming and pleading for mercy were making it hard to hold my load in and I no longer had the willpower to restrain myself. I moved so that my cock was aiming at his so that when I shot I could use my own cum as lube for the torture of his tender glans.
'What's wrong, boy?' I taunted.
'Sttttoooooppp!'
'But I let you cum. Isn't it my turn to have fun?'
'Nooooo, that di- yant- kau-'
'It didn't count?'
'No- I did-'
'Who did? I can't tell what you're saying, boy.'
'Sth- Eeeese!'
The boy’s pleas for mercy were too hot for me to be able to hold off and I came with an intense ferocity, my jizz painting his cock and my hands, and shooting well beyond his tied body.
He watched as I came everywhere, my jizz satisfyingly escaping and the sensations overwhelming me. I could see in his eyes impeccable envy.
My cum changed the sensation of the polishing, sparking new and intense sensations for the boy. As promised I wasn’t stopping. Nothing was going to make me either. I was going to drain this boy, one ruined orgasm at a time. This session of cock teasing had now evolved into a genuine session of cock torture.
His incoherent speech continued. Sputters of syllables devoid of meaning. Poor guy.
'There, there,' I reassured him. 'I'm just touching your penis. What gay man has ever complained about having another touch their penis? You liked it before when I was giving you attention...'
I didn't let up. I juiced his cockhead with my fist, squeezing it like a sponge on the upstroke and holding my fist tight on the downstroke. He entered into a defeated silence, his body still reflectively thrashing in futile attempts to avoid the stimulation.
In spite of himself I could tell he was getting closer. The movement of his balls never lied.
Nothing was greater to me than a guy who could get off by polishing. It meant that there was only the smallest microsecond of pleasure for them as an orgasm rocked their bodies before the overstimulation overwhelmed them more than before. Or, in this case, no pleasure at all as a ruined orgasm was triggered. I’d made guys cry before.
His staccato grunts and moans returned. By now his cockhead must be tingling in an effort to numb itself to be saved. He began instinctively trying to recoil and fuck my fist simultaneously - to move my stimulation from the tip to the shaft. I ensured that wasn't possible and kept juicing his tender tip.
'Please, have mercy on me...'
'No.'
'Please.'
'If you can speak I'm obviously not being rough enough.'
I stopped the juicing motion and resumed palming. With one hand holding the base of his cock pointing down toward his feet the other was free to cup his sensitive head and twist and turn over and over again in endless motion. His wails were beautiful.
My cock hadn't fully deflated since I came and was now starting to get hard once more. I moved the hand at the base of his cock to my own cock and began stroking. With only my palm holding his cockhead down the feelings would be becoming more intense for him. This was reflected in the sounds he was making which my cock was so appreciative of that it gushed a string of precum.
I realised that the boy was never going to reach ejaculation again by just working his overly tender glans incessantly and so made a fist and placed my fingers to stimulate both his sweet spot and the very sensitive topside of his corona and cockhead. Now there was some definable pleasure amongst the torment for the boy.
'I'm going to make you shoot again, boy.'
'Yes, please...'
I let go of his cock. Even after the brutal treatment he'd just received he was still desperate to cum, still craving that orgasm I'd almost allowed him.
'You've misunderstood,' I explained. 'I'm going to make you shoot, I'm not going to make you *cum*. There is a difference, isn't there?'
'Please, sir...'
With what little movement he had he was thrusting his hips upwards, the motion an extension of his throbbing cock.
'No. I'm going to drain those balls of all the cum inside them, but you're not going to get an orgasm.'
'PLEASE!'
'Deal with it.'
I thumbed his cockhead lightly and he thrashed. It was still like a raw nerve. Surprising, given how rough I'd been. But perfect for what I had planned.
My hand left his cockhead and began stroking his shaft hard and fast, his foreskin being the only stimulus for his head. With his cock sensitive and cum stored it took moments before his body began signalling to me that he was getting ready to expel another load.
His poker face was excellent, but his balls couldn't fool me. I watched as his scrotum tightened and pulled up toward his body and his cock gave me a pulse to tell me "let go". And so I did.
Free from touch I watched as his cock throbbed desperately for contact.
'No, no, no, no, no, no, no...' he cried.
His abused cockhead swelled satisfyingly and I watched with joy as his second load dribbled out of him in a constant stream. Considering how much he'd shot the first time round the volume of his second emission was substantial and the duration impressive.
'You poor, poor boy.'
I looked him in the eyes and smiled.
'Please...' he moaned, as I slowly edged my fingers toward his sensitised and semen coated knob. 'Don't polish me, please...'
He jerked and thrashed as one by one my fingers gently traced over his dickhead, using his second load for lube. 'You should know by now, boy, I do what I want.'
I lightly traced a finger up and down his frenulum whilst the others continued prodding and sliding across his smooth cockhead. I didn't dare risk to palm him anymore lest he go numb. He wouldn't be very fun to torture then. I traced his sensitive knob with my fingers inconsistently, keeping him unable to brace himself from the ticklish torment. Although, no man could ever mentally prepare themselves efficiently for even methodical and rhythmic polishing.
After another minute of this treatment I spoke. 'You're bringing this on yourself you know, boy?' I taunted. 'If you'd just stop entertaining me with all your whining then I'll stop.'
I kept at his cock until a third ejaculation was ripped from him, perfectly dissociated with orgasm and reinvigorating his abused cockhead with fresh sensitivity.
I placed my palm on his cockhead. He actually screamed.
'NOOOOOO! STOP THIS. PLEASE! LOCK ME UP!'
'No. This is too fun. I'll stop when your cock stops crying for me, okay?'
In total I seized five more ruined orgasms from his overworked knob. The first of which where ejaculation volume significantly decreased and the subsequent four where only small dribbles emerged, delayed after the pulsating contractions of his cock. Finally, on the eighth set of total contractions his cockhead swelled and his piss-slit widened but nothing came out. After eight attempted orgasms, his balls had been drained and his cock was finally unable to expel anymore cum.
'Look's like you're getting what you want, boy.'
Silence was the only response I got in return. I didn't imagine he was going to want his cock touched for at least over a week. I'd given his knob hell, and his balls would be sore from churning out load after load. I intended on giving him at least a two week reprieve after today's session.
'Time to lock you back up.'
There were still seven months remaining in his contract. He'd agreed to make his cock mine and that included its sensitive sponge, always ready but never willing to let me torturously wring ruined orgasm after ruined orgasm out. How much fun would he have? Well, that was irrelevant. I knew after today that I was going to have a lot of fun.