Sex stories

Sex stories




Frustration Pt. 02

The next few weeks were an agony of suspense for me.

Before I'd left your dressing room you'd told me to leave my phone number with the bartender, which I'd done. I didn't hear from you the next day, or the next, or the next. Days stretched into weeks. My life went on as usual, at least on the surface - work, gym, drinks with friends, the occasional date with someone I'd meet at a bar or in another department at work. But on the inside, I was boiling with tension, hoping you'd call.

I went to more of your shows, of course - as many as I could. Each one was as good as, or better than, the one before, but to my inner dismay you didn't make any kind of eye contact with me or acknowledge that I was even there, although you must have seen me, since I made a point at every show to sit right up front. And, there were no more summons to your dressing room. That didn't surprise me. I'd known that was a one-time thing, kind of a get-to-know-you between domme and sub. But, I was disappointed that you didn't give me at least a glance or a wink while you were onstage. I began to wonder if the whole thing had been a joke, and that you had picked me at random that night out of the audience to toy with for a while, then drop.

My concerns were allayed about a month after the dressing room session, when my cell phone rang. The screen showed "private number" and I knew before I answered that it would be you.

"Hello baby," you purred in my ear when I answered. My cock responded instantly, shifting in my pants at the sound of your voice. My heartbeat sped up a bit.

"Hello mistress," I said, somewhat hesitantly.

"Did you take care of yourself when you got home?"

I knew what she meant. And the answer was definitely yes - when I'd arrived back at my apartment I wasted little time in jacking my throbbing dick to a mind-bending orgasm. Afterwards, I'd collapsed on the bed, half-dressed, and fallen into a deep sleep.

"Yes, mistress," I said. "I had to. You left me with the biggest hard-on I've ever had."

You laughed quietly at this. "Did I? Good. And I'm glad you masturbated that night, because next time you won't be able to."

"What do you mean, mistress?" I asked, although I had a pretty good idea.

"Chastity, hon," you cooed. "During our next time together, I'm going to lock you in a beautiful little chastity device. It will prevent you from masturbating, or even having an erection."

I swallowed, suddenly unable to speak. My head swam slightly at the thought of entering into a situation where you had total control over my cock. Part of me was pissed at you for suggesting it...but a bigger part was aroused by the thought.

"Are you there, babe?" you asked.

"Yes," I managed to whisper. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good," you said, suddenly becoming businesslike. "Tomorrow night. My condo. Eight o'clock. Don't be one minute late or you'll find the door locked and me gone."

You hung up before I could ask you where you lived. But a few moments later I received a text, again from "private number", with an address in one of the swankier suburbs.

When I put the phone down, I realized my cock and balls throbbed and ached, and just from a single phone conversation with you.

Fuck, I thought. What the fuck is happening to my head?

-----

I made excuses the next day not to go out with coworkers for drinks, and was parked outside your condo by 7:45. I waited apprehensively, looking at your place and the surrounding neighborhood. Swanky was an understatement - you obviously had a lot of money coming in from somewhere. The neighborhood was a very trendy community probably built within the last ten years, with enormous yet tasteful homes, immaculate lawns, brick-paved streets, and old-fashioned gaslights lighting the sidewalks. There were Beemers, Porsches, and Cadillacs everywhere, and I even spotted a couple of Lamborghinis.

I waited until 7:55, then got out of the car and walked up to your front door. I was about to push the doorbell when you opened the door.

"Hello, hon," you said affectionately. The small smile on your lips made me smile also, almost involuntarily, and I felt myself begin to turn red-faced under your direct gaze.

You looked stunning. You were dressed to turn heads, with a skintight black dress that showed plenty of cleavage and ended about halfway down your thighs. On your feet you wore strappy black stilettos, and your long black hair was brushed perfectly straight and accentuated by a small pink flower near your left ear. Over one shoulder you carried a large black leather purse that looked like it could hold a lot more than your cell phone and makeup kit. I practically started drooling there on your front porch.

You smiled. "Come in, baby."

Inside, the house was as luxurious as it appeared on the outside. You led me to a large sitting area near the main door.

"Drop your pants," you ordered.

There was no questioning the authority underneath your velvet voice. I undid my belt and let my jeans fall around my ankle. There was no hiding the erection that had started upon seeing you when you opened the door, and had only grown since - it bulged against the fabric of my boxers.

"Those too." You gestured at the boxer shorts.

"Yes, ma'am," I said, and slid them down. My cock bounced gently and twitched in the air.

"Good boy," you said sweetly. You reached into your bag and brought out a small harness made of two thin black cords, one forming a circle and the other an arch between two sides of the circle. You went down on one knee and carefully fitted the harness over my cock; the arch was just long enough to allow the circle to rest around the base of my cockhead. The arch itself crossed over the tip of my dick, covering my hole. I watched as you took out a roll of black electrical tape, tore off a piece about six inches long, and wrapped it around the harness, holding it snugly in place. It wasn't clear what this little device was for, but I had a feeling I'd find out soon.

Naturally, all of this contact from your smooth, cool fingers and sharp nails had my cock raging and aching, and a drop of precum had appeared, oozing out from under the harness. You frowned at this.

"I thought that might be a problem," you said, almost to yourself. Out of your bag you produced a small spray bottle filled with clear liquid.

Without any warning you spritzed the entire length of my dick. Shocking cold gripped the shaft in an icy hand. I yelped involuntarily.

"Fuck!"

"Shut up," you said coolly, smiling at my discomfort. I did.

The cold had the desired effect, causing my hard-on to subside immediately. You then pulled one more item from your bag of tricks: a chastity cage. It was clear plastic, the only opening (besides the one that allowed the cage to be put on) a small slit across the tip to allow the wearer to urinate. You slipped the cage on and locked it with a miniature padlock, then put the key on a thin gold chain, which you fastened around your neck. I stared at the key with mingled apprehension and fascination as it dangled between your breasts.

"Put your pants back on, baby," you said. I did, zipping my harnessed and caged cock up inside my jeans. The hard plastic rubbed against my sensitive balls and cockhead, creating an irritating but somehow pleasurable friction. I felt my shaft begin to twitch again, and thought of how painful an erection would be inside the tiny cock cage.

You must have read my thoughts, because you stepped close to me, laid one hand lightly against the bulge in my jeans, and whispered in my ear.

"That's right, sweetie, no hard dick for you. If you do start to get hard, it will hurt like fucking hell."

You giggled wickedly and massaged my crotch. I couldn't feel your fingers because of the cage, but just the feeling of the cage itself being made to rub against my skin made my cock try to get harder inside the cramped little plastic box. Soon I could feel the shaft trying to bend against the shape of the cage and the head pushing against the plastic walls. A dull ache, entirely different from the pleasurable ache of being horny, began to pulse in my groin. I groaned quietly.

You dipped into your bag again and held up a slim black rectangle, about the size of a stick of gum. The rectangle was featureless except for a single silver button set into one end. You ran your manicured thumb lightly over the button.

"I know you're wondering what that little black thing is for," you said. Actually, I had nearly forgotten about it, the gradually intensifying pain in my crotch occupying most of my attention.

But I said, "Yes, mistress, I did wonder."

"I'll show you."

You pressed the silver button.

------

I look back on that evening as the most tormenting, humiliating, and intensely erotic three hours of my entire life to that point. We did go out, to one of the classiest restaurants in town, the kind of place that doesn't even have a sign out front because the only way to get in is by knowing the right people. Which you clearly did, because we were seated at one of the best tables in the house, right in the middle of the crowded dining room, surrounded on all sides by well-groomed, well-dressed elites.

And you had no doubt reserved that particular table precisely because it was right in the middle of everybody, on a night you knew would be a busy one, because you wanted to maximize my torment. You kept the black rectangle on the table next to your silverware, discreetly hidden under a silk napkin, and every few minutes you would slip a finger under the napkin and press the silver button. By the end of that evening my entire brain was consumed with watching your finger, and whether it was straying close to that napkin. I pleaded with you silently, my eyes wide and locked on yours, at one point even beginning to weep a little from sexual torment and embarrassment.

The little black harness was an electro-stimulation toy; how it was powered I had no idea, because it didn't seem to have any batteries. The rectangle was a remote control for it. Every time you pressed that little button my entire cock, from tip to root, became enveloped in a million wickedly sharp, tiny little dancing fingernails that pulsed and pinched their way up and down my aching member. The mixture of pain and pleasure was excruciating beyond words. And it was all compounded by the goddamned cock cage you had me locked in, because the more my cock tried to fill with blood in response to the maddening electricity the more the hard cage walls squashed against it, cruelly twisting my bulging dick and throbbing balls.

The torment would continue for as long as you held the button down, and would end with blessed sweet relief as soon as you released it. I was utterly at your mercy throughout the entire meal, which you deliberately made longer by taking your time ordering (you ordered for both of us - you had told me on the drive there that I was not to speak unless you gave me permission), eating, saying hello to people you knew, and generally prolonging what was, in essence, a very public sexual teasing session. Every time you turned the harness on and the pain/pleasure mix erupted through my cock and balls, it was all I could do to stifle a loud moan behind my hand or napkin. Several times I caught nearby patrons giving me strange looks, and I realized sweat was dripping down my forehead and my teeth were clenched in anticipation of the next time your finger would go under the napkin. I tried to force myself to relax, but by the time I had finished half of my lobster bisque my crotch was a continually pulsing mass of crushed flesh, held in by the hard, unyielding plastic.

I nearly sobbed with relief when you finally stood up. There was no check; this was the sort of place that kept discreet accounts for its regular patrons, relieving them of the awkward commonness of having to pay for something in front of others. I tried to stand as well, and the shifting of my bulging dick caused a fresh bolt of pain to shoot into my abdomen. I stumbled and caught the edge of the table.

"Are you all right?" asked an elderly woman at the next table, looking at me with concern.

I felt my face turning red.

"I think so, thank you, just a leg cramp," I muttered, and limped away toward the main door where you were waiting impatiently. I saw your hand move, and the million fingernails, by now all too familiar, once again raced up and down my cock and balls. I suppressed a scream of pain and frustration and moved more quickly.

"It's about fucking time," you whispered sweetly, showing me the remote in your right hand. Your finger caressed the silver button, the button I'd come to hate so much over the last three hours.

"Oh God, mistress, please don't," I begged softly.

"Be a good boy and I won't," you said.

But of course you did. You pressed the button at random moments throughout our entire drive back to your condo (as you'd done during the drive to the restaurant). You were driving, so there was no chance it would cause an accident, but by the time we reached your driveway I was a writhing, begging mass of sweaty agony in the passenger seat.

"Come inside," you said as you got out. "We're just getting started tonight."

Somehow I rolled out of the car and staggered into the house after you. My legs could barely move, and every step caused the aching, swollen mass inside the cage to feel as if someone were gripping and twisting it like a corkscrew.

Once inside, you produced a wide leather collar from your bag, and told me to kneel. I did, fearing you would use the remote control if I didn't obey immediately.

You slipped the collar over my head and buckled it around my neck, snugging it down firmly but not tightly. The soft leather caressed the sensitive skin around my neck, and I closed my eyes, giving myself completely to the sensation of being collared by you.

After a few moments I was brought back to reality by the sound of a metallic click. I opened my eyes.

You had attached a black leather leash, about five feet long, to the collar.

"Stay on your hands and knees, and follow me."

I didn't have a choice. I crawled across the floor on hands and knees, you leading me with the leash, yanking on it when I fell behind. You led me through several hallways and up a long flight of stairs, which were agony for me to negotiate, and finally stopped outside a closed door.

"This is my bedroom," you said, looking down at my upturned face. "This is my private sanctuary. Do you know how lucky you are that I'm about to allow you in here?"

I nodded eagerly. "Yes, mistress."

"Good." You rested one hand on the doorknob. "Behind this door you will find the most intense sexual frustration you have ever dreamed of, baby."

You smiled at me. I was hypnotized.

"This is your last chance. Once you enter this room there's no going back."

God, just open the door and take me inside, I begged silently.

"Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"If you decide to come into my bedroom, the first thing I will do is remove your chastity cage." You smiled darkly. "But you may end up wishing I hadn't."

"I understand mistress," I said, and at last gave in to my inner need. "Please, mistress, oh God, please let me in," I begged, looking up at your exotic face with pleading eyes. "Please take me. Please tease me all you want, make me beg to cum, make me lick my own cum off the floor, anything."

You nodded, apparently satisfied, and turned the knob.

I soon learned that I didn't understand a damned thing about what it meant to be teased and denied by someone like you, someone who had complete mastery of the male body and male mind, and the skill and intelligence to use that knowledge to maximum effect. I quickly learned that I had no fucking clue what I had gotten into and had strayed into waters that were way over my head.

But who knew it could feel so good to drown?The next few weeks were an agony of suspense for me.

Before I'd left your dressing room you'd told me to leave my phone number with the bartender, which I'd done. I didn't hear from you the next day, or the next, or the next. Days stretched into weeks. My life went on as usual, at least on the surface - work, gym, drinks with friends, the occasional date with someone I'd meet at a bar or in another department at work. But on the inside, I was boiling with tension, hoping you'd call.

I went to more of your shows, of course - as many as I could. Each one was as good as, or better than, the one before, but to my inner dismay you didn't make any kind of eye contact with me or acknowledge that I was even there, although you must have seen me, since I made a point at every show to sit right up front. And, there were no more summons to your dressing room. That didn't surprise me. I'd known that was a one-time thing, kind of a get-to-know-you between domme and sub. But, I was disappointed that you didn't give me at least a glance or a wink while you were onstage. I began to wonder if the whole thing had been a joke, and that you had picked me at random that night out of the audience to toy with for a while, then drop.

My concerns were allayed about a month after the dressing room session, when my cell phone rang. The screen showed "private number" and I knew before I answered that it would be you.

"Hello baby," you purred in my ear when I answered. My cock responded instantly, shifting in my pants at the sound of your voice. My heartbeat sped up a bit.

"Hello mistress," I said, somewhat hesitantly.

"Did you take care of yourself when you got home?"

I knew what she meant. And the answer was definitely yes - when I'd arrived back at my apartment I wasted little time in jacking my throbbing dick to a mind-bending orgasm. Afterwards, I'd collapsed on the bed, half-dressed, and fallen into a deep sleep.

"Yes, mistress," I said. "I had to. You left me with the biggest hard-on I've ever had."

You laughed quietly at this. "Did I? Good. And I'm glad you masturbated that night, because next time you won't be able to."

"What do you mean, mistress?" I asked, although I had a pretty good idea.

"Chastity, hon," you cooed. "During our next time together, I'm going to lock you in a beautiful little chastity device. It will prevent you from masturbating, or even having an erection."

I swallowed, suddenly unable to speak. My head swam slightly at the thought of entering into a situation where you had total control over my cock. Part of me was pissed at you for suggesting it...but a bigger part was aroused by the thought.

"Are you there, babe?" you asked.

"Yes," I managed to whisper. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good," you said, suddenly becoming businesslike. "Tomorrow night. My condo. Eight o'clock. Don't be one minute late or you'll find the door locked and me gone."

You hung up before I could ask you where you lived. But a few moments later I received a text, again from "private number", with an address in one of the swankier suburbs.

When I put the phone down, I realized my cock and balls throbbed and ached, and just from a single phone conversation with you.

Fuck, I thought. What the fuck is happening to my head?

-----

I made excuses the next day not to go out with coworkers for drinks, and was parked outside your condo by 7:45. I waited apprehensively, looking at your place and the surrounding neighborhood. Swanky was an understatement - you obviously had a lot of money coming in from somewhere. The neighborhood was a very trendy community probably built within the last ten years, with enormous yet tasteful homes, immaculate lawns, brick-paved streets, and old-fashioned gaslights lighting the sidewalks. There were Beemers, Porsches, and Cadillacs everywhere, and I even spotted a couple of Lamborghinis.

I waited until 7:55, then got out of the car and walked up to your front door. I was about to push the doorbell when you opened the door.

"Hello, hon," you said affectionately. The small smile on your lips made me smile also, almost involuntarily, and I felt myself begin to turn red-faced under your direct gaze.

You looked stunning. You were dressed to turn heads, with a skintight black dress that showed plenty of cleavage and ended about halfway down your thighs. On your feet you wore strappy black stilettos, and your long black hair was brushed perfectly straight and accentuated by a small pink flower near your left ear. Over one shoulder you carried a large black leather purse that looked like it could hold a lot more than your cell phone and makeup kit. I practically started drooling there on your front porch.

You smiled. "Come in, baby."

Inside, the house was as luxurious as it appeared on the outside. You led me to a large sitting area near the main door.

"Drop your pants," you ordered.

There was no questioning the authority underneath your velvet voice. I undid my belt and let my jeans fall around my ankle. There was no hiding the erection that had started upon seeing you when you opened the door, and had only grown since - it bulged against the fabric of my boxers.

"Those too." You gestured at the boxer shorts.

"Yes, ma'am," I said, and slid them down. My cock bounced gently and twitched in the air.

"Good boy," you said sweetly. You reached into your bag and brought out a small harness made of two thin black cords, one forming a circle and the other an arch between two sides of the circle. You went down on one knee and carefully fitted the harness over my cock; the arch was just long enough to allow the circle to rest around the base of my cockhead. The arch itself crossed over the tip of my dick, covering my hole. I watched as you took out a roll of black electrical tape, tore off a piece about six inches long, and wrapped it around the harness, holding it snugly in place. It wasn't clear what this little device was for, but I had a feeling I'd find out soon.

Naturally, all of this contact from your smooth, cool fingers and sharp nails had my cock raging and aching, and a drop of precum had appeared, oozing out from under the harness. You frowned at this.

"I thought that might be a problem," you said, almost to yourself. Out of your bag you produced a small spray bottle filled with clear liquid.

Without any warning you spritzed the entire length of my dick. Shocking cold gripped the shaft in an icy hand. I yelped involuntarily.

"Fuck!"

"Shut up," you said coolly, smiling at my discomfort. I did.

The cold had the desired effect, causing my hard-on to subside immediately. You then pulled one more item from your bag of tricks: a chastity cage. It was clear plastic, the only opening (besides the one that allowed the cage to be put on) a small slit across the tip to allow the wearer to urinate. You slipped the cage on and locked it with a miniature padlock, then put the key on a thin gold chain, which you fastened around your neck. I stared at the key with mingled apprehension and fascination as it dangled between your breasts.

"Put your pants back on, baby," you said. I did, zipping my harnessed and caged cock up inside my jeans. The hard plastic rubbed against my sensitive balls and cockhead, creating an irritating but somehow pleasurable friction. I felt my shaft begin to twitch again, and thought of how painful an erection would be inside the tiny cock cage.

You must have read my thoughts, because you stepped close to me, laid one hand lightly against the bulge in my jeans, and whispered in my ear.

"That's right, sweetie, no hard dick for you. If you do start to get hard, it will hurt like fucking hell."

You giggled wickedly and massaged my crotch. I couldn't feel your fingers because of the cage, but just the feeling of the cage itself being made to rub against my skin made my cock try to get harder inside the cramped little plastic box. Soon I could feel the shaft trying to bend against the shape of the cage and the head pushing against the plastic walls. A dull ache, entirely different from the pleasurable ache of being horny, began to pulse in my groin. I groaned quietly.

You dipped into your bag again and held up a slim black rectangle, about the size of a stick of gum. The rectangle was featureless except for a single silver button set into one end. You ran your manicured thumb lightly over the button.

"I know you're wondering what that little black thing is for," you said. Actually, I had nearly forgotten about it, the gradually intensifying pain in my crotch occupying most of my attention.

But I said, "Yes, mistress, I did wonder."

"I'll show you."

You pressed the silver button.

------

I look back on that evening as the most tormenting, humiliating, and intensely erotic three hours of my entire life to that point. We did go out, to one of the classiest restaurants in town, the kind of place that doesn't even have a sign out front because the only way to get in is by knowing the right people. Which you clearly did, because we were seated at one of the best tables in the house, right in the middle of the crowded dining room, surrounded on all sides by well-groomed, well-dressed elites.

And you had no doubt reserved that particular table precisely because it was right in the middle of everybody, on a night you knew would be a busy one, because you wanted to maximize my torment. You kept the black rectangle on the table next to your silverware, discreetly hidden under a silk napkin, and every few minutes you would slip a finger under the napkin and press the silver button. By the end of that evening my entire brain was consumed with watching your finger, and whether it was straying close to that napkin. I pleaded with you silently, my eyes wide and locked on yours, at one point even beginning to weep a little from sexual torment and embarrassment.

The little black harness was an electro-stimulation toy; how it was powered I had no idea, because it didn't seem to have any batteries. The rectangle was a remote control for it. Every time you pressed that little button my entire cock, from tip to root, became enveloped in a million wickedly sharp, tiny little dancing fingernails that pulsed and pinched their way up and down my aching member. The mixture of pain and pleasure was excruciating beyond words. And it was all compounded by the goddamned cock cage you had me locked in, because the more my cock tried to fill with blood in response to the maddening electricity the more the hard cage walls squashed against it, cruelly twisting my bulging dick and throbbing balls.

The torment would continue for as long as you held the button down, and would end with blessed sweet relief as soon as you released it. I was utterly at your mercy throughout the entire meal, which you deliberately made longer by taking your time ordering (you ordered for both of us - you had told me on the drive there that I was not to speak unless you gave me permission), eating, saying hello to people you knew, and generally prolonging what was, in essence, a very public sexual teasing session. Every time you turned the harness on and the pain/pleasure mix erupted through my cock and balls, it was all I could do to stifle a loud moan behind my hand or napkin. Several times I caught nearby patrons giving me strange looks, and I realized sweat was dripping down my forehead and my teeth were clenched in anticipation of the next time your finger would go under the napkin. I tried to force myself to relax, but by the time I had finished half of my lobster bisque my crotch was a continually pulsing mass of crushed flesh, held in by the hard, unyielding plastic.

I nearly sobbed with relief when you finally stood up. There was no check; this was the sort of place that kept discreet accounts for its regular patrons, relieving them of the awkward commonness of having to pay for something in front of others. I tried to stand as well, and the shifting of my bulging dick caused a fresh bolt of pain to shoot into my abdomen. I stumbled and caught the edge of the table.

"Are you all right?" asked an elderly woman at the next table, looking at me with concern.

I felt my face turning red.

"I think so, thank you, just a leg cramp," I muttered, and limped away toward the main door where you were waiting impatiently. I saw your hand move, and the million fingernails, by now all too familiar, once again raced up and down my cock and balls. I suppressed a scream of pain and frustration and moved more quickly.

"It's about fucking time," you whispered sweetly, showing me the remote in your right hand. Your finger caressed the silver button, the button I'd come to hate so much over the last three hours.

"Oh God, mistress, please don't," I begged softly.

"Be a good boy and I won't," you said.

But of course you did. You pressed the button at random moments throughout our entire drive back to your condo (as you'd done during the drive to the restaurant). You were driving, so there was no chance it would cause an accident, but by the time we reached your driveway I was a writhing, begging mass of sweaty agony in the passenger seat.

"Come inside," you said as you got out. "We're just getting started tonight."

Somehow I rolled out of the car and staggered into the house after you. My legs could barely move, and every step caused the aching, swollen mass inside the cage to feel as if someone were gripping and twisting it like a corkscrew.

Once inside, you produced a wide leather collar from your bag, and told me to kneel. I did, fearing you would use the remote control if I didn't obey immediately.

You slipped the collar over my head and buckled it around my neck, snugging it down firmly but not tightly. The soft leather caressed the sensitive skin around my neck, and I closed my eyes, giving myself completely to the sensation of being collared by you.

After a few moments I was brought back to reality by the sound of a metallic click. I opened my eyes.

You had attached a black leather leash, about five feet long, to the collar.

"Stay on your hands and knees, and follow me."

I didn't have a choice. I crawled across the floor on hands and knees, you leading me with the leash, yanking on it when I fell behind. You led me through several hallways and up a long flight of stairs, which were agony for me to negotiate, and finally stopped outside a closed door.

"This is my bedroom," you said, looking down at my upturned face. "This is my private sanctuary. Do you know how lucky you are that I'm about to allow you in here?"

I nodded eagerly. "Yes, mistress."

"Good." You rested one hand on the doorknob. "Behind this door you will find the most intense sexual frustration you have ever dreamed of, baby."

You smiled at me. I was hypnotized.

"This is your last chance. Once you enter this room there's no going back."

God, just open the door and take me inside, I begged silently.

"Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"If you decide to come into my bedroom, the first thing I will do is remove your chastity cage." You smiled darkly. "But you may end up wishing I hadn't."

"I understand mistress," I said, and at last gave in to my inner need. "Please, mistress, oh God, please let me in," I begged, looking up at your exotic face with pleading eyes. "Please take me. Please tease me all you want, make me beg to cum, make me lick my own cum off the floor, anything."

You nodded, apparently satisfied, and turned the knob.

I soon learned that I didn't understand a damned thing about what it meant to be teased and denied by someone like you, someone who had complete mastery of the male body and male mind, and the skill and intelligence to use that knowledge to maximum effect. I quickly learned that I had no fucking clue what I had gotten into and had strayed into waters that were way over my head.

But who knew it could feel so good to drown?

frustration  

Mar 10, 2018 in bdsm

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