“Touch Your Cock For Me”

supervised-masturbation-2

I had edged him over and over again in the hours that came before. He was pliant for the moment, but with no release, he was near the point where his want jams up against his willingness to obey me.

I love that point — it’s where I get to watch the struggle in his head.

“Touch your cock for me.”

He was quick to comply, pinning his cock between the knuckles of both hands. With his thumbs, he caught the flesh of his frenum and applied pressure, squeezing and pinching hard, exactly as I’ve instructed him.

When he hurts for me with just one hand, its position impedes my view. But when he hurts himself with both hands, my view of his cock is unobstructed. More than that, the position demands he engage his entire upper body instead of just one hand. He’s forced to use his arms, his chest, and abdomen — and there’s nothing more I enjoy than watching his muscles tense and contract beneath his skin.

He didn’t disappoint — the muscles in his arms and chest engaged and I enjoyed the view for some time before correcting him.

“I didn’t tell you to hurt your cock. I told you to touch your cock.”

He relaxed, offering a small “I’m sorry, Ma’am.” Resting his right hand on his cock and the the other at his side, he looked up and awaited his next instruction.

“Pay attention, please.” He nodded. “Be gentle… use just your fingertips on the underside… stroke base to tip… barely touching, and go slow.”

He did as he was told, stopping just after his fingertips grazed the head of his cock. I smiled — he was following directions more carefully now.

“Good boy… just like that. You may continue.”

After just half a dozen gentle strokes, he whimpered, his cock straining under his fingers. I had already edged him so many times, bringing him to the brink of release and then stopping him just short. The whisper soft touches and repeated barely-there stimulation had to be torture. He was desperate to relieve the tension — more pressure, more contact, anything to give him some release.

“Wet your fingers.”

Raising his right hand to his mouth, he sucked his fingers for a few moments before returning them to his cock.

I tapped his left arm and reached for his wrist, bending his arm awkwardly over his head, and bringing his hand to my mouth.

With the tip of my tongue, I licked the underside of his left index finger from palm to fingertip, matching his own teasing strokes on his cock. I mirrored his movements for a bit before sucking his finger into my mouth, firmly lapping at the underside with a wide, flat tongue.

He groaned, wrapped his whole hand around his cock and started jerking.

I almost laughed — I knew he would do that. I smiled and let my teeth graze his finger as I pulled it from my mouth.

“No, baby. I didn’t tell you to jerk off. I told you to stroke softly… just your fingertips…”

He whimpered, released his cock from his fist, and resumed his gentle stroking. I licked the length of his fingers one by one while I watched his face contort.

“Please… Ma’am… may I come?”

“No, baby… you may not.”

“Ma’am?” he whined, “I’m going to come if I keep going…”

“No you won’t. I trust you. You won’t come until I say.”

He stopped stroking and looked up at me.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” I smiled, looking down into his pained face.

He whimpered and closed his eyes, but he did as he was told, teasing his aching cock for me.

“Good boy… just like that,” I purred, “…but don’t you dare come.”

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