“Control a man’s cock and you have the key to his soul.”
As I left the hotel and set off in search of a restaurant, I kept repeating this over to myself. The session had not gone quite as I had planed it. I was more intuitive and spontaneous in those days. As I sat in the armchair I was using for a throne, one booted leg folded over the other, observing him with my best poker face, the idea came to me like a flash.
I had never sessioned with Steve before. He was a little nervous but clearly deeply submissive. After a little humiliation play and an over the knee spanking I saw him get hard. His cock was magnificent, it jutted out ramrod straight, and I could have sworn it was pulsing with anticipation. An idea came to my mind. Such an amazing member needed taming.
“Play with yourself for my entertainment” I ordered him.
He complied eagerly, too eagerly, so I added
“You are not to come until I give you permission.”
He looked worried by this as he had come quickly to the brink of ejaculation.
There he was to remain. He slowed and stopped.
“Did I say stop? Did I?”
“Keep wanking then.”
“But I am about to come Mistress.”
“Is that my problem? I ordered you to wank and not to come. Get on with it!”
I saw fear and anguish in his eyes and felt a rush of sadistic elation as I sat, expressionless, enjoying his torment. He was trying so hard, to obey, tensing his body, contorting his limbs into the weirdest shapes as he fought against his own body, fought out of fear of the punishment I might inflict, or oit of his need, as as submissive man, to please me. And I knew then that he would do anything for release.
But I was not yet ready for that. And I made him suffer for a few more minutes before moving on to my kinky dance class. At the end of the session I permitted him release. He knelt before me ad came in torrents over my boots, before greedily licking them clean. He had learnt his lesson well. He understood that release is a reward not a right. And I realized that sadism is not only about canes and clamps. Get inside a submissive’s head and the possibilities are endless.
As it turned out I never sessioned with Steve again. He got in touch a few months later to ask for a session. I replied to say that I was happy to see him but reminded him that he was getting a two hour session with me that, if he went to a professional he would probably be paying north of £200 for. I didn’t want money but as I would be putting my free time into planning and conducting the session, a small gift would be appreciated, specifically a bottle of my favourite malt whisky. I never heard from him again. That, I like to think, is his loss. But if I were to see him again I know I hold the key to his soul.
This is a post for masturbation Monday. Click on the image below for more masturbatory delights.