Chat with us, powered by LiveChat

I once met a guy at a party and we hit it off right away. When he asked me if I wanted to leave with him, it was a done deal. He had a nice car and took me to his place, a lovely house in an impressive neighborhood. He casually name-dropped his employer into our convo and that was pretty impressive, too. It explained his expensive tech and furniture in the home! The guy literally had it altogether. His cock was Grade A, as well. No complaints. We started getting more comfortable. I think he was surpised that I took the lead. I could tell that he was used to being dominant but it wasn’t happening tonight! I showed him the zip ties I always keep in my purse (convenient, effective and portable in any handbag!) and I think it threw him for a loop. But the torment was just getting started. Soon, his wrists were tied. He was BDSM-bound  my way and only had a little room to wriggle. Vulnerable, he could do nothing and I could do everything. Just the way I liked it.

Torment, My Way

Over the course of the next few hours, I had worked him into a fervor that I’m not sure he was ever expecting. I was quite enjoying dragging my fingertips ever-so-slightly anywhere I chose, giving his balls the occasional squeeze, acting like I was going to suck him off but only offering him a single lick instead. I alternated CBT and pleasure-teasing, only exasperating him further. Sometimes I rubbed his pre-cum into his cock head, sometimes I smeared it on his lips. He went from playful to cajoling, from good-natured to desperate. He wasn’t growing tired of the pleasure….he couldn’t deny that he loved it.

But I could tell that he was beginning to realize that he had no choice but to endure it and there was no end in sight. He went from asking to begging, from pleading to almost a complete loss of language. Words were now  whimpers. Sweaty and shaking, he was offering me anything I wanted. The money in his wallet? I turned it down. Whatever you want, he said. I declined.

Your Cock Is The Prisoner

See, I hadn’t exactly been properly vetted for the evening. I was hot in a sexy dress at a party, and that qualified me for fun. But he stopped there. His small talk with me that evening hadn’t brought out alot on my end of things, but I hadn’t cared. I wasn’t looking for a ring, I was looking for a good time. But had he probed a bit before those zip ties, he might have gotten an inkling of what he was up against. Mid 30-s, home owner, indepedent, cuckoldress, smart as a whip and cunning like a snake. Not a hair-tossing airhead looking for a sugar daddy, not an opportunist on the rise. I didn’t want the money in his wallet or the key to his shiny, black Challenger out in the driveway.

There’s something about when a woman doesn’t need anything you have. True torment is being helpless for real and your cock is the prisoner. Your mind gets fucked in the process. A Mistress is an expert at making it all happen.