sub-burbs

Last night, I performed my daily devotion as usual for Mistress Trecia.  Every day, I am to masturbate until I’m at the brink of orgasm, then stop.

This task is so much harder than I anticipated.

It’s such an unnatural thing to do, going completely against the grain of behavior that’s been programmed into men since the dawn of our species.  It starts out fun enough, me naked, kneeling naked at the edge of the bed, Mistress’s intoxicating voice whispering into my ear from my MP3 player, the feel of my slick, lubed hand on my hard cock.

But, then I remember.  This isn’t going anywhere. 

That wonderful feeling I’m experiencing at the start will start to grow into a pending orgasm, my breathing will quicken, sweat will drip from my brow, I will bury my face into the bed to quiet my moans, my muscles will begin to tighten, and my cock will swell in anticipation of that glorious release.

STOP!!!

All engines reverse, iceberg right ahead, she can’t take any more, Captain!  This is the action movie cliche of a car skidding to a halt teetering on the edge of a ravine, front wheels dangling while the hero exclaims, "Man, that was a close one!"

But the momentary joy of being able to stop and thereby fulfill Mistress’s wishes is replaced with the ache of gratification unfulfilled and the weak hope that Mistress will be gracious enough to give me a second chance to satisfy my growing craving..