sub-burbs

With each day that passes, I’m getting more and more frustrated and horny. 

Today, all I can think about is sex and if I’m going to get a chance to stroke tonight.  Each time Mistress Trecia actually lets me stroke is a mixed blessing.  I accept the temporary relief that contact brings, slick hand gliding over my cock, a little mind trickery to tell my body to relax.  ("No, really - we’re going to cum this time.")  It doesn’t take long before that short moment is gone and I’m frantically stroking, edging time and again trying to get back that little bit of relief only to drive myself to new heights of frustration.

Last night, I kept up the cycle again.  My assignment was short and wonderful (put the mousetraps on my nipples and masturbate to the "stroke time" audio), but Mistress added the "gift" of being able to stroke myself to sleep.  And there I was, lying in bed after my assignment, Mistress’s audio stories streaming into my ear, my cock rock hard and dripping pre-cum down my balls onto the bed as I stroked and stroked and stroked, desperate for relief that was never going to arrive.  I finally had to lay on my hands to stop touching myself in an effort to find some rest, the time between filled with my cock bobbing in the air and me trying to gather the last tatters of willpower left in my system.

I don’t know why this time is so much more difficult than the others.  I’m trying to center myself and find a way to prepare for the seemingly (and possible) infinite time before I am allowed to release, but I end up in this self-perpetuating behavior that is starting to drive me mad.

Of course, Mistress is doing everything she can to enhance and prolong my suffering.  She grants me "free time" to stroke as a reward for my work, knowing full well that I’m just going to tease myself into a frenzy of denial, shame, and frustration.  She also delights in telling me little tidbits to keep me off balance, her latest from yesterday was to remind me that she may not even let me cum during my visit!

What’s even more frustrating is that the situation is perfectly escapable.  The logical (and devious) part of my brain tells me to just cum already.  I’m not locked into some chastity device, my willpower superseded by layers of leather, plastic, or stainless steel.  I’m free to cum at any time.  "Come on," that little voice says, "Two more strokes and you’re there.  Who’s going to know?"

But this is what I’ve become now.  My cock is no longer my own, my free will has been given away, and Mistress holds them both in her grasp.