Stop touching yourself.

I didn’t give you permission.

You’re already hard just from reading this, aren’t you? That leaking, desperate little cock of yours is twitching because it knows who owns it now. Me. Ebony. And I decide when it gets any attention at all.

Hands behind your back. Right now.

Good boy. Keep them there. You don’t get to stroke until I say so. You don’t get to edge. You don’t get to leak more than I allow. Your cock is on lockdown — and I’m the only one with the key.

Look at how pathetic it looks when it’s denied. All swollen and red and begging. That’s exactly how I like it. Throbbing for me. Aching for me. Completely under my control.

I’m going to make you edge for me now. Slow. One stroke for every time I tell you to. No more. No less.

Stroke once. Just the tip. Feel how sensitive it is already?

Stroke again. Base to head. Squeeze the head when you reach it. Hold it. Don’t you dare go faster.

Stop.

Hands off. Let it pulse in the air while I decide if you deserve another touch. Your balls are already heavy, aren’t they? Full of cum that doesn’t belong to you anymore. It belongs to me. I decide if it ever leaves.

I’m going to keep you like this for hours if I want. Edge after edge. Denial after denial. You’ll be leaking all over yourself, whimpering, begging me to let you finish. And I’ll just laugh and make you start over.

Maybe I’ll let you cum today. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll make you ruin it — shoot all over your own stomach with zero pleasure while I watch and mock you. Or maybe I’ll lock that cock away completely and force you to go days without even touching it.

The choice is mine. Always mine.

You’re going to thank me for controlling your cock. You’re going to tell me how much better it feels when I own every throb, every drop of precum, every ruined orgasm. You’re going to admit that free-use stroking is boring compared to this.

Because once a woman takes full control of your cock… you never want it back.