Oh… you’re here to stroke for me, aren’t you?
You didn’t even hesitate. One little whisper from me and you dropped everything to wrap that pathetic little hand around your cock.
Don’t worry, baby. I know exactly what you need—because I know exactly what you’ll never have.
Let’s start slow. Slide your hand down. No lube yet. I want you to feel every dry inch. I want you to earn it.
Now… stroke. Nice and slow. Match my voice. One. Two. Three. Don’t rush—sissies like you don’t get to race to the finish. You follow my rhythm. Always.
Now stop. Hands off. Yes, now. That twitch? That ache? That’s mine to control. And that’s what makes you so obedient. So predictable. So easy to ruin.
You stroke for approval. For permission. For a chance to hear me say good boy.
But we both know you’ll keep stroking—even if I don’t let you cum.
You’re addicted to the sound of my voice…
The way I say your name…
The sting of my laughter when I mock your size, your weakness, your desperate need to be told what to do.
Touch yourself again. Slowly. Just the tip.
Imagine me watching you—arms crossed, smirking.
That’s right. Stroke. Obey. Repeat.
Now stop again.
Because you don’t cum until I say.
And I’m not done playing yet.
Still aching?
Good.
That need… that fire under your skin… that’s mine.
So be a good little thing—edge again, and then call me.
Let me hear how desperate you sound when you’re not allowed to finish.
I’ll decide if you earn release. Or if you stay ruined.