From corvidae1@aol.com Tue May 27 20:12:22 1997 Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-dc-2.sprintlink.net!news-east.sprintlink.net!news-dc-26.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!Sprint!newsxfer3.itd.umich.edu!portc01.blue.aol.com!audrey02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: corvidae1@aol.com (Corvidae1) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: STORY:BRB (Cock-teasing, bondage) Date: 28 May 1997 00:12:22 GMT Lines: 128 Message-ID: <19970528001200.UAA19773@ladder02.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder02.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The following story contains scenes of bondage and cock-teasing. Those with moral objections to such activity as well as those under legal age should not read this story. BRB By L.Corvidae (Inspired By Deborah) "Be right back," she'd said. That was almost an hour ago. With each "break" she was spending more an more time away from me, leaving me to dwell on my predicament; to wait and wonder if the next time would be the one. The first half hour had been the hardest. I mean, I knew she wasn't just going to tie me down to the bed and then 'Bam!' bring me off on the first go. Or the second. Or the third. No matter what she said or how much she'd hinted, I knew it was just an act to keep me horny. I knew I was in for the long haul. "The Long Haul" was currently clocking in at seven hours. Seven hours of being blindfolded and tied spread-eagled to her bed. With each passing hour, however, my confidence grew greater and greater. This time, I assured myself, this time would be the one. I could hear her clattering away in her study at the computer. She was scanning the newsgroups, chatting with friends; doubtless bragging to some about her hapless slave in the next room. The typing stopped and I braced myself. This was it. This had to be it. She had to be getting bored of the game and would finish it, if only to move on to some new game. At the least it was getting on in the day and she'd want to go to bed sometime. I gasped out loud as I heard her enter the room. In my mind's eye I saw her: beautiful and radiating power as she sashayed across the room in her jeans and a "T". I could also hear the rattle of ice in the bucket, but that didn't concern me. It was a prop, a gimmick to keep me from distinguishing this time from all the others. This time she wouldn't need the ice. "What do you think?" she asked with mock curiosity. "You think this will be the one?" "As you wish, Mistress," I replied. "But, you want it to be this time. You'd like it to be, wouldn't you?" she countered, sitting on the edge of the bed beside my hip. "Yes, Mistress," I answered honestly, "I want so badly to cum this time." "We'll see," she said, taking my cock into her smooth, cool hand. It was cool because of the ice she'd fished out of the freezer, but it was soon warmed by a few quick strokes across the shaft of my penis. I groaned in pleasure and appreciation. "You like?" I moaned ecstatically. "A little harder?" she tightened her grip and picked up her pace. Every time she came to the head of my cock, she'd give it a little extra squeeze, causing all sorts of incoherent sounds to come from my mouth. I had entered this room, a lifetime ago, a man. I had entered as a man who thought himself a little superior to others of his sex because unlike them - I thought - my life had not been centered around the organ tucked away in my BVD's. Now, after seven hours of continuous teasing and manipulation, all I was, was the organ. Every thought was about it. Every beat of my heart was to feed it blood. Every other part of me, my hands and feet, were forgotten, useless, lost to me; because, even during the breaks, as she left me alone for longer and longer stretches, all I could think of was my cock, the orgasm that would eventually come and fulfill my destiny - for what other destiny had a cock but to cum? And no at long last my destiny was at hand. She reached over with her other hand and began stroking and fondling my balls. She knew the exact amount of pressure required to cross the line from what was pleasure for me into what was pain; and she kept my testicles compressed at the exact threshold between. I whimpered like a starving dog. "Be good, now," she said. "Tell me when." By now she knew all the signs herself of course, but I was still obligated to keep track of the building warmth deep inside my belly; the ticklish jolts of electric surges that ran up an down my spine as my body moved inexorably towards climax. One such cascade of nervous impulses was too much for me and I arched my back, straining against the ropes that held me down. She said my name in a threatening tone. "Don't even think about not telling me." This was it! This had to be it! Oh, God, the joyous rush that swept through me! "Now!" I cried. "Please Mistress! I'm ready..." "No!" she said, pulling her hand away from the screaming flesh of my cock and leaping off the bed with lightning speed. I had a split second to cry out in outrage, to twist and tear at my bonds in fury; then every fiber of my being had to be focused on shutting down the climax that threatened to erupt even without Mistress' ardent ministrations. Every muscle tensed. My blunt fingernails were nevertheless driven deep into the palms of my hands for the umpteenth time that night as my fists balled up and became hard as granite. My teeth ached from the pressure put upon them as I clenched my jaws unbearably tight. The only sound I made was an agonized hissing through my teeth. It was not that I was afraid of what she would do to me if I failed. It was lust that drove me, pure and simple. For how much more intense, how much more earth shattering, would that final climax be, when it was proceeded by my Mistress' command to cum? To know that then - and only then - would it please her to have me cum? My whole existence had now become centered around hearing her say that one little word. I began to weep softly. She waited until the worst of it was over, when even the touch of ice would bring me over, then she moved in slowly. "Guess this wasn't the one," she said, her voice dripping with insincere sympathy. The ice burned against the searing flesh of my pick. I howled in misery and frustration. My world collapsed in on itself, until it drooped flaccidly like a deflated balloon. Next time, a feeble voice called out inside my head, next time will be the one. With agonizing slowness, my psyche began to back away from the edge of despair. Yes, she had to be tired by now, next time had to be the one. "Oh, Damn!" she called out in alarm. "Letterman's on!" She planted a quick kiss on my trembling lips. In my mind's eye I could see her grinning, flushed and triumphant yet again. "Be right back," she said. Note: Please feel free to E-mail with any constructive criticism and suggestions for future episodes. Flames will be ignored. This story is protected by copyright, 1997, by the author. Once, I swore I would die for you, But I never meant like this. I never meant like this. No, I never meant like this. Stabbing Westward "Shame"