Lecker19

“Uhm…okay mommy..” I’m confused, but it’s not my place to ask questions, so I put it on.

She then points to the ground, one time, our signal for me to remove my pants. So I do, quickly, eagerly. Mommy is so pretty, you can’t blame me.

She forces me back onto the bed. I’m already leaking, hard, wearing nothing but the tshirt she gave me. It’s kinda big, I’m smaller than mommy.

Lost in thought, until I feel her fingers wrap around me, tongue teasing the very tip of my cock. Precum leaking right onto the tip of mommy’s tongue.

And then she spits, a big slow drop, impact on the tip of my cock, running down all sides, over her fingers. My hips buck. I’m eager, practically ready to fuck her hand.

She begins stroking, im a mess already, eyes rolled back, voice breaking, moans escaping in bits and pieces.

I feel the inside of her mouth against me. Tongue against the bottom of my cock. Feeling the roof of her mouth against the tip, sliding to the soft skin in the back of her throat. Like velvet.

Next thing I know I feel it, I’m cumming. I grab her wrist trying to signal. She understands, pulls me from her mouth, stroking me quickly but pointing my cock up at me.

I can’t handle it, I cum, hard, soaking her tshirt, the white fabric practically see through and clinging to my skin now.

And then I hear it. A phone cameras shutter sound. She just took a pic, of me, lying back in her princess shirt, made translucent with cum. Ecstasy on my face.

“Ohhhh don’t worry, this one is for my own personal enjoyment.” She says, laughing, rubbing herself.

KEYHOLDER’S AUTHORITY

The quiet death of your autonomy

I love the exact moment a man realizes he isn't in a game anymore.

It never happens on Day 1. On Day 1, you’re intoxicated by the novelty. You look at the metal wrapped tightly around your cock and you mistake your fear for excitement. You think of it as an adventure; a temporary, thrilling little detour before I inevitably turn the key and hand your manhood back to you. You smile, you flirt and you pretend you’re giving me permission to play with your body.

It doesn't happen at Week 2, either. By Week 2, the dull, heavy throb of blue balls has set in, and your brain is starting to warp in the most delicious way. You start finding a strange, desperate comfort in the ache. You sit at your desk, in traffic, or across from me at dinner, quietly panting, completely consumed by the constant, relentless pressure in your groin. You think this is the peak of your surrender.

No, darling. The real shift happens much later.

It happens on a random Tuesday, weeks or months into your containment, when you look at me and suddenly realize that I have no intention of unlocking you. Not this week. Not next month. Maybe not ever again.

I can see it in your eyes the exact second the truth finally sinks in. The color drains from your face. Your breath hitches in your chest. That quiet, cold terror settles right into the pit of your stomach as you realize your sexual autonomy didn't just take a vacation — it died. It’s gone. You don't own your pleasure anymore. You don't own your climaxes. You don't even own the right to hope for one.

You belong to a category of men who no longer exist in the real world of sex. You live in my limbo now, suspended entirely by my whims, existing only to throb, ache and adore the hand that holds your cage shut.

And the absolute best part? The dark, delicious secret we both know but don't say out loud?

You love it.

You love that I took the burden of your manhood off your shoulders and locked it in a chastity cage. You love that you are helpless beneath me. You love that no matter how much you throb, your only job in this life now is to sit quietly in your cage, swallow the ache and thank me for making you mine.

Mature Woman Vibe

At 19 he was still living with his mother. And he often gazed at her elegant female colleagues. One of them stirred his fantasies especially strongly. Mature, confident, always beautiful, always elegant.

A simple shy offer to help her take off her shoes. Her strict yet tender gaze looking down from above… unbearable arousal, her removed sock clouds his mind, — “to press lips to this slightly moist sole, to finally taste it, and come what may…”