The Pleasure You’ll Never Touch Again

You remember the last time you came, don’t you?

Of course you do.
It was sloppy. It was rushed.
It was probably over in thirty seconds with you hunched over like a little worm, panting, moaning, completely pathetic.

And then I took it away from you.

That twitchy little clit of yours got locked up, sealed, denied.
Now it aches. Now it weeps. Now it begs.
But begging doesn’t get you anywhere anymore.

Because you don’t own your pleasure anymore.
I do.

Every time it swells… it’s for me.
Every time it strains… it’s because I said no.
Every time it leaks… it’s a humiliating reminder that your body belongs to someone else now.

You’re not even a man anymore.
You’re a locked, leaking, docile little plaything.
And I like you that way.

I like knowing you’re frustrated, desperate, ruined.
I like knowing that you get harder when I humiliate you and that even then, you still won’t cum.

And you never will.

Because once I’ve taken your orgasm away…
I don’t give it back.