February 21, 2019 We had a wonderful morning. While I made the coffee, she took a bath. Usually, she just sleeps and waits for my sweet service in bed. Her scent was lovely, and her skin felt very warm. I loved cuddling with her. Back when we were having plenty of PIV sex, this is how she used to start things off—clean and fresh from the shower. I silently daydreamed about being inside her again. It had been nearly four months—I haven’t gone this long without feeling her pussy. She gently played with me, squeezed my balls, and made it clear that I belonged to her. As I flailed around gripping at nothing, struggling to hold back self-control, she caught my right wrist. She brought me up to the edge, then announced that I have to wait until our vacation next week. I looked away from her face and glanced down. My untouched erection was trembling and beading with precum. The morning light made it shine. As I turned back to look at her, my brain buzzed with amplified thoughts of denial. Then, suddenly, I spilled over. It wasn’t so much a sensation as seeing it out of the corner of my eye. She noticed, laughed in surprise, and rolled me onto my back to keep the mess off the bed.
“That was fun! You erupted just because I told you to wait.” She was right. “Your mind is such an amusing place.” I remained rock hard. So she decided to actually stroke me for a bit now that I wasn’t quite so oversensitive. It felt wonderful to be touched properly.
I’ve come to fully accept the idea of my complete dependence on her. “Any self-stimulation,” she told me briefly, implying it’s forbidden. Any method counts against the rules: vibrator use, hot tub water jets, milkings—anything at all. Damn it.
Now she is thrilled by the realization that a simple conversation can make me spill. Just her word alone. She once daydreamed about this possibility in our early days together. She looked incredibly pleased and radiant.
Holding my wrist with one hand, she captured my other between her thighs and proceeded to fondle my cock back up to the edge. It seemed certain that she intended to keep me there. She tapped my frenum, reminding me of her first time ruining me, sending a clear signal that she wouldn’t let me crash into a full orgasm. I wailed for mercy.
I actually have no memory of the exact moment when she had me pour out again. She was teasing my ear with her luscious lips and tongue. At some point, I looked down to see another gush of thick white cum.
I hadn’t felt a thing at all. Two ruins in succession. “We haven’t done that in a while. It makes you spill so many times.” She seemed eager to keep me ruined and hard going forward. She professed her love for me, appreciated my mind’s playfulness, and admired my ready body.
With such affection and praise, how can I resist? “Should I lock you up?” I wasn’t sure. Still trying to gather my scattered thoughts. “Bring me your small cage.” I listened without hesitation; I just couldn’t make decisions on my own. So I did as she directed.
She locked my cock in place, which took a little effort to force it correctly into position. We sat facing each other—me with my brain gone, disheveled and in disbelief, while she glowed, looking so happy at the massive effect she had on me. As I watched her, I winced as my cock expanded further against the stainless steel rods. She made some slightly mocking concerned noises. I shook my head to show I wasn’t in pain.
I must have had my hand down by my crotch for a while; I don’t remember what exactly I was doing with it. But then she suddenly spanked my balls several times. “No fondling yourself.” She said this in a stern, direct, and low tone. She never screams; she always keeps control. That sent me even deeper into subspace. I don’t know what to do anymore, but it doesn’t matter. I am here to be her fun toy and tasty snack. She bit my throat, leaving the pain lingering. I objected weakly, and she simply stated the fact that yes, she had bitten me (so of course it hurts).
I’m so fucking owned. I love her for it. She is proud, and I am still reeling from all of this. P.S. January was a rough month. My journal shows I spent two separate weeks without being in chastity at all. That hadn’t happened since sometime before June 2017. For the last 89 weeks, I’ve always spent some time wearing my Contender or GlansArmor. I get the distinct impression she wants to return to her normal routine: daily teasing, endless ruins, indefinite orgasm denial, and keeping me locked whenever she pleases… because… P.P.S. I’m jumping into the middle of this story. I’ve been keeping a private journal since December 2013.