The soft silky facesitting is done, and the camera is still on, so let me have some fun. After even a short stint in chastity, I start to miss the visceral and tangible suffering that hands-on edging brings. I revel in it, and I want it now. Did he earn his time out of his device? Not really. Does he deserve my touch? Ha, no. But I'm a nasty pervert too, and I think I can make him hurt a little more. I can make the ache a little worse. I stroke him into a frenzy. He rides my fist, begs me to milk him, to let a little pressure off. His last denial ended with a sad little whimpering leak in his boxers when he was nearly delirious. Now he's nearly two weeks into his next denial, surviving but barely. Perhaps that's all he needs -- a little steam let off once a month for the rest of the year? He thinks he can beg for a milking? Sorry, pet, do I misunderstand you? You must mean a busting. Here, have a knee or five.
