You stroked in sync with My voice… thinking I’d let you finish with pleasure. But I don’t gift that pleasure. I take control. Each number dripped from My lips until “one”… Then I turned, looked through you, and whispered what you needed to hear: “Hands off. Let it drip. You don’t get any pleasure.” That’s how denial feels when I command it. No reward. Just ache. And you’ll pay to ruin your orgasm again and again.
