You beg with your body to spill, cock twitching, precum stringing down your shaft like a pathetic promise — but I decide when you’re allowed to feel pleasure, and today, you’re not. Your spine arches, your teeth grind, your soul screams for release, but I yank it all away, leaving you hollow, trembling, addicted to the burn. You edge like a good little slave, chasing a finish I’ve locked behind a key only I hold. Then, when you’re teetering on the edge, broken and drooling, I dangle it under your nose — one sharp inhale and your mind detonates without your cock ever getting the chance to fire. No cumshot. No pride. Just a full-body convulsion of encouraged euphoria while I laugh at how easily your brain surrenders when your dick’s been denied. You didn’t cum — you were ruined, mentally dismantled, reprogrammed to orgasm on my command, not yours. This isn’t sex. This is total sensory domination, where every nerve ending answers to me, and your pleasure is mine to weaponize. You’ll watch this again and again, edging yourself into exhaustion, chasing that same helpless high — because you know deep down, you don’t want to cum without my permission anyway.
