The rest of that evening passed in a haze of sexual torment and sweet agony of submission, teasing, and denial. You stripped out of your evening dress to reveal a skimpy little black thong and matching black mesh half-cup bra - your outfit for the rest of that evening, one that drove me mad with lust, watching helplessly as you paraded your long legs, tight ass and big firm boobs in front of me. You had me bound tightly, face up, on your bed, spread-eagled, to give you full access to all of my most sensitive areas. I lost count of the number of times you brought me to the trembling edge of orgasm, there in your luxurious bedroom, bound and helpless to resist your tender caresses, sharp slaps, tickling fingernails, and all the rest of the weapons you employed as you inducted me into the world of true, mind-bending sexual denial. My voice echoed through your house as I cried out again and again for release - God, I begged for you to let me cum, I begged over and over, weeping tears of frustration more than once that night, promising to do or say anything you wanted, if you would just wrap your sweet fingers around my thick shaft and jerk it hard until I came.
Each time I begged, you teased even more cruelly and sensually, at one point even lowering your fragrant pussy onto my face while I was tied to your bed. My nose and mouth were filled with the deliciously intoxicating scent of your juices, which were flowing freely as you got off on my suffering. I wanted so badly to tongue-fuck you, to lick and suck your beautiful, hard little clit, to probe your shaved pussy lips and listen to you moan with pleasure. But no - you are a cruel teasing bitch, and you had fixed a ball gag firmly in my mouth. That sweet cunt was so close yet so far away, and as you gyrated and ground it against my face, you giggled wickedly at my feeble attempts to work my mouth against your flesh through the gag, and my muffled moans and grunts of frustration.
My cock and balls received very little attention from you that night - just an occasional caress or tickle, or even a light stroke up and down the shaft with your loosely circled thumb and forefinger, just to make sure I was still "interested," as you put it. I lived for these moment, I prayed silently during each long tease that you would have mercy and touch my cock, even for a moment, with your fingertips, nails, lips, hair, anything. One of your more cruel techniques was to do things like you'd done in your dressing room that first time: make me think you were going to pleasure me, do everything you could to convince me that it was for real this time, then pull away at the very last moment, laughing, ass swinging, strutting across to the other side of the bedroom to stand and watch as I begged and pleaded and moaned in disappointed agony.
Finally, you announced to me that it was time for me to go by giving my cock and balls a brief, tight squeeze with one hand, making me groan loudly, and releasing me from my restraints and ordering me to get dressed. Of course, despite my pleading and begging throughout the evening, you had not allowed me to cum. As I reached for my clothes and reluctantly began to pull my boxers on over my stiff cock, you told me to wait. You retrieved the spray bottle you had used on me earlier that evening, along with the cock cage, now sticky on the inside with my dried precum and sweat.
At the sight of these objects my eyes filled with tears of frustration - I couldn't help it.
"Oh, fuck, mistress, please, no..." I whispered.
"Shut the fuck up," you cooed sweetly, smiling. "Or you will never see me again."
The thought of that was worse than the cock cage, so I stayed quiet as you sprayed my dick mercilessly until it was semi-soft, then stuffed it into the cage and locked it up tightly. You dangled the key in front of my tear-streaked face before slipping it, on its chain, over your neck again where it hung tantalizingly between your beautiful tits. You noticed me staring, and moved very close to me, stripping off your bra and cupping your boobs in both hands, jiggling them a little. You gently pinched your hard little nipples, and gasped softly with pleasure.
"Wouldn't you love to titty-fuck these?" you whispered, jiggling them again. "Lube up my cleavage with a little baby oil, and slide that big dick of yours right in here?"
You let some saliva dribble into your cleavage, and rubbed it around sensually with one finger.
"Mmmmm..." you purred. "Nice, hard cock between my boobs..." You closed your eyes, as if imagining the scene.
This was having exactly the effect you wanted - my cock was trying to become erect again, inside the goddamned cage, and it fucking hurt as much as it had earlier. The sensation that my genitals were being crushed in a fist began to come back, and I bent over involuntarily, trying to ease the pain.
You immediately went into bitch mode, dropping your tits and giving me a sharp slap on the cheek.
"Stand up straight, and put your fucking clothes on."
I gasped at the slap, and said, "Yes mistress."
Within a few seconds I was fully dressed, my jeans zipped over the bulging cock cage, my groin sending bolts of pain into my abdomen.
"Good," you said curtly. "Now go."
You pointed at the bedroom door. I hesitated, earning myself another hard slap, this time on my ass. Even through my jeans, it stung. You were stronger than your slender frame suggested.
"Go," you said again, your exotic face darkening.
I wanted desperately to ask when I would see you again, and when you would release me from the cock cage. But I knew speaking again would be a bad idea. So I hurried out of your bedroom, my head spinning with tormented, frustrated sexual need and my tortured cock burning and aching like fire.
I spent the rest of that night desperately trying to find some may to ease the pain in my groin and maybe even give myself some kind of sexual release. I dug my fingers around the base of the cock cage, I tried to slip one finger through the slit in the tip, and I even tried using a Q-tip to massage my frenulum through the slit. Nothing worked. The cage was designed to prevent any sort of sexually satisfying contact with the imprisoned penis and balls, and it was cruelly effective. There was also no way in hell I would be able to take it off, not without ripping my balls off in the process. When the next morning came I woke up slumped in a chair in the small living room of my apartment, not even realizing I'd fallen asleep trying to find some relief from the cage.
I didn't hear from you that day, or the next, or the next. I had no choice but to wear the cage everywhere, all day and all night. Every hour that passed without a text or a call from you made me more desperate, more certain that you'd played a cruel trick on me and weren't going to make contact again, much less release me from chastity. I began to have visions of a humiliating trip to the emergency room to have the cage taken off.
By the time two weeks had gone by, I was a walking wreck. My work suffered; my social life practically disappeared; I couldn't even look at attractive women without the threat of throbbing, twisting pain in my cock and balls. It felt like an eternity since you had locked the cage onto me, and despite the suffering it caused, a small, secret part of me, a part I didn't want to acknowledge at the time, was finding perverse pleasure in being locked in chastity. The chafing and rubbing of the hard plastic against my skin made it turn raw and red, but somehow it also felt good. In hindsight, thinking about it now, I realize I was beginning to fully understand and accept what it meant to submit to you, and to derive pleasure from knowing that my suffering was pleasing you.
But fuck, my cock needed relief!
---
Finally, almost three weeks since our night out, I got a text from "private number." It consisted of a date, a time, and an address. Nothing else.
