would often parade around the apartment fully nude while
I
was fully clothed, specifically to remind me of my prohibition against attaining the ultimate carnal pleasure. At least twice per day, he would insist that I suck him; he did not always cum himself, depending on when he would have me stop, but when he did, he almost always pushed me back so that he could release his incestuous seed upon me instead of inside my mouth. As we watched television together or cuddled in bed together, he would finger me, repeatedly bringing me to the precipice of delight before rudely hauling me back into the reality of my frustration.
I thought it was going to come to a head on a Saturday night. I had been incredibly horny all evening long, and being the one to restock the shelves in the adult section of the video store did not help my situation at all. It took all my willpower to prevent myself from jumping my big brother and Master when he came to the store to escort me home. Purposely, I dallied a bit, until finally my other coworkers had left the store, leaving me and my sexual tormenter alone.
"Please, Master!" I pleaded shamelessly. "Let me cum! Please!!!"
He had the audacity to smirk. Clearly, he was enjoying my frustration, my wanton need.
"Damn you, Victor!" I nearly screamed. "This is so unfair!"
"Is it?" he challenged. "Will you think the same when you are finally permitted to cum again?"
"Yes!"
"Are you certain about that," he challenged again, "or will you be so consumed with finally experiencing an orgasm again that you will forget your place as a slave?"
So that was it. He was simply using my orgasms – rather, my prohibition against having and enjoying an orgasm – as a new way to exert his dominance over me. I had actually expected that, but to hear him state it himself surprised me – surprised me enough to temporarily squelch my wanton need.
...until we returned to our apartment. There, as soon as he had locked out the mundane world, my big brother ordered me to my knees before him, and without needing to be commanded, I released his hardening manhood and ingested him, reveling in the feel and taste of him inside my mouth, reveling once again in my submissive position to him, yet angry at him for denying me the what I wanted most while making me give him orgasm after orgasm after orgasm in the preceding weeks.
In time, we moved to my bed, where we both stripped naked and I was ordered to truly fuck him, faster and harder than I ever had before. So great was my need that tears streamed down my heated cheeks as the pleasure generated my our quickening friction radiated from the point of our joining. And as the incestuous seed rose high into my body, I could take no pleasure in it, for his climax only frustrated me further, and I sobbed, loud and long, collapsing upon my Master and pleading with my broken voice.
Ultimately, I was left alone on the bed, crying until my body had no more tears to shed. And then I felt it, quite unexpected: a sense of calm, a sense of servitude. In that moment, I knew that I existed to please my big brother, to please my Master in whatever way he defined, and that if my orgasm denial was the means to his pleasure, then I should and would gladly suffer it – if necessary, for decades.
