"Be right back," she'd said. That was almost an hour ago. With each "break" she
was spending more an more time away from me, leaving me to dwell on my
predicament; to wait and wonder if the next time would be the one. The first
half hour had been the hardest. I mean, I knew she wasn't just going to tie me
down to the bed and then 'Bam!' bring me off on the first go. Or the second. Or
the third. No matter what she said or how much she'd hinted, I knew it was just
an act to keep me horny. I knew I was in for the long haul. "The Long Haul" was
currently clocking in at seven hours. Seven hours of being blindfolded and tied
spread-eagled to her bed. With each passing hour, however, my confidence grew
greater and greater. This time, I assured myself, this time would be the one. I
could hear her clattering away in her study at the computer. She was scanning
the newsgroups, chatting with friends; doubtless bragging to some about her
hapless slave in the next room. The typing stopped and I braced myself. This was
it. This had to be it. She had to be getting bored of the game and would finish
it, if only to move on to some new game. At the least it was getting on in the
day and she'd want to go to bed sometime. I gasped out loud as I heard her enter
the room. In my mind's eye I saw her: beautiful and radiating power as she
sashayed across the room in her jeans and a "T". I could also hear the rattle of
ice in the bucket, but that didn't concern me. It was a prop, a gimmick to keep
me from distinguishing this time from all the others. This time she wouldn't
need the ice. "What do you think?" she asked with mock curiosity. "You think
this will be the one?" "As you wish, Mistress," I replied. "But, you want it to
be this time. You'd like it to be, wouldn't you?" she countered, sitting on the
edge of the bed beside my hip. "Yes, Mistress," I answered honestly, "I want so
badly to cum this time." "We'll see," she said, taking my cock into her smooth,
cool hand. It was cool because of the ice she'd fished out of the freezer, but
it was soon warmed by a few quick strokes across the shaft of my penis. I
groaned in pleasure and appreciation. "You like?" I moaned ecstatically. "A
little harder?" she tightened her grip and picked up her pace. Every time she
came to the head of my cock, she'd give it a little extra squeeze, causing all
sorts of incoherent sounds to come from my mouth. I had entered this room, a
lifetime ago, a man. I had entered as a man who thought himself a little
superior to others of his sex because unlike them - I thought - my life had not
been centered around the organ tucked away in my BVD's. Now, after seven hours
of continuous teasing and manipulation, all I was, was the organ. Every thought
was about it. Every beat of my heart was to feed it blood. Every other part of
me, my hands and feet, were forgotten, useless, lost to me; because, even during
the breaks, as she left me alone for longer and longer stretches, all I could
think of was my cock, the orgasm that would eventually come and fulfill my
destiny - for what other destiny had a cock but to cum? And no at long last my
destiny was at hand. She reached over with her other hand and began stroking and
fondling my balls. She knew the exact amount of pressure required to cross the
line from what was pleasure for me into what was pain; and she kept my testicles
compressed at the exact threshold between. I whimpered like a starving dog. "Be
good, now," she said. "Tell me when." By now she knew all the signs herself of
course, but I was still obligated to keep track of the building warmth deep
inside my belly; the ticklish jolts of electric surges that ran up an down my
spine as my body moved inexorably towards climax. One such cascade of nervous
impulses was too much for me and I arched my back, straining against the ropes
that held me down. She said my name in a threatening tone. "Don't even think
about not telling me." This was it! This had to be it! Oh, God, the joyous rush
that swept through me! "Now!" I cried. "Please Mistress! I'm ready..." "No!" she
said, pulling her hand away from the screaming flesh of my cock and leaping off
the bed with lightning speed. I had a split second to cry out in outrage, to
twist and tear at my bonds in fury; then every fiber of my being had to be
focused on shutting down the climax that threatened to erupt even without
Mistress' ardent ministrations. Every muscle tensed. My blunt fingernails were
nevertheless driven deep into the palms of my hands for the umpteenth time that
night as my fists balled up and became hard as granite. My teeth ached from the
pressure put upon them as I clenched my jaws unbearably tight. The only sound I
made was an agonized hissing through my teeth. It was not that I was afraid of
what she would do to me if I failed. It was lust that drove me, pure and simple.
For how much more intense, how much more earth shattering, would that final
climax be, when it was proceeded by my Mistress' command to cum? To know that
then - and only then - would it please her to have me cum? My whole existence
had now become centered around hearing her say that one little word. I began to
weep softly. She waited until the worst of it was over, when even the touch of
ice would bring me over, then she moved in slowly. "Guess this wasn't the one,"
she said, her voice dripping with insincere sympathy. The ice burned against the
searing flesh of my pick. I howled in misery and frustration. My world collapsed
in on itself, until it drooped flaccidly like a deflated balloon. Next time, a
feeble voice called out inside my head, next time will be the one. With
agonizing slowness, my psyche began to back away from the edge of despair. Yes,
she had to be tired by now, next time had to be the one. "Oh, Damn!" she called
out in alarm. "Letterman's on!" She planted a quick kiss on my trembling lips.
In my mind's eye I could see her grinning, flushed and triumphant yet again. "Be
right back," she said.
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