Don't touch, do tell

We haven't shared anything here for years. There have been lots of ideas percolating in our dirty minds but no time to put them to paper. So rather than wait for the time to write the perfect story, I thought I'd write a "quicky". Enjoy.

*

I lie on the bed, hands locked behind my back, legs spread and tied to the bed frame. I've been laying like this for the better part of two hours. The earplugs aren't a perfect fit but I still barely hear the door open. My cock stirs, going from full to quite hard. I can't see it with the blindfold on, but I sure as hell can feel it.

I know there will be a wait now. A wait while she finished her evening routines. I hear the muted sound of the toilet flush and I know she's nearby. I feel the weight of her body as she settles into bed.

She has been teasing me for days. Weeks actually. But not the usual teasing. The teasing where she strokes me slowly, building up to an edge and then leaving me wanting. It can be excruciating and intense, but I can handle that. I am almost — dare I say — used to it. But no, this was not the usual teasing. This was a whole other level of need. A level of need that had built on three weeks without orgasm. It wasn't the longest I'd gone without release, but it was long enough to leave me thinking of little else than my swollen balls and twitching cock.

I had been away for business and while away her instructions had come every night. Usually she'd give me guidance about porn to watch — perhaps women fucking men who weren't their husbands, or compilations of men being brought to orgasm by a woman's mouth or hands — just so I would have to watch cum emerging from cocks, knowing none would be emerging from mine. Then she'd let me touch myself for a while. Again, challenging, craze inducing but nothing I couldn't handle.

But this trip was different. Each night I was to tie myself up, tying my sensitive bits in two of her thin dress socks so they would stay hard (cock) and exposed (balls).

The first night, I was allowed to stroke my cock as long as I wanted. Fine, great, but here's the kicker: in only one direction. Men, try this next time you're jerking off, perhaps now if you are somewhere private. You will quickly see how frustrating it is; so frustrating that as denied and desperate as I had become I would have been hard pressed to make myself cum — even if I had been given permission, which I most assuredly had not. I ended up rubbing up and up faster and faster to try to get closer to that elusive edge state. At the end I was literally slapping my cock up and it was impossible to get enough spit on my hand fast enough to keep from nearly rubbing myself raw until finally I gave up in desperate exhaustion. After laying in bed for a few minutes I would open back up some porn — men in chastity this time — and it would get me going again. What was most insane about this was that I couldn't help myself from touching my cock again, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to stop until I had again whipped myself into a frenzy, only to finally give up. I found myself in this cycle three or four times before I finally fell asleep.

The next night was worse. This time I was only allowed to touch my balls. No problem, I would rub them a bit, which felt good at first but not good enough to encourage me. Except the porn was making me horny as hell. I couldn't stop trying to get something out of my predicament. I found that the harder I squeezed my balls, the better it felt, but also the more it hurt. Not acute sharp pain, but a dull aching gnaw. I found that slapping them also got me closer to the edge. Just not enough. Again, I found myself unable to stop escalating my literal self-abuse. I was getting closer to the edge but not close enough. Nowhere near as close as I'd have gotten if I could just touch my cock.

Soon I was squeezing my balls as hard as I could, then almost pummeling them. I am not exaggerating when I say that I couldn't stop. I discovered the only way I was going to stop was when my poor balls simply couldn't take it any longer. the last slap was nearly agonizing. At that point again I would stop, a dull throbbing ache deep in my testes, breathing raggedly, my body sweaty. And then, of course, because I'm a horny idiot I'd open up a new porn page, finding myself slipping into the whole cycle again. It took three of these sessions before I was too exhausted and sore to do it again.

The next night, she let me only touch my nipples. My nipples were very sensitive at this point, but only sensitive enough to give me a little taste of the edge that I knew I would never reach that evening. I ended up laying in bed simply frustrated and desperate.

The last night, I didn't hear from her. She'd fallen asleep early. She had made it clear on many occasions that if I didn't receive any instructions, I was to do nothing. In the past I would have allowed myself a relaxed interpretation of these rules. I even texted her saying that having not heard from her I might assume that she would be ok with me touching myself. But I knew that wouldn't fly. I summoned my last reserves of will power and went to sleep, even more desperate than the night before, but with the knowledge that I would be laying in bed with my sweet loving wife the following evening, enjoying her touch, being rewarded for my good behaviour.

Which brings us back to last night. Me lying prone in bed, splayed out, her next to me, sitting up watching a movie.

Again, what usually happened was she would wait a while to get me going and then eventually touch me. She might slap my balls around a bit. She might twist my nipples. But she would also stroke my cock, slowly lovingly and bring me to the edge. Then she'd wait and do it again. And again.

I had waited for what seemed like forever for her to come upstairs. And now I waited. And waited. I have become used to her movements. The little shift that signaled her hand moving toward me. I knew something was going to happen. She went for my nipple. Not a delicious circling or flickering touch though; a sudden hard pinch. Then running her hand down my stomach toward my cock. And then gone. Waiting again.

And waited. Remembered us discussing how insane it made me — what an intense turn-on it was mentally — thinking what it would be like if she didn't touch me. But that was fantasy and this was reality. Laying there, knowing that she could but chose not to. This after days without any stroking at all. Slowly the realization dawned on me. This was the night she planned to not touch me again at all. My stomach flipped over. I wasn't prepared for how desperate it would make me.

Sure enough, eventually she reached over to turn off the light. Untied me. Rolled over. Good night. Aching with desire for her.

And now, tonight, she must have mercy, she must touch me.

She does touch me, but not where I need it. Circling my stomach. Stroking my arms. Even flicking my nipples which sends shocks through my body. I feel like my body is half in orgasm the entire time I'm there, and half as far as I will ever be from one.

Now she touches me, but not pleasantly. She grabs my balls in her fist. I've told her it's safe to squeeze them harder and she's taken me at my word. Now it seems she is squeezing as hard as she can. It's almost unbearable. I groan and sigh. When she stops I try to shift away but I can't. My balls are open to her. I cannot close my legs as I used to be able to. I can't protect them. I now she's going to do it again and I can't stop her. The anticipation is dreadful and electrifying. She does it again, this time grabbing them, pulling them, twisting them.

Then she slaps my cock, hard.

I wait.

I sense rather than feel her hand near my cock. I feel it moving around my cock. I can even tell that it's moving up and down — maybe it's the air currents, maybe she's just close enough that a I feel a slight touch from time to time.

Then she removes my blindfold, gives me that look. Crafty, cruel, loving, knowing.

She releases my hands briefly so I can remove the earplugs, then clicks the restraints back in place.

"I bet you'd like me to touch your cock?"

"Yes."

"Stroke it?"

"God. Yes."

"I'm not sure you're ready for that yet. I don't think you need it badly enough."

"Oh, I do. Please."

"You kept asking me to tease you mercilessly. And now you're asking for mercy."

"This is different."

"I don't think so. I'll tell you when you need it."

"Yes mistress."

"Now, you've been wanting to hear about my exploits from before we were together. Something about hearing about me with other men turns you on, doesn't it?"

This is a change in subject. Where is she going with this?

"It does, but..."

"But what? You want me to touch you, you want me to tell you stories, I can't do all of these things. Or I could, but I won't."

Her hand idly moving toward my cock then withdrawing.

"Would you like to hear about what I've done for other men?"

"If you wish."

"I do wish."

She traces a line around the base of my cock.

"I had some special skills, you know."

"I'm not surprised."

"Skills that a number of men benefitted from."

"Yes, I gathered. More than a few men."

A hard slap on my cock.

"Yes, more than a few. Do you know what they loved? I bet you can guess."

"To have you stroke their cocks?"

"Yes, to give them hand jobs. Especially when I couldn't or wouldn't fuck them. I was quite a tease you know."

"I believe you."

"Have I mentioned Mitchell to you? He was the big guy. 6'3". Strong chest. Defined stomach."

"Errr."

"He'd come over to watch a movie. We would snuggle down on the couch at my dorm in college. At some point I would begin stroking him through his sweat pants. He was a jock, but a decent guy. Funny."

"Ok.."

"I'd feel how hard his cock was under his pants and I'd just have to see it."

"Oh.."

"So I'd pull his pants off, take his boxers down and admire how hard and wide it was. Not as long as yours but wider. I could hardly reach my hand around it. But I did. Do you know what I did?"

"I'm sure you will tell me."

Oh god, I'm dying for her touch. But I want to keep it cool. I wasn't going to beg.

"Would you like me to touch you while I tell you about it?"

"Oh yes, please!"

"I'm sure you would. But no. I'd rather tell you about what I did for a man who wanted me to touch him. Who wasn't into being teased. Who just wanted to have a hot woman get him off. And I was only too happy to oblige. But you've told me you don't want that."

"No, that's not what I said!"

"Yes, it is. You don't want me to touch your cock. You want me to touch other men's cocks."

"No. No, that's not true."

"You want to hear about me touching other men's cocks."

"Ok, yes that part, it is true."

My head is swimming. Actually, both heads were swimming. My cock straining and bouncing. She holds her hand just over it.

"So I would oblige him. I loved getting men off like this. It gave me such a sense of power and control. Not as much control as I have now, but seeing these hot guys get off was its own kind of reward. I didn't even particularly care if I got off or not."

"Were you excited though?"

"Of course I was. You know what hard cocks do to me. I was wet. I could feel my own damp panties against my vulva."

"Did you touch yourself?"

"Sure. But not a lot. I might dig my other hand under my sweats, under my panties, rub up and down my slit, get my finger wet and then play with my clit a bit. But that was it. This was about HIS pleasure."

"Oh.."

"So then, I would wrap my hand around his cock.."

As she said this, her hand went to the base of my cock. I sighed, ready for the touch finally.

She opens her hand into a semi-circle, moving it to within millimeters from the skin of my stiff cock but not touching it.

"I would begin to move my hand up and down."

She pantomimes the motion, up and down my cock, but not touching it, just hovering over it.

"I would squeeze as I did it, making him groan and moan. It was lovely to feel his warm squishy but hard cock inside my fingers."

I long for her to close her hand around my cock so I can feel what her college stud had.

"I'd grip tightly, moving faster and faster. He'd look at me in a way that made me feel I was the whole world to him but at the same time I was nothing but a means to an end."

At this point she is indeed moving her hand rapidly up and down, looking for the world like she is jacking me off with enthusiastic abandon, but in reality her hand millimetres from the surface of my aching shaft.

"You on the other hand are completely devoted to me, aren't you, love? You would do anything for me."

I nod yes.

As I was nodding she landed a big smack on my tight exposed ball sack with her free hand. I grunted and shook.

"And you would take anything from me?"

I nod again.

She slapped my balls again, harder.

"And you don't need anything from me?"

Oh god of course I do! But I shake my head no.

"Not even to grab your cock and squeeze it like I did his?"

I nod.

"Like his and so many others?"

I nod.

"You like the idea of me squeezing it, don't you?"

"Yes," weakly.

She slows for a moment, moves her hand to my testicles, and grabs them, all at once, between her fingers.

"I'll squeeze this instead."

And she closes her fist around my balls. Really hard. And then she pulls and twists.

Her voice is a little ragged now, maybe for effect or maybe because this is really exciting her. Hard to tell given the state I was in.

She holds on fast, my balls impossibly compressed in her hand.

"Please..." I murmured.

"Please what?"

I realize I am not sure. The fact that she is touching me at all is good, but the way she is touching me is almost unbearable. I am starting to feel my stomach clamp.

"Please stop... my balls ..."

She lets go at once.

"Of course, my dear."

"You know," she continues, "I wouldn't just jerk him off like a street whore, I would also be gentle like I am sometimes with you. I'd take my time and switch it up a bit."

With that she begins gently tracing her finger tip from the base of my cock up to the glans. Then she is twirling her finger around the edges of the head. Except of course, she isn't touching. Still. Occasionally she gets a little too close and I feel a brush of her against me, but momentary, fleeting.

"Oh yes, Mitchell loved this. In fact even after we broke up he would come over to visit just in the hope that I might touch him. And more often then not I would. You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because I love the feel of a hard cock and I don't care whose it is, really. It's not about a relationship, it's about having a nice big toy to play with. A toy that responds."

I lie there thinking of all the guys she'd gotten off over the years, reflecting on her needs, her desire to control and enjoy. I realized that she was thinking of men and their cocks purely as objects of pleasure. I feel a pang of jealousy but a sweet pang; of knowing that really in the end, she was all mine.

"And my favourite part was the last part. The results of my labor."

She's moved back to my cock now, her hand around but not on it again.

"I would make them ejaculate."

The way she puts this sends me into a frenzy. I struggle against the rope around my wrists and ankles.

"Hard."

She pumps her hand up and down now.

"They would look at me with pleading, grateful puppy dog eyes. I love that."

"I would watch their balls tighten into their bodies — that's how I knew they were close."

I want, need her touch so badly but I know there is no point in interrupting. The course had been charted and set much earlier in the evening in her mind.

"Mitchell would actually make this low throated snarly sound that I found very endearing. His hairy muscled chest would be heaving up and down."

Her hand is moving rapidly now — I sense in my mind how it must have felt for her lovers, the cum boiling up.

"And then he would start pushing his hips back and forth and my had would meet his rhythm. He'd say 'you're making me come', 'oh god, it's so good', stuff like that."

I couldn't help myself.

"Please, please do that to me."

She slaps my cock fast and hard.

"No, don't ask again."

She returns to the pretense of pumping my cock.

"And then he would actually cry out as he started to go over the edge. The cum would explode out of his cock. I mean explode. It would hit my face, the couch, the floor."

I saw the image in my head clear as day — of her hand getting this guy I'd never met and would never know off in the most intimate and skillful way imaginable. A way that should be reserved exclusively for me.

"But after that explosion, it would pour out of his cock. White, gooey, sticky, all over my hand, his stomach, his pubes."

She giggles and sits back a bit.

I think about how good, how satisfying, how intensely pleasurable it would be to have her hand pumping and cum erupting from my abused full aching balls. It felt like my balls were clawing to be emptied.

"I'd watch it drip down his hard shaft. I'd dip my finger into it and smear it around. He always had a lot of cum for me. More than you do, interestingly. Of course, you never give me your cum anymore."

"That's because you don't let me!"

"I loved to watch him cum. I loved the look of bliss and satisfaction on his face."

She paused.

"Just as I love... just as I love..."

She pulls her hand away.

"Just as I love not giving it to you."

She laughs.

I sigh and groan. My eyes are pleading but I won't. I know better.

She gives my balls three quick hard slaps.

"That's it for you. That's your fun for the night."

"Thank you mistress. Will you untie me now?"

"Untie you? No, you can stay like that. I don't want any risk of you touching yourself. I'd rather have you spend the night thinking about all of the cocks I've made spurt, knowing that I am not about to give you that pleasure. My pleasure is ... to see you not have any."

She lays down and almost immediately begins to nod off, a satisfied look on her face.

I feel her presence next to mine, her breathing. Her smell. And lie there, my cock hard, my balls aching, not able to move to touch to relieve the pressure I feel throughout my whole body.

It is an agony and a bliss. I am desperate but content. I long for her, to have her give me the same touch she gave to so many lovers through the years a touch that I've enjoyed and hope — pray, I think with a startle — I will again. A beautiful woman with crafty hands. My wife.

The truth? The truth is that I love it. As I love her.