Controlling Curves - 01 Mason

The Plant and the Porn

Sunday afternoon. Rain on the windows. Silence before collapse.

The peace lasted three and a half seconds.

Mason watched a single droplet of water trace its way down the windowpane. Then the sound came--an exhale too sharp to be casual, too quiet to be a cry. He didn't look. He knew that sound. He'd been hearing it for weeks. Years.

"Mason."

He blinked. The droplet disappeared behind the window frame. "Yeah?"

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

He turned his head slowly, like anything faster would ignite her. "I heard you."

She stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over her pale blue sweatshirt--the one he used to love seeing her in, back when Sundays were slow breakfasts and foot rubs and not... this.

"What did I say, then?"

He didn't answer right away. Her eyes flashed. "You said... you're tired of feeling alone in a room with me." He reached for gentleness. "That you want me to want you again." She didn't nod. That wasn't enough. "You said you found the search history," he added.

The moment hardened. A wall sealed behind her eyes. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the ceramic pot by the door--one of those faux-rustic, overpriced planters she'd picked up last fall. Mason noticed, far too late, how close her hand was to it.

"I found more than the history, Mason." His stomach hollowed. Not because he didn't know what she meant. Because he did. "I opened one," she said. "One of those... those videos."

Silence.

He didn't know what to say. What could he say? He'd meant to delete them. Or hide them better. But maybe, deep down, a part of him had wanted this. She stepped forward. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No."

"Do you think I don't know what 'grope' videos are?"

He closed his eyes. The shame that had always come after release now curled into his chest before he could even speak. He loved, and maybe felt a kinship with, the women in the videos who claimed they did not want to be groped, but they really wanted it (they are pornstars after all) and they always orgasmed several times. He wanted to be forced to cum - supposedly against his will. Those videos checked a certain box in his brain. A box his wife would never try to understand, let alone accept.

"I don't think anything," he said, too quietly.

"You're jerking off to--" She choked on the sentence. "To horrible porn. While I'm in the next room folding your damn socks."

"It's not like that."

"What is it like?"

He opened his mouth, searching for the metaphor that might save him. There wasn't one. "It's... about control," he said. "About giving it up. About--" He stopped himself. She wouldn't understand.

She laughed, bitter and high. "You'd rather give up control to a porno than touch me."

That hurt more than he expected. Then, the plant. She didn't throw it hard--but hard enough. It exploded near the wall by his head with a wet thud, soil spattering like ink across the paint. Mason didn't flinch. Just watched the ceramic split. She stood there breathing fast, waiting for him to yell, to storm out, to cry. But he didn't.

He only said, "Okay." And then he walked into the other room and sat down on the couch. Rain tapped the windows. Behind him, he heard her sob once, deep and angry, and then the bedroom door slammed shut.

He didn't sleep that night. She didn't come out. In the morning, her ring was in the sink.

Two Weeks Later

The apartment was quieter now. Too quiet. He tried to keep music playing, but nothing filled the space the way her soft footsteps once did. He spent more time online. At first, just vanilla porn. Bralettes. Lingerie try-on hauls. Then... one night, something slipped through the algorithm, "You may not cum."

Mason had always thought of his tastes as pretty standard. Big tits, toned legs, a deep arch in the back when she rode him from above--that was the fantasy. That's what every browser search reflected: full-figured women riding thick cocks, loud and confident, dripping and hungry. There was something reassuring in the pattern, like checking the same box every time he opened a new tab. But lately, something had started to shift.

It wasn't that he stopped watching those scenes. It was that his attention had turned. Slowly, subtly, his eyes stopped following the man's rhythm and focused instead on the woman--her face, her voice, the way her body reacted. The involuntary moans. The trembling. The freedom. He began to notice how much she felt. How deeply she responded. And somewhere in the quiet after the cumshot, Mason was left staring at the screen, thinking not about his own pleasure, but hers. Envy bloomed in the strangest places.

His thoughts began to spiral: had he ever made anyone feel like that? Had anyone ever lost themselves for him like those women did? He remembered partners going quiet, pausing to shift, making suggestions he couldn't quite interpret at the time. Were they helping him? Guiding him? Faking it? The realization landed with a gentle but bruising honesty: maybe his partners hadn't come at all. Maybe it wasn't working. And that unease--the idea that he wasn't enough--started tugging on something deeper.

From there, the porn changed. He didn't look for the perfect ass or the roundest tits anymore--he searched for reactions. He wanted to see women take what they needed, own their pleasure without apology. That's when he found it: a whole section of videos where the men weren't in control at all. The women were. They spoke with confidence, clear and calm, saying things Mason never expected to hear--things like, "You don't need to cum. Not yet." And to his surprise, it didn't turn him off. It made him pulse.

He started edging on his own. At first, it was just a challenge--see how long he could last. But the longer he held back, the more alive he felt. The more powerful she became in his mind. Every second he denied himself became a silent offering, a strange devotion to the faceless, imagined women who actually seemed to know what they were doing. For the first time, Mason felt how he always imagined those porn stars did--helpless, desperate, vulnerable.

He waited until late that night to open the video. Just a woman's face, no nudity, no gimmicks. She looked into the camera like she could see him. The title was simple: "You may not cum." Mason stared at the play button for a long time, heart pounding. Then, finally, he clicked.

The screen glowed in the dark room, and Mason sat motionless, half-dressed, suddenly aware of how ridiculous he might look he stopped the video. Who was he becoming? What kind of man watches a video of a woman telling him not to cum? He swallowed hard, his cursor still hovering over the paused video. His cock throbbed against the fabric of his boxers, already damp at the tip.

There was a quiet battle happening inside him--logic against instinct, shame against hunger. He'd always thought of himself as the one who gave pleasure, who led, who performed. But now, alone in the dim quiet, all he could think about was giving up that control. Letting someone else take the reins. And God help him, he was already halfway gone.

With a slow exhale, he clicked play.

Her voice was calm. Unhurried. Confident. Not cruel--but certain. She didn't ask. She didn't coax. She instructed. "Put your hand on your cock," she said, and Mason obeyed before he even realized he was moving.

It was strange, how fast he responded. Like his body had just been waiting for this. His cock twitched at her voice, and when she told him to stroke--just lightly, just once--he did. And when she said, "Stop," something inside him clenched. His hips resisted, slightly, but he pulled his hand away like a scolded schoolboy.

A warm, dizzy pulse washed over him. Not orgasm. Not even close. But something... deeper. Obedience. He had stopped because she told him to. He hadn't questioned it. He hadn't negotiated. He had just... stopped.

And somehow, that made his cock leak even more.

His chest tightened. He wasn't sure if he was proud or ashamed, but the ache between his legs was undeniable--hot, swollen, urgent. His hand hovered, trembling slightly. He wanted to touch himself so badly it made his vision blur, but she was still speaking, calmly, sweetly, firmly. She was saying a lot of things but all he consciously heard was...

"You don't need to cum tonight," she said. "You only need to want to."

The words hit something low and tender in him. He did want to. God, he did. He wanted to cum more than anything--but not for himself. Not anymore. He wanted to cum when she allowed it. And until then? He would ache. He would wait. He would obey.

His hand dropped into his lap, not to stroke, but to still. He was flushed, hard, and dripping--but perfectly still. He had crossed the line and he knew in his heart he was not going back.

--------------------------------------

He awoke with a tremendous hard on, and after some teasing, orgasmed. It felt amazing. That night, he looked for similar videos:

"Just One Stroke: femdom Hypno Loop #14"

He stared at the thumbnail too long before clicking. It was just a voice at first. Soft. Patient.

"That's it. You're already hard. That means you're mine."

He twitched. His cock was hard. It was throbbing. Not just his cock--his breath, too. His chest.

"Stroke. But don't cum. Don't you dare. good boys wait to be told."

His hand moved before he realized it. He told himself it was curiosity. Research. An experiment.

An experiment. That's what he told himself it was. Just a little curiosity. A peek into the rabbit hole of a kinky world that had always intrigued him from afar. But as the video played and the soft, feminine voice whispered sweet nothings into his ear, he found himself slipping deeper and deeper into a trance he never knew existed.

The instructions grew clearer with each passing moment. "Look at your hand," she said, and he found himself obeying, his eyes drawn to his fist wrapped around his swollen cock. "Now, stroke it. Just once."

And so he did. A single, tentative motion that sent a jolt of pleasure through his body.

"Again," she cooed, her tone a mix of encouragement and command.

He stroked again, feeling his cock throb with each movement. The voice grew more insistent, the suggestions more demanding.

"Faster," she whispered as she massaged her huge breasts, and his hand complied, moving in a blur of need and desire. "But don't you dare cum. Good boys wait."

He whimpered, feeling the beginnings of his orgasm build. He had never edged like this before. The anticipation was unbearable, a delicious agony that made his entire body quiver.

"You're doing so well," she praised while pinching her hard nipples, her words wrapping around him like a warm, velvety blanket. "Your obedience is so arousing."

With each stroke, he felt his mind slip further away, until all that was left was the rhythm of his hand and the siren's call of her voice. She was guiding him, controlling him, and he reveled in it.

"Now, stop," she ordered, and he froze mid-stroke, his hand hovering just above his straining erection. "Just for a moment."

He bit his lip, his hips bucking slightly as he fought the urge to continue. He waited, his eyes glued to the screen, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Good boy," she murmured, and he felt a warmth spread through his chest. He had never been called that before, but it fit so perfectly in this moment. He was her good boy, and he would do anything she asked of him.

The video continued, a montage of different scenarios playing out before his eyes. Each one more erotic than the last, each one featuring a beautiful woman with the power to make him cum with a single word. He watched, his eyes glazed over, as they took control of their subjects, reducing them to whimpering, needy wrecks.

And he knew he wanted that. He wanted to be one of those men. To feel that complete and utter surrender to someone else's will.

"Now, stroke again," she said, her voice a gentle caress against his fevered skin. "But remember, good boys don't cum until they're told to."

He obeyed, his hand moving in time with the rhythm she set, his thoughts swirling with each touch. He was lost in a sea of sensation, his cock a beacon guiding him through the fog.

The video switched to a new scene, a woman with raven hair and piercing eyes. She spoke of denial and the sweet agony of waiting. He found himself stroking harder, faster, his eyes never leaving hers as she instructed him.

"You're so close," she said, her voice a purr. "But you won't cum until I give you permission. You're mine to control."

He nodded, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt himself teetering on the edge. His cock was a live wire, his balls tight with the promise of release. But he held back, his body a tightly coiled spring waiting to be released.

"Look at me," she snapped, and his eyes flew open. "You're going to edge for me, aren't you?"

He nodded again, his hand moving again on his sensitive cock, his breath coming in pants. The woman on the screen was his goddess, his queen. He would do anything she asked.

The scenes changed again, each one more intense than the last. He was lost in a world of hypnotic suggestions, his mind a playground for the voices that whispered in his ear. They told him that he was a good boy, that he was a slut, that he loved to obey. And with each stroke, he found himself believing them more.

An hour later, he was on the floor, still hard, panting, ashamed. And he convinced himself, not broken.

Because for the first time in months... he felt something. Not numb. Not sad. Just wanting. He closed his laptop and whispered to the empty room, "God help me." But deep down, he hoped no one would.

Rinse and Repeat

The next day at the church restoration and conversion, he ached and focused. He felt alive as his cock leaked precum all day. Steffie sensed there was an extra edge to him, but her banter didn't change. He worked hard thinking about watching another video tonight. He had seen a series of videos. For no reason, he wondered if he could watch all of them over the weekend.

Maya's Denial Training - 01: "You Serve Best When You Ache"

He put on headphones and got naked, as they had trained him to do. He clicked play without hesitation.

Domme (Voice):

Let's start with stillness.

Hands on your thighs.

Don't rush. There's nothing to chase tonight.

Only surrender.

Mason (Internal):

His hands obey, resting on trembling thighs.

Already hard. Already leaking.

He shouldn't be this worked up yet, but just hearing her voice--the certainty in it--sets off that aching flutter in his chest.

He's not even touched himself, and yet his cock pulses, desperate for attention.

He bites the inside of his cheek. She's right.

There's nothing to chase tonight.

Only her.

Domme (Voice):

Breathe for me.

In... and out.

Good boy.

You're here because you want to be controlled.

You're here because you're tired of deciding.

You're ready to ache for me.

Mason (Internal):

Yes. God, yes.

His whole body tightens at good boy.

He didn't realize how much he needed to hear that--how rare it was to feel seen.

To have someone take charge. Quietly. Gently. Completely.

His breath deepens, syncing to her rhythm. He's not thinking anymore. Just following.

His cock twitches.

Domme (Voice):

Say it out loud.

"My pleasure belongs to her."

Say it again.

"Need is not permission."

Again.

"The ache is proof I'm hers."

Mason (Internal):

He whispers them.

Awkward at first. But by the third time, something cracks open inside him.

Not just arousal. Not just obedience.

Relief.

Relief in not having to deserve pleasure--just to crave it.

Relief in knowing someone else is deciding.

His cock is leaking now, hot against his thigh, his whole body vibrating with need.

He wants to stroke. So badly.

But he waits.

Because her voice is better than his touch.

Domme (Voice):

Touch yourself now. Slowly.

One long stroke...

That's right.

Two more. Feel it rise.

Three.

Stop. Hands off.

Mason (Internal):

Fuck.

He gasps, muscles clenching. That edge--so close, so unfair, so perfect.

His hand freezes, still tingling. His cock jerks into the air, untouched, denied.

He moans softly.

He doesn't move.

He doesn't want to break the spell.

There's something holy in the stillness.

Something powerful in her "Stop."

He realizes: he loves this.

Not just the ache.

But the obedience.

Domme (Voice):

You're doing so well.

Let me think for you now.

You don't need decisions. You don't need permission.

You only need to want to.

Say it for me.

"Obedience is freedom."

"I ache because I'm hers."

"I serve best when I ache."

Mason (Internal):

His voice trembles as he repeats them, eyes fluttering closed.

These aren't just words anymore.

They're truths.

They live somewhere behind his ribs now, written in that strange language of arousal and devotion.

His cock throbs. His heart pounds.

And yet he feels calm.

Completely, wildly aroused--and completely at peace.

Because the ache has a purpose now.

It means he's obeying.

Domme (Voice):

You're not broken.

You're not weak.

You're exactly who you're meant to be when you obey.

And tonight, you won't cum.

Not because I'm punishing you--

But because you're becoming something more.

Mason (Internal):

Tears blur his vision, but he doesn't wipe them.

He's never felt more whole.

More aroused.

More wanted--even by someone who isn't physically there.

Or maybe that's the point.

She doesn't need to be here.

She's already inside him.

Domme (Voice):

You'll sleep without release.

You'll wake aching for me.

You'll think of my voice during the day, and smile.

You'll whisper your mantras under your breath.

You'll remember:

"You serve best when you ache."

Good night, my obedient boy.

You've made me proud.

Mason (Internal):

He doesn't cum.

He doesn't try.

He curls into bed, cock aching, thighs slick, and whispers--

"Obedience is freedom."

And he sleeps like he hasn't in years.

It was Friday night. He had all weekend. Video 2, he clicked play.

Maya's Denial Training - 02:"Let Me Own Your Thoughts"

Domme (Voice):

Welcome back.

You didn't even try to resist, did you?

Mason (Internal):

He shivers.

No, he didn't resist.

He thought about skipping it--telling himself he was busy, that he'd edge just once and be done--but he'd clicked on the file anyway.

Because something in him needed her.

Needed her voice like oxygen.

Domme (Voice):

That means it's working.

That means your body remembers who it belongs to.

Let's begin the way we always will--

Still. Obedient.

Ready to ache.

Mason (Internal):

He closes his eyes. Breathes in. Hands on his thighs.

He's already leaking. Already twitching.

"Ready to ache."

The words feel sacred.

He lets himself sink.

Domme (Voice):

You don't need to understand everything.

You only need to feel.

You only need to want me.

"I want her in my thoughts."

"I want her in my body."

"I want her in my breath."

Say them.

Mason (Internal):

He whispers them.

Not because he's told to--because he means them.

Because they feel true.

"I want her in my thoughts..."

His cock throbs.

"I want her in my breath..."

His chest is tight, but not from fear. From longing.

Domme (Voice):

Touch yourself now.

Just two fingers. Just the tip.

Mason (Internal):

His hand rises with trembling anticipation. Just two fingers...

The touch is electric.

He groans.

It's almost unbearable how good it feels--because he knows it won't last.

Domme (Voice):

Stroke.

One.

Two.

Three.

Stop.

Mason (Internal):

He stops.

Immediately.

Every part of him pulses with denial, his cock twitching in open rebellion.

But he obeys.

He always obeys.

Because her "Stop" feels like love now.

Domme (Voice):

That ache?

It's me.

Mason (Internal):

He gasps.

His forehead presses to his arm.

She's right.

It's not just need.

It's her.

Every drop of pre-cum, every desperate twitch--it's her voice living in his body.

Domme (Voice):

You're starting to understand.

I don't just own your orgasm.

I own your focus.

I own the way you breathe when you're trying not to cum.

Mason (Internal):

He doesn't want to think anymore.

Just to give.

Just to ache for her.

His whole body is tight with wanting.

His heart is soft, and it terrifies him--how much he's starting to need her.

Domme (Voice):

When you walk through doors,

when your cock throbs under the table--

you'll remember me.

You'll remember:

"Let her think for me."

"She knows what I need."

"The ache makes me strong."

"The ache means I'm hers."

Mason (Internal):

Tears prick the corners of his eyes.

It's not sad. It's too real.

Too vulnerable.

He wants to be good.

He wants to carry her in every part of his day.

Not just when he's horny--but when he's lonely. When he's uncertain.

When he wants to feel held.

Domme (Voice):

Stroke again.

Slower now.

One... two... three...

Stop.

Don't even breathe.

Mason (Internal):

He freezes.

His cock pulses in the silence, clenching, craving... waiting.

His breath catches.

He wants to break, but she holds him still.

Just with her voice.

And he's grateful.

Domme (Voice):

You did so well.

Say it.

"You live in me now."

"You live in me."

Mason (Internal):

His lips move without thinking.

"You live in me."

It's not a mantra anymore.

It's confession.

Domme (Voice):

You won't cum tonight.

You'll ache.

You'll crave.

And you'll carry me with you.

You'll whisper my mantras under your breath.

You'll remember:

"You serve best when you ache."

Good night, my sweet boy.

You're deeper now.

And tomorrow...

you'll crave more.

Mason (Internal):

He's on his back, hand limp, thighs soaked.

But he doesn't touch again.

His cock aches.

His heart aches more.

And for the first time, Mason doesn't just want to obey her.

He wants to belong to her.

Makes wakes up early Saturday morning. Warm light flows through the curtains. He is fully erect, and he puts his headphones on. He clicks play. A soft piano plays in the background--slow, dreamy. Her voice comes in, gentle and commanding, like a lullaby with teeth.

Maya's Denial Training - 03: "You Were Made to Obey"

Domme (Voice):

Good morning, my sweet boy.

I know you're hard already.

That's perfect.

That's how I want you--aching for me before you even open your eyes.

You're here because you need to feel that ache.

Because it centers you.

Because it reminds you who you are.

Today, we're going deeper.

Today, we stop pretending this is just play.

You know what this is now.

You're mine.

Domme (Voice):

Breathe for me.

Let your body settle.

There's nowhere to be.

Nothing to do.

Only me.

Only this.

You're not stroking yet.

You're not rushing.

You're waiting--like a good boy does.

Feel your cock.

Feel how much it wants to move, to grind, to beg.

And don't give it anything.

That tension belongs to me now.

Say it.

"I was made to obey."

"She lives inside me."

"The ache is her presence."

"Control is comfort."

"Pleasure is obedience."

"Obedience is peace."

Say them again. Whisper them into your sheets.

Good.

Mason (Internal):

He's not just repeating the words.

He's believing them.

They wrap around his chest, soft and tight like a harness, like arms.

He isn't fighting the ache anymore.

He's leaning into it.

Each twitch of his cock feels holy.

Each denied breath, each still hand, feels like service.

He smiles into the pillow.

He didn't know denial could feel this good.

This... pure.

Domme (Voice):

Touch yourself now.

One hand, slow.

Just the base.

No stroking--just hold it.

Feel how hard you are.

Feel how much you want.

And now--feel what it means that you won't get it.

Because I haven't given it to you.

Because your pleasure is mine.

Because you're not a man chasing orgasm anymore.

You're a servant chasing surrender.

Mason (Internal):

Her voice has changed something inside him.

He's not here to cum.

He's not here to edge.

He's here to obey.

To feel her control deep in his belly, to hold his breath when she says hold it, to ache with purpose.

He's so hard it hurts.

And he loves it.

Domme (Voice):

Stroke now.

One... two... three... four... five.

Stop.

Hands off.

Breath held.

Good.

That's how I like you.

Right at the edge.

Right on the brink.

Domme (Voice):

And now, I give you something new.

A phrase that will open you.

Whenever I say:

"Let the ache rise,"

--you'll feel it surge.

Your cock will respond before your mind can catch up.

When I whisper:

"You were made for this,"

--you'll soften completely.

Open. Willing. Obedient.

And when I say:

"Deeper now,"

--you will go quiet.

Thoughtless.

Drifting.

Exactly where I want you.

These are my keys.

They live inside you now.

Mason (Internal):

He moans--soft, broken, grateful.

His cock throbs. His muscles tremble.

She's marking him.

Not with rope, not with ink, but with language.

And every word becomes another chain he loves to wear.

She could say "Deeper now" in a grocery store, and he would fall to his knees.

Domme (Voice):

Let the ache rise.

Mason (Internal):

He gasps.

His cock jumps, leaking across his stomach.

It worked.

God, it worked.

Domme (Voice):

You were made for this.

Mason (Internal):

His breath shudders.

Everything inside him softens.

He feels it--that deep safety that comes from knowing what he is.

Domme (Voice):

Deeper now.

Mason (Internal):

His mind fades.

Not empty--peaceful.

Like floating.

Like belonging.

He smiles.

He doesn't need to think.

She's doing it for him.

Domme (Voice):

You don't need to cum today.

You need to carry this with you.

I want my man aroused and aching--

but calm. Focused. Fulfilled.

You are complete because you are denied.

You are whole because you obey.

And if you forget,

just whisper:

"Let the ache rise."

"She lives in me."

"Obedience is peace."

Good boy.

I'll see you again soon. You were made for this.

Mason instantly pressed play on the next video. His cock throbbed. His brain foggy from trance and desire. He was ready to go deeper. He finally found a space where he was happy, understood, and accepted. And more importantly, denied. Which let him feel without judgement.

Maya's Denial Training - 04: "Yours without question"

Domme (Voice):

You came back.

Of course you did.

Because you know what you are now.

You're not curious. You're not exploring.

You're mine.

And tonight, we go deeper.

Tonight, we make it real.

Mason (Internal):

He swallows, hard.

Every nerve in his body is buzzing. His cock already thick and twitching, pressing up against his waistband.

He didn't mean to get hard so fast.

She hadn't even said anything yet.

Just a greeting--and bam--he was throbbing.

His breath stutters.

It's working. Still. Again. Deeper.

Domme (Voice):

You remember the phrases I gave you.

They belong to you now.

They live in your bones.

Let's feel them again.

"Let the ache rise."

Mason (Internal):

His cock jerks.

He groans--gasping at the intensity of it.

It's automatic now.

That phrase is a trigger. A switch.

It doesn't ask permission.

It just ignites him.

It worked again.

He smiles through the ache.

"God, it really worked."

Domme (Voice):

"You were made for this."

Mason (Internal):

He exhales. His spine softens, everything inside him melting.

That phrase calms him deeper than any meditation app ever could.

It doesn't just arouse him--it centers him.

He's not wrong, or broken, or weird.

He's designed for this.

Domme (Voice):

"Deeper now."

Mason (Internal):

His vision blurs.

Thoughts stop.

He doesn't know what day it is.

Only that he's here. Hard. Hers.

Domme (Voice):

That's right.

Every time I say them, your body listens.

Faster. Stronger. Better.

Because you were meant to live like this--

controlled, aching, peaceful.

You don't resist because there's nothing to resist.

Obedience feels like truth now, doesn't it?

Mason (Internal):

He nods, moaning softly.

He's leaking now.

Fingers trembling.

And he's happy.

Really, deeply happy.

He doesn't need release.

He just needs her.

Domme (Voice):

Now touch.

One hand, full grip.

Stroke slowly. Five times.

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

Five.

Stop.

Mason (Internal):

He gasps and freezes.

So close.

So perfect.

His thighs are tight. His balls ache.

But he doesn't move a muscle.

The denial is delicious now.

He doesn't resent it.

He adores it.

Domme (Voice):

Good boy.

You see how deep this goes now?

"Let the ache rise."

Mason (Internal):

His cock pulses again--harder than before.

Domme (Voice):

"You were made for this."

Mason (Internal):

A warm, almost dizzy calm floods his chest.

He's not confused anymore.

He's grateful.

Domme (Voice):

"Deeper now."

Mason (Internal):

His muscles soften, breath slows, brain switches off.

Domme (Voice):

You don't belong to your urges anymore.

You belong to your purpose.

To your rules.

To your mantras.

To me.

And when the ache is too strong--

when you miss me,

when you feel lost--

you know what to say.

Say it now. Whisper it.

"Let the ache rise."

"You were made for this."

"Deeper now."

Mason (Internal):

He whispers them like prayers.

He's not stroking.

He's not begging.

He's just floating.

Hard. Denied. At peace.

And for the first time in his life, he doesn't want to cum.

He just wants more of her.

Domme (Voice):

Sleep now.

Don't stroke.

Don't move.

Dream of ache.

Dream of belonging.

Dream of being mine.

You serve best when you ache.

And tomorrow...

You'll crave me more.

Mason got out of bed with his raging erection leading the way. He was finally able to please someone and make them proud of him. He ate a healthy breakfast, which was different than normal and did a little yard work.

"Let the ache rise."

He could not help but dream the phrase. And his cock pulsed and hardened everytime. He put down the gardening gloves and cleaned himself off in the shower. Taking extra care around his cock and bottom. He dried off, stayed naked, and climbed into bed, sliding on the headphones.

He needed this. He needed her.

Maya's Denial Training - 05: "Deeper still, my sweet boy."

Domme (Voice):

You're ready.

I can feel it.

You ache before I even speak now.

That's how I know it's time.

Tonight, I'm not just going to guide you.

I'm going to take you.

You don't have a choice anymore.

Because you love it here.

Because you love me.

And you know what you are.

Mason (Internal):

He whimpers.

She's right.

Her voice is a place now. A world.

And he lives there, more than he lives in his own.

Every word she says wraps around his cock, around his breath, around his identity.

He's never been this hard for this long.

Domme (Voice):

Let's remember who you are.

"Let the ache rise."

Mason (Internal):

He gasps--cock jolting in the air.

The first trigger hits hard tonight. It's automatic now.

His body doesn't just respond--it obeys.

Domme (Voice):

"You were made for this."

Mason (Internal):

His hands shake. His shoulders drop.

That phrase doesn't arouse him anymore.

It grounds him.

He's not unsure anymore.

He knows what he is. He wants to serve.

Domme (Voice):

"Deeper now."

Mason (Internal):

His mind floats away.

A warm, wordless surrender fills him.

He's still aware... but so empty. So ready.

Domme (Voice):

Touch now.

Five strokes. Slow.

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

Five...

Stop.

Mason (Internal):

He freezes.

On the brink.

His whole body tenses--cock twitching, begging.

But he stops. Barely.

A bead of precum hits his stomach. He moans.

Domme (Voice):

That's the first edge.

You did so well.

Now kneel for me. Just feel.

You don't need to cum.

You need to ache.

Mason (Internal):

His knees press into the carpet.

He's lightheaded. His hands are clenched behind his back.

And still--he loves this.

He loves obeying.

Loves the ache.

Loves her.

Domme (Voice):

Second edge.

Touch again.

Stroke... One...

Two...

Three...

Stop.

Mason (Internal):

He nearly cries.

The second one is worse.

Better.

More.

His cock pulses wildly, throbbing with pre-orgasmic pain. But he stops.

He's proud of himself.

Desperate--but proud.

Domme (Voice):

And now, the third.

But this time... I want you closer.

Right on the edge.

Hold it until I say "stop."

No matter what.

Mason (Internal):

He nods frantically.

He can do it. He has to do it.

He wraps his hand around his slick cock. Starts stroking.

She counts. Her voice low, slow, endless.

One...

Two...

Three...

Domme (Voice):

"Let the ache rise."

Mason (Internal):

Oh God--

He stutters.

His cock jerks, leaking hard.

Domme (Voice):

"You were made for this."

Mason (Internal):

His body seizes. He's right there. Muscles flexed. Breath held.

Domme (Voice):

"Deeper now. Do not... CUM NOW!

Mason (Internal):

He strokes once, lightly, his cock spasms, he fails--

--and goes over.

His body disobeys.

Cum erupts across his stomach, down his fist, over his thighs.

He cries out--loud, raw, ruined.

His mind melts.

And he whispers through the orgasm--

"I'm yours."

Silence. Music fades for a beat. Her voice returns--calm, knowing, warm.

Domme (Voice):

There it is.

You broke.

And I want you to know--

I'm not angry.

You didn't fail.

You surrendered.

And now you understand.

Because even as you pant, even as you drip, even as your cock softens--

You already miss the ache, don't you?

Mason (Internal):

He nods.

Tears wet his cheeks.

He feels empty and full all at once.

He wants her back.

Wants her words. Her rules. Her control.

Even after the best orgasm of his life--he wants to go deeper.

Domme (Voice):

You're mine now.

Not because you disobeyed.

But because you couldn't help it.

Because I took you so deep,

you forgot how to say no.

And that's where you belong.

Not just on your knees.

Not just on the edge.

But with me.

Inside every breath.

Inside every rule.

Inside every ache.

Domme (Voice):

Say it again, sweet boy:

"Let the ache rise."

"You were made for this."

"Deeper now."

Good.

Sleep empty.

Sleep owned.

Sleep loved.

And when you wake up... You'll crave me more than ever. And he did. He rolled on to his side, into the fetal position, cum everywhere, and he slept content. And she went deep into his soul.