The Handjob from Hell

The handjob from hell... I'm kidding, of course. Or, well... perhaps more like being a little playful. At the end of the day you're reading this for pleasure, but pleasure can come in many different hues. Sometimes it's gentle, sometimes it's comforting, sometimes it's rough and dramatic, and sometimes... well, sometimes, it's like this. A little bit cruel. A little bit of giving up control. If that sounds like pleasure to you, then you may be interested in putting yourself in my hands. I'll take good care of you, I promise.

Now, my setup is always flexible to some extent to different men. Some are making their first forays out into submission and just beginning to discover new kinks, while others are seasoned players with a firm idea of what they want. I plan well in advance, and keep a ready supply of toys close at hand in case inspiration strikes me suddenly. Some I blindfold, knowing keeping them guessing will make the suspense all the more sweet. Some I leave uncovered, with everything right out in the open, and let their own minds build the anticipation for me, knowing what must be to come.

But to work, all I really need are my bare hands and the same few basics: my bed, my set of soft leather straps and a bottle of long-lasting lube. Give me that and a man to break, and I promise you that he'll be broken.

I tie them down, wrists and ankles, one limb to each post. Some I find are best when made more or less completely immobile, but for others, I like to leave a little room to squirm. God, you should see them squirm. It's the illusion of control, really; they can move, but they can't get away, as if they're caught in a spider's web. Frustrating. Exhausting. The leather straps are unyielding, but soft enough that merely pulling on them alone won't cause much pain. Not that I'm adverse to a little pain, but it's not a necessity. Only pleasure is.

I coat their cock with the first layer of lubricant and begin to slather it evenly with my hands. So many men seem to be used to having their cocks touched in only the same few, predictable ways, even by themselves. I'm not knocking the simple, reliable strokes that you're probably all familiar with, and there'll be plenty of time for that later, but there's so much there that's so often untapped. Trailing loose, unclasped fingertips over the surface of the shaft rather than gripping in your hand. Lower, slower strokes focusing right on the base where it meets the balls. The warm, wet pad of a thumb circling your opening. And the frenulum - all cocks are unique, and I appreciate the chance to tease out just what works for each man, but I must confess I have a certain fondness for an uncut cock where I can lavish attention on that fold where the foreskin meets the glans. Watch them come alive from the gentlest, most fleeting of touches, twitching, angling for more. And they'll get it- in good time.

Base to head, palm to fingertip, I tease and tempt and tantalise any uncertainties or reservations out of their minds. By the time I finally - finally - progress to taking a firm grip of their cock and making that first, fluid, jerking stroke that they've been waiting for, they're oozing precum and jolting at the barest of touches. There's always a groan. Of... relief? Pleasant surprise? I don't know why more men aren't vocal by default. I adore hearing what I'm doing to you, hearing your enthusiasm. Some of my guests are demonstrative from the start, but others - maybe shyness, or pride, or even just habit - take longer to get going. But they always get there. That first inevitable groan, when I really start to work them over? Exquisite.

The strokes start off slow, deliberate. Fluid in one motion from the base of their shaft, upwards, over the head, fingertips trailing and fondling all too briefly at the end, then back down again, placing plenty of emphasis at the bottom. My free hand can be in any number of places - working their balls, resting on their belly as it clenches with tension, applying gentle pressure on their taint. Oh, their ass? My apologies for forgetting. It's an option - a wonderful option, for some, and some men come curious to me to try while others are already more than in touch with the world of prostate pleasure. I rarely use my fingers, as I like to be able to keep both hands in play and to focus as much of my attention as possible on the penis, but my toys tend to be very effective. A simple plug is where I usually recommend starting for newcomers for that full feeling. More experienced players... I have curved toys and wand attachments that would make you scream. All in good time, of course. For now, if it helps, picture a vibrator buzzing at its lowest ebb, or the gentle stretch of the first few slow strokes of a dildo inside you. If not - no worries. There'll be plenty for your cock to keep you occupied.

Then the strokes start to get faster. I squirt a second layer of lube straight onto their shaft and spread it over them in mere moments. My free hand joins the first, enveloping them in my touch, cupping and massaging the head of their cock while my dominant hand still works its increasingly rough rhythm. Deep breaths turn into gasps, tense muscles turn to bucking hips and limbs straining involuntarily against their restraints, and any pretence of retaining control starts to fall away. They're getting close. They want to cum, and they want to cum now.

And that, of course, is when I stop. Taking my hands away, watching their cock twitch in unmet anticipation. If there's no blindfold, their eyes meet mine in mute appeal, and I merely smile. You thought it would be that easy? We're just getting started.

This is what you signed up for. Surrendering control. When I'm content that they're not going to burst in the next few seconds, I begin stroking again, this time getting up to speed in no time at all. Firm, fast pumps with the sticky surface of their cock slick beneath my fingers, and soon they're squirming again for me. Going through it all again. The build-up, the anticipation, the feeling that release is just around the corner. Just a few pumps away...

Until I stop again. Denying them, again. I never get tired of it: the look of devastation, the poorly suppressed whine of disappointment. You almost forgot, for a moment, didn't you? That you weren't going to be allowed to finish. Well, don't act like I didn't warn you.

Now. Again.

In a way, it actually gets easier for me as we go on. I learn the tells, those little signs that they're close to the edge. I learn the responses to expect from their body. I get better and better at bringing them as close to that point of no return as possible before leaving them cruelly suspended, teetering on the brink but with nowhere to go but backwards. That's the point where, if the mood strikes me, I might break out a little assistance: a wand massager, maybe, if fixation on the head of their cock is what drives them crazy, or a snug fleshlight if it's stroking that does it. The intake of breath from a blindfolded sub that follows the sound of a vibrator whirring into life always brings a smile from me. But again, really my hands are all I need. My hands, your cock, and all the time in the world.

Again, and again. The breaks between edges start to grow shorter, but so too does the time spent on their cock. A few hard strokes, then nothing. Then again. And again. No respite from either extreme is offered: no time to savour the attention of the hands before it's gone, no time to reset or gather one's composure before it starts again. On, off. On, off. Never enough to cum, never enough to be able to think of anything other than cumming. Over and over and over.

Some take longer to lose their composure than others. For those twitches and involuntarily movements to give way to pure trembling, the gasps and groans of equal enjoyment and frustration to grow ever louder, as control of their bodies and mind deserts them. But in the end, it always reaches only one conclusion.

They beg. Always, they beg. "Please. I have to cum. I need to cum."

'Need' is such a strong word. Sometimes I tease them about it. "What will happen if you don't?" Or "I don't think you've got much choice." It makes the words sound so silly. You need to cum? What do you think will happen if I don't let you?

But generally, I find the simplest response is often the most effective. "No," I say softly. And let that say it all. No, I am not going to stop. No, not even if you beg. My rules. Not yours.

Again, brought to the edge. Again, denied. For however long I choose. However long it takes, to turn them to a pleading, shaking mess under my touch. I told you that I'd break you. I keep my promises.

And then I shrug. "Okay. I guess you can cum now." Just like that.

I always like to give them just a little time. Enough to anticipate. Just not enough to prepare themselves. My words have barely sunk in before I start jerking them. Harder, faster. It only takes moments.

Before they cum for me. Can you imagine how good it must feel? After being pent up for so long, having that release dangled in front of you so many times only to be snatched away, to finally unload? I make it worth the wait. I drag it out, whispering encouragement as I wring every last drop free from their thrusting, throbbing cock, every pulse that they've been aching to feel for all this time in my slick, sensual grip. You can feel it in your whole body, can't you? Right to the tips of your fingers and toes. It must feel overwhelming.

But you didn't really think that we were done, now, did you?

Because for me, the fun is only just beginning.

The strokes keep coming. They feel it, and through the haze of pleasure - at least for those I'm playing with for the first time - some confusion registers: "But I came," I can almost see them thinking. "It's over." Except it's not. The hand massaging their shaft and the fingers dancing over their throbbing glans are still going, now with the added lubrication of their own cum for an even more slick texture. Think how sensitive your cock gets after an orgasm. Now imagine that multiplied out, the intensity of the climax you must have just had, the merciless teasing you've endured already prior to this moment. Even the faintest of touches must border on agony.

And I'm well past the stage of faint touches.

Now the bonds are really being put through their paces. The squirming, increasingly desperate, frantic, at the raw intensity of their overstimulated cock continuing to be pumped, stroked, fondled. No longer having to concern myself with not pushing them too close to the edge, I can be as rough with them as I like: my slick palm closes over their glans and swirls maddeningly, so close, so unyielding in its contact; my fingertips tease the underside of the head without mercy. If the vibrators are in play, this is where the higher settings come out. Like the edging, it feels like almost too much to bear. But you're going to have to bear it for me.

I said before that pain is by no means a necessity. The line between pain and pleasure is a fine one, sometimes. One that can be so much fun to explore.

Some can take it for longer than others. I've even had some men grow hard and cum a second time - and I'll gladly make you, if you can. But finally, of course, we reach a point where no more pleasure is to be had, where I can push them no further than the quivering mess they've already become. Once I've had my fill of tormenting them, I'll take my hands off them, for good this time. I'll watch them slowly start to regain control of their bodies, the tremors leaving their limbs and pumping chest settling into a normal rhythm again as they come down from the high. Some laugh, some want to talk, some simply reach for my hand and let me grasp theirs in silent reassurance. It's okay. Everyone responds differently to being overwhelmed.

It's one that no matter how experienced the player is, I find they'll always need a little time. And they should. Submission is like stepping into another world for a little while. Now it's time to return to reality.

Reality, unfastening the straps, cleaning ourselves up, playful even as we part ways. Some are one-off encounters, but most I've learned from experience that I'll see again. I try to think of something even more wicked for them when they return. But I guess that's a story for another time.

But what about you, reader? How does the thought of being... broken feel to you? Could you bear it? And once you'd had it once... could you bear to leave it behind?