“Come here, baby,” you tell me, leading me into the bedroom. “Just take off all those clothes and lay down on the bed. Then put this on,” you say, handing me a blindfold. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

I watch you leave as you head into your walk-in closet, imagining how soon your body will look even more sexy in lingerie. Though I guess I won’t be seeing it… at first, anyway, I think looking at the blindfold.

I take my clothes off, feeling as if I’m in a kind of trance. Just going through the motions. No decisions to make, I think to myself, as I lay down in the middle of the bed. I put the blindfold on, and adjust it until I can not see anything through the bottom. Then I wait. The anticipation grows stronger the longer I lay there, feeling the cool air on my skin. I can feel the tightness in my neck and shoulders as I attempt to relax, all the stress built-up over a week of long days at work, concentrating in my muscles.

A few minutes later, I hear you come back. You walk around the bed, stopping at each corner, as you take one of my limbs at a time and wrap the restraints around them. I let you, my limbs giving no resistance. I don’t even tug on them to check them. I know they’re secure, and I know it doesn’t matter. I’m in good hands.

I feel your weight pressing down on the bed. I feel your warmth lay down against my side. The feel of fabric brushes my skin. Then your lips are on my own, kissing me. First you kiss me softly, gently, then more deeply. Your lips move from mine to my ear. I feel your tongue explore the ridges of my ear, and I feel my dick awakening at the sensation. Then I hear you whisper, in a voice full of empathy, “Rough week at work? Stress getting you down?” As you speak, your hand glides slowly across my chest.

I only grunt some assent, knowing you don’t really expect an answer. A finger lightly circles my nipples, and then your hand massages my pecks. “Don’t worry, babe. I’m going to take all of that away. Make it all better.” Your mouth moves down to my neck and throat, gently nuzzling.

Your hand finishes at my chest, and moves slowly down. It stops at my stomach, gently caressing it. I feel your fingers along my pubic bone, gently, almost tickling. You know something about that area at all times makes me wish for more. You don’t give it to me, not yet. You take your time.

I hear you speak softly again, “When I’m done with you, all that stress and worry will have long melted away. The only thing left in this world will be my touch… what it’s doing… and what it’s not. The pleasure you’re feeling, and the pleasure you yearn for.”

Your hand now travels further south, and I feel it against my thighs. It caresses up and down, slowly, exploring each thigh in turn, before moving towards my inner thighs. Another area you know fills me with desire.

“Give it all to me. All your stress and concerns. Let it all go. No amount of anxiety or stress can survive when your very soul cries out for me to make you cum. All the while, knowing I won’t… not yet… not until I’m ready. Not until I know I’ve fixed every hurt inside you, until me… my hands… my mouth… my pussy… are the only concerns left to your needy brain. Me, and the incredibly powerful urge to cum, and the frustration of knowing you’re helpless to make it happen,” your voice has lost none of its softness, and yet I’m able to hear the unmistakable tinge of dominance it bears.

Your hand continues its tease of my inner thighs, now drawing closer to where I want it to go. Your fingers brush against my balls, ever so slightly on their way up before heading back down. I feel a shudder through my system at that smallest of touches, craving so much to feel it again.

“For the next… several hours, at least… you have no worries. No decisions to agonize over, no responsibilities, no one expecting anything from you. No duty. No control. You’re putty in my most capable hands. I’ll mold you into a ball of need, desire… and frustration. And then, finally, when I’m ready, I’ll give you the release of all of that until you’re emptied of everything but peace and contentment. We’ve a long road until we get there, however. When I’m ready will be long after you are,” there’s an undeniable strength underlying the softness of your voice. You speak gently, sweetly, with the love I know you feel for me. Yet, I know beneath it is a will of iron. You’ll tease and torment me, mercilessly, knowing I want… need… you to continue, even if I’m crying out for you to stop. You know it’s the only way to truly make me give up all the weight I’m carrying. You know me so well, sometimes, I think, better than I know myself. Perhaps it’s the real me, I wonder, that emerges in the midst of that helpless surrender to your torment.

Your fingers now touch my balls more frequently. With what feels far more intense than it deserves to, your fingernails scratch against them. Your fingertips and fingernails tease my balls, up and down, circling around each ball. My dick hardens further as I sink into the sensations.

“Yes… before you cum… long before you cum… you’ll beg. Begging hardly does it justice, though, does it? Only through the most intense desperation, and with it the most sincere pleading, will you truly be able to let go of everything. When you fully accept that you can do nothing, say nothing, be nothing to influence when that release happens. When you truly accept that I am in total control, and that you are powerless to do anything about it. Then you will have let go of the world and its concerns,” you continue speaking, almost matter-of-factly, as you predict this future of pleasurable torture. A part of me fears it, but mostly I long to feel that. To feel so safely and fully under your spell, bereft of any control or desire for it, only to allow you to do whatever you want with me.

“Yes… I want that. I want to be yours. I want to let go,” I manage to whimper as your hand continues to tease my tender balls. I feel your hand cup them, squeezing them gently.

“You will, babe, you will. I’ll get you to that state of helpless acceptance… of pure desire… of the most intense mix of pleasure and frustration possible. And then I’ll keep you there. Long after your cries for mercy have faded. Cries for me to stop, for me to continue, for me to let you cum. Long after eyes clouded with tears. Tears of frustration, tears of unbridled pleasure, tears of release of stress and emotion. Until you’ve emptied yourself fully of everything else in the world,” my dick stiffens further yet as your words reach those fantasies at the very heart of my being. I feel fear in the pit of my stomach, will I be able to handle it? Then that fear eases a little as I know, you would never give me more than I can truly handle.

“Every time I bring you to the very brink and then keep you there, you’ll lose yourself in the moment. ‘Will she let me cum this time?’ you’ll wonder, both hoping that I will and that I won’t. All other worries and thoughts will cease to exist, and all that will remain is that dichotomy of wanting it to end and yet wanting more. You won’t know what you want, not really. But don’t worry, babe, I’ll make it easy for you. I know what’s best for you. I’ll decide when you cum.” Finally, I feel your fingers moving up and down my straining cock as your whisper into my ear. Again, they have the lightest touches, so gentle, like a soft breeze. It’s enough, though, to draw a moan from lips. Enough to cause a shudder of pleasure and anticipation through my body. As your fingers continue their sensual tease, I long to see what they’re doing. I long to see your body in that sexy lace, and to look into your eyes. I know they shine with love, lust, and dominance. Even imagining that heady combination that takes my breath away.

As if reading my mind in some way, I feel your lips once again intersect with mine. You kiss teasingly, pulling back just as I move up to meet you. Your tongue runs against my lips, not quite allowing me to envelop it with my mouth.

Your fingers feel amazing on my hard dick, made so sensitive by the long build-up and light touches. At the same time, I feel the frustration building… the desire for more firm touches. For you to stroke me, squeeze me, suck me, fuck me… give me the pressure and contact I need. I begin to buck my hips up, trying to somehow increase the stimulation.

I hear you chide me, “Tsk tsk… none of that now. Trying to maintain some control, are we? Remember… you have none. I will do whatever I wish, and you will lay there and feel it. And I wish to take my time… so much time. I wish to go slowly. So slowly… I don’t think I’ll edge you for a long time yet. Not until you’re begging me to bring you there. Or long after. I wonder how long it will take for you to beg me? Really beg me… where I can hear the desperation in each syllable. And yet that will only be a shadow of the pleading you’ll do later, when you’ve been on that edge you were craving for so long,” as you explain all this, I feel you get up from my side. You straddle me stomach, facing my aching dick. I feel the warmth of your pussy on my stomach, and something else. Are you that wet, already? Now your weight prevents all chance of my moving up to meet you. I truly have no control now. In this position you’re able to bring both hands to bear against my dick and balls.

I feel the nails of one hand dragging across my balls while the other moves up and down my shaft. Sometimes one finger, sometimes two, glide from the base up to where the shaft ends and the head begins. So many times, you do this, stopping as you reach the point I want you most to touch. You alternate between fingertips and fingernails, the difference in texture rocking my world each time. I lay in awe at how much pleasure you can give with a single finger. So much feeling in such a small amount of contact. And so much frustration.

I think humorously of how before I met you, I wondered handjobs were mundane… almost disappointing. Better than nothing, but only just. The least trendy item on the sexual menu by far. I would imagine in the moment, how I could do this very thing myself. And I had much more practice at how to do it just right. I would hope that whomever was doing it would soon move down and use their mouth.

Along with so many other things, you’d shown me what untapped potential the average handjob has. You could make me feel more with your fingers than most women could with their mouths, tongues, and pussies. You could make each stroke of your hand contain all the intensity of a tight, wet pussy or a soft, warm mouth. Of course, I still longed to feel your mouth and your pussy as well. But somehow, I never wanted the handjob to end. If only, in some universe, I could have all three at the same time.

I come back to the moment as I feel your fingers stop their up and down torment, and now I feel them converge on my head. The fingers of one hand all surround my head from above, and I imagine how they look almost like a claw. They move inward right below the head, and then glide back up and off of me. The pressure on my neglected head feels like lightning running through my nerves, and my ardour is ignited even further. They start touching more lightly now, but twisting as they move up and down. I feel the light pressure on my frenulum, and I moan again. You apparently notice my reaction, and I feel you stop the twisting. One finger runs slowly… painstakingly slowly… up the bottom of my shaft, and then just as it reaches my frenulum you take it away. I try to move, but your weight effectively holds me down. I hear you chuckle slightly, knowing I want that touch back so badly. You repeat your one-finger stroke a few more times, and then finally you don’t pull away. The finger runs against my frenulum, and I moan softly.

You continue these light fingertip touches for so long that I feel I have no idea how long it’s been. It’s that combination of intensely pleasurable and mind-bendingly frustrating and it drives me crazy.

“Want to see what I’m doing?”, I hear your silky voice ask, looking over your shoulder at me. Suddenly a hand touches my cheek, and then I feel the blindfold lifted off. I look up at you, blinking slightly from the change in light. Even the relatively dim light of the room seems bright after the total darkness. I see your mostly bare back, the strap of your black, lacy bra, and the top of your ass with the thin strip of cloth going across and in between.

My eyes drink in the view of you, and focus on your face as you look back. A smirk forms on your bright red lips as I feel your hands again teasing my cock and balls. Your head turns back to watch what you’re doing, and I know that I’ll be unable to do so. Something about being able to see again, but still not being able to see what you’re doing to my dick is very erotic. I stare at the top of your butt cheeks, presented as you lean slightly forward to better engage my cock.

I hear you speak again, “I know what you’re probably thinking… any moment now, she’ll switch to touching me more… giving me more pressure… more contact. Surely, she can’t continue this light teasing much longer,” I see you lean to the side, and your hand stretches out to a laptop sitting on the bed. I hadn’t even noticed it before, focusing so much on what little of your body I could see. You hit something and I hear a show begin to play. “If that’s what you’re thinking… you’re wrong. I have all the time in the world to tease you. Nowhere else to be. So, settle in, you’ve got a long way to go yet.”

I lay my head back against my pillow, eager myself to endure the teasing. You’ve never done this stage of it this long before. What do I want more… you to stop this form of torment and move on or for you to keep going?

I feel your other hand leave my balls and travel up my cock. I feel the flat of your palms against me, and the telltale twist as your hands roll me in between them. Another move I never knew existed, before you, I think. The twisting motion feels luxurious, and your hands slowly move up me as they continue. I can not see them, but I know they look like someone trying to begin a campfire… except my cock is the drill. And no one would try to begin a fire that slowly, I think. Your hands reach my head, and it feels incredible, before moving back down my shaft. It’s another move that feels so good, but also promises me no real satisfaction.

Finally, your show ends, your hands having spent the entire time on numerous forms of lightly teasing me. “Good episode, don’t you think?”, you ask, looking back at me. I can see from your smile that you know I had no attention to spare for the show. I think and can not even come up with what show it was.

“No? You didn’t watch it at all? I wonder why…”, you trail off, as both your hands massage my balls, one on each side. “Had other things on your mind? Hopefully that means you didn’t have any room for work stress in there either. Maybe we should keep going, just to be sure,” you laugh.

I groan slightly, feeling as if I want… need… more substantial touches. It feels good, but the frustration is starting to overpower the pleasure.

“I think I’ll give you a little of what you want… just a little…”, you say, and your touches stop. I can not see it, but I hear you open a bottle of lube. Then a moment later, your hands are back on me. One hand holds the base of my cock in a ring, the rest of your hand resting against my balls. The other then begins stroking me, from the head down.

Your hand is tight against my head… gloriously tight. After so long of only feeling those light, loose touches, it feels incredibly powerful. It’s almost too much, my cock has become so sensitive. It’s so tight… but also so slow. Was that lube or molasses? I joke to myself, feeling your hand move as if it’s nearly frozen.

As your hand crosses to my shaft, I feel an intense wave of pleasure and frustration. It feels like entering your pussy, with it clamped down around me, but much slower than I would ever slide into you. When you reach your other hand at the bottom of my shaft, I wait for you to reverse direction and go back up. But you don’t. Your hand leaves my dick, and then I feel it back at the tip of my head. You repeat the action, so slowly stroking downwards again. Only downwards.

I’m not sure how such a slow touch can feel so intense, but it does. My muscles tighten, bracing myself against the intensity, as you move down. I groan, attempting to will your hand to move faster. It doesn’t.

“Are you liking that, babe? Slow and steady wins the race,” I hear you chuckle lightly as you continue the strokes, over and over, never increasing speed. “From your reaction I think this is really… getting through to you. Tell me, is it frustrating?”

I’m not sure if your question is rhetorical or not, but I attempt to speak through clenched teeth as your hand moves down my head again, “Uhhhh, fuck. Yes. It feels… so… good… but so… frustrating. Can… you go… faster, please?” I manage, as those strokes dominate my consciousness.

I hear you laugh a little again. “Of course, I can, babe!” you answer brightly.

I let out a sigh of relief, hardly being able to wait for the next stroke to be faster. When it starts, though, it feels exactly the same as all the others.

“I can… but I won’t,” you say, and you seem quite pleased with your little joke. “Maybe eventually, but remember… we’re in no rush tonight. I’m going to take my time with everything. Every little step, every escalation of sensation, is going to last until you’re not sure you can take any more. I want to hear you moan in pleasure and frustration… I want to hear you beg.”

I groan at that, unsure if I’m disappointed or relieved that you didn’t do as I asked. The slow strokes are so intense, but I know they’re never gonna get me to the edge. I won’t be able to cum from just those. Somehow the knowledge of that makes each one much more frustrating than seems fair.

“Since you like these so much, I think we’ll keep them up for a while. Let’s watch another episode, yes?”, you hit something on the laptop and again and show starts up.

I moan softly, not knowing how I’ll get through an entire episode of these painfully slow strokes. I also know, with a feeling of both fear and warmth, that I’ll have to. My toes curl with each stroke, and I moan involuntarily. By the end of the episode, my legs are shaking and I’m mumbling “please”.

“You know,” you say, looking back at me, “I think that episode was even better than the last one. I can’t wait to find out what happens next. Don’t you just love a show with a good build-up to a dramatic climax?”, you smile knowingly at my state lost between pleasure and torment.

You climb off of me, laying down against me again. My eyes grow wide, seeing you from the front for the first time. Your breasts are pushed up tantalizingly by your black bra, and I imagine my mouth wrapped around each nipple.

Your hand runs through my hair, and massages my scalp. I feel your lips against my neck, your tongue moving up and down, sending a shiver through me. You kiss your way slowly up to my ear. “Mmm, enjoying yourself? I know I am. That work stress doesn’t stand a chance, does it?”

Your hand leaves my hair and touches my cheek, lovingly. You kiss me deeply, and I breathe you in. You move back to my ear, and then whisper, “Especially since we’re just getting started. You haven’t even gotten close to the edge yet, have you? You’re going to forget what it’s like not to be at the edge, soon enough. But not too soon…” My dick throbs as I hear you say all this.

I watch as your hands move to yourself, one massaging your breasts over your bra and the other your pussy over your panties. “Mmm,” you moan, locking your eyes with my own. I have trouble deciding where to look, your eyes or your hands, so I split my time between both.