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edging

Edging his hand closer, the voice on the other side of the phone was the guide. She spoke the words he needed, the triggers all there. Telling him what a naughty Man he was for watching the girl. How he would go to hell for the desires he had for her innocent little cunt. She pushed him closer and closer…

Stop! This is edging, not completion.

Whispers through the phone, the voice describing how his hand would apply the lube. Pouring it over the tip, the clear fluid dripped down like melting the candle wax. It glistened till his hand closed over the head, her voice whispering to him. He could no longer control his urges, and the hand-pumped harder. No explosion. None. He was not allowed. This is edging only.

“Stroke slow, can you see them over there? They want you, they told me so.”

Each word forced his hand to work from tip to base, as she talked about these girls sitting in the front pew. They sat there reading the bible. They were schoolgirls right down to the uniform and crosses around their necks. His fetish was always the ones that hadn’t touched and the sins we could inflict on them. I knew that edging was his addiction.

“Grip it tighter, their cunts are so tiny” I’m the puppetmaster and he is my pawn. I love edging him to the point he cries for me. Begs for release. At times though, I deny it. I make him go to bed with swollen balls and an ache so deep that he feels consumed by need. So many times he will tell me he needs. I deny because I want him to be desperate before I allow the disposal of seed. Bitch? I can be when the right Man lends be his hand to guide, and his dreams to destroy.