A few topics are on my mind as I write this. A punishment of sorts involving denial- more than the usual, car shopping, and the mind of my Master. Damn, his mind is so complex and so ahead of my game most times that it should be a post on its own. So I guess it will be. But, these three things are interlaced, but an extra dose of denial is what I have finally landed on here. In a way, denial is a cornerstone of our relationship. It isn’t THE cornerstone, but my dick (technically it is his, but it is attached to me, which is his, you get the idea) locked in a cage represents a lot to perverts like us.
So, on to the double denial dose of discipline.
Not long after I wrote a post on my uniform and what all it means to me and represents, I came in from work, stripped, and immediately took my place under Drew’s desk while he finished leading what was probably his 17th zoom meeting of the day. In my zeal to get to my place at my Master’s feet, I had forgotten an important part of my uniform. When his hands touched my neck, my heart sank. I had forgotten my collar. My chest tightened. My eyes even watered. It was not out of fear of punishment, but it was a feeling of disappointment in myself. There was no excuse for it, I just forgot. He saw all of that in my eyes and my demeanor and a swear he smirked. We both knew there would be punishment and, dammit, my titanium attempted to stretch again.
Fast forward to the punishment part. Drew never mentioned my collar but an hour or two later I was instructed to get my cuffs, the posture collar, and some locks. I had always noticed that he has a U-shaped piece of iron bolted to the floor on his side of the bed, but never gave it too much thought because I know that it is there to prevent a giant, 8’ tall heavy mirror that leans against the wall from sliding. Funny, I had never given that piece of iron much thought, however, that soon changed as I found the D-ring from the now locked posture collar locked directly to said iron piece, leaving my face planted against the hardwood floor. He then locked my hands behind my back and cuffed each of my ankles together. It was a stress position like I had never been in before and, frankly, it hurt as much as it made me hard. I had no choice other than to rest the weight of my body against my face on the floor while Drew reminded me why I was going to be there for an extended period of time. Then, he left me to think. I really didn’t know how long he meant, but I also knew that I had no choice as I did have a price to pay. I should clarify for the sake of safety, I said he left me, but he’s always very aware of safe play and would actually never do that. Instead, he took a shower, climbed into bed, and watched some TV and did some writing while essentially ignoring me.
It. Felt. Like. Fucking. Forever (and I was so turned on by this new aspect of my slavery).
Finally, Drew got off the bed and went into the upstairs office where I soon heard the digital lock on the closet door opening. Then, I heard chain. I like chain. Drew came in, unlocked my collar from the floor and then promptly padlocked one end of about 4’ of chain to the floor bolt and the other end to the locked posture collar. My hands were still bound behind me and my ankles locked, but I had some freedom as I could walk on my knees as far as the chain would let me.
As it turns out, Drew made sure that the chain would let me stretch to about 2 inches away from his hard, dripping dick. It was dripping like it does, but it was just out of reach of my mouth. I struggled and strained and stretched to taste my Master. This was fucking denial on steroids and I struggled to wonder whether the bondage or the denial were my punishment. That’s the thing about my Master, his mind knew I would be struggling to decide which I liked better and that is so hot to me. It reminded me that I love not only his mind, his body, his eyes, his smile, but also his taste. I WANTED to taste him, to taste his pre cum, his cock, his body. I needed it and, god damn, I then fucking begged for it.
It was like a bad boxing match. Drew bobbed and weaved, move left, right, up and down and never once let me taste his dick but I continued to dance as if I could. I fought against the chain holding me in place, my cage protruded and pointed left, as it does, my tongue trying to extend a foot away from my body. Drew was loving this and probably for the first time that I really remember, being denied the taste of cock was a form of punishment I never expected. I just KNEW he would give in and let me taste and touch and then he stepped away and grabbed the key from the table where he laid it. I was seconds away from that taste I wanted. He unlocked my hands and ankles and, as I felt his heavy hand grab my neck and felt the key enter the lock, I almost vibrated off the floor with the anticipation of that dick. That taste. Fuck that taste.
Finally, finally, I felt and heard the lock click and, as he drew near me I felt the heat from his dick coming right at me. He was so close I could almost taste and was so ready when suddenly, I heard his deep, southern growl say “slave, put your toys away, take a shower, then meet us downstairs. You need to drive us to dinner.”
Fuck. I am a lucky slave.