It was a difficult night for Jason. He would drift into a fitful sleep only to awaken again, his penis hard and pressed against Sandra. He slipped out of bed at first light and headed to the bathroom. He considered jerking off for a moment, but decided against it; it wouldn’t kill him to skip a day. Deciding not to bother with a bathrobe over his only other article of clothing—Sandra’s panties—he headed to the kitchen.
Since it was Saturday, he decided to let Sandra sleep in. He finished some chores and then began fixing breakfast for them, a gesture he didn’t make as often these days. He was standing at the counter wearing nothing but her panties when he saw Sandra walking toward him with a broad smile. He shook his head almost imperceptibly and smiled back.
She hugged him, and he held her, the sudden closeness causing his little penis to respond. She pulled back and looked down. “Down, boy,” she joked.
Jason quickly changed the subject. “Did you sleep well?”
“I had the most amazing night’s sleep I’ve had in ages,” she said, stretching her arms over her head and yawning in an exaggerated fashion. “I barely even woke up, except to go to the bathroom. How about you?” Even though he was smiling, Sandra could tell he hadn’t slept well. That was good. She wanted him a bit worn down; it would make him less combative when they had their talk. It was similar to how the military broke down new recruits. She would take pages out of that book.
“Obviously not as well as you,” he lamented.
“Poor baby,” she said, hugging him again. She had to admit she was a bit nervous. This was going to be an important conversation, and she knew she had to be very clear about her intentions. However, as an attorney, she possessed negotiation skills that would come in handy today.
Jason said, “Mind if I put my shorts on? I’m getting splattered with grease.”
Sandra paused, looking thoughtful. “Okay. We wouldn’t want that little thing of yours to get burned, should it come out of the top of your panties again.”
Jason noted that she said, “your panties,” but he didn’t react. He just smiled and hurried to pull shorts on over the panties. She was right about wearing her panties; they did remind him of her, and not just because they were so tight. He imagined he could smell her scent, and while it made his little penis pulse, fortunately, he didn’t get hard.
When he returned, Sandra said, “I’m going to go get dressed. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee, a familiar comfort, wafted through the air as Jason finished preparing breakfast. Sandra, meanwhile, was engaged in her own ritual of preparation—a silent prelude to the day’s unfolding drama. When she finally emerged and glided into the dining room, Jason’s gaze was immediately ensnared. She was a vision in a pair of impossibly tight, pristine white yoga pants, the fabric stretching taut across her curves, the seam cutting into her lips. Above, a pale blue tube top clung to her, barely containing the swell of her breasts, her nipples clearly defined against the thin material. She sat down at the table and saw Jason staring. She was dressed to tantalize, and it appeared to be working.
This was no accident. Every move was now deliberate, calculated within Sandra’s carefully orchestrated game. She knew Jason’s state of mind. He was running on pure testosterone, and that made all men controllable. The previous night had been a class in psychological torment, of teasing and denial. She had left him simmering, and his mind a fertile ground she intended to manipulate to her will. His arousal was a potent weapon, a lever she would use to control him. Just the fact that he had made breakfast without being asked showed it was working.
She sat down, and Jason served breakfast. Sandra made small talk, asking about his chores for the day and such. He responded with a list, and then the conversation changed abruptly.
“Jason,” she began, her voice a silken thread woven with authority, “we have some serious matters to discuss. One of which is your little ‘habit.’”
A flush bloomed on Jason’s cheeks, a tell-tale sign of his discomfort. He remained silent, his gaze fixed on her.
“I understand your addiction to masturbation has been a long-standing issue,” Sandra continued, her tone unwavering, “and from what I’ve gathered, it’s a common practice among men. But that practice ends now. Do you understand me, Jason?”
“Uh… yes,” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. “But I don’t… I mean, it’s only occasionally.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it,” she countered, her gaze sharp. “And I know you resort to online porn when I’m not around.”
“I don’t,” he lied, the words catching in his throat.
A slow, knowing smile spread across Sandra’s lips. She reached for her phone, the screen illuminating with a series of images. She held it out to him, the digital evidence of his secret laid bare. Jason’s eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief giving way to dawning horror. With a deliberate flick of her thumb, Sandra scrolled through the gallery, each image a more damning testament to his transgression than the last. He clearly had his little penis in his hand as was jerking off.
Jason looked as though he might shatter. “How did… when did you…” he sputtered, his voice cracking as tears began to fill his eyes. He was caught, and he knew it.
“I returned home early the other day to get my briefcase,” Sandra explained, her voice laced with a mock sweetness. “And I found you in your office, engrossed in your pornography and… indulging yourself. That’s you, isn’t it?” Her tone shifted, sharpening into an accusation. “I took those pictures, Jason, just in case you decided to play coy. Honestly, I was filled with rage. I was so consumed by my fury that for a while, divorce seemed like the only viable option.”
Jason’s eyes widened further. “Divorce? Because I jerk off?” he asked in shock.
Sandra raised a hand, cutting him off. “Yes. And before you decide to lie more, I know exactly what you are going to say, Jason. I understand that we haven’t been as intimate as we used to be, especially with me cutting you off from penetrative sex. We had an agreement on that, and we both know why. You agreed that your little thing was useless to me.”
Jason’s face turned bright red. Yes, he had agreed, but not willingly. What would it hurt for her to indulge him. But, it truth that wasn’t the reason he masturbated. He knew it was a habit, one that he enjoyed. He knew that even men who got plenty of “pussy” still masturbated.
Sandra continued, “I need you to understand how profoundly disrespectful jerking off is to me. Do I masturbate? Yes. You know I have a vibrator. But, it is fairly rare and certainly not a daily habit. And, it doesn’t impact my desire for intimacy or for you to pleasure me with your mouth. My problem is that work gets in the way of our home life, and I apologize for that, and it will change. But you looking at porn all day and masturbating is an entirely different thing.”
Jason’s head bowed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He was silent for several long moments. Finally, he choked out, “I’m so sorry.” He looked up, his face a mask of misery.
Sandra tried hard to keep her emotions under control. She almost felt sorry for him. But she couldn’t let that impact her right now. This was a critical point, and she knew that he was close to breaking. She had to stay strong.
“I… I won’t… I won’t do it again. I don’t want a divorce. I love you,” he practically begged, his voice raw with desperation. Tears finally began to stream down his cheeks. “I guess I’ve fucked everything up. I don’t know what to say.”
Despite the anger that had simmered within her, a deeper emotion stirred. Sandra loved Jason, and the thought of the shattering of their life together was not something she truly desired. It was time for some tenderness, some forgiveness, but she had to stay firm, too. She rose from her chair and crossed the space between them. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. “It’s okay, baby,” she murmured, her voice soft and soothing. “It’s going to be okay. But you have to understand that things are going to have to change, drastically. You are going to have to change.”
A flicker of relief, tinged with a profound sense of submission, crossed his tear-streaked face. “Yes, okay,” he whispered, clinging to her embrace. At that point, he would do anything to keep her. “Thank you.”
The words hung in the air, a fragile promise of a new beginning. The power had shifted, irrevocably, even if Jason didn’t realize it yet. She knew it would take time and a lot of work before he was truly ready to accept his new reality. But this had been a good step in the right direction. It was like she had won an important motion in court, and like a good attorney, she would build on that.
Sandra went back and sat down. “There are many more conversations we need to have over the next couple of weeks. I want to set up a standard meeting every evening after dinner where we can work through all the issues. Once we have agreed on a way forward and laid out the plan, we can have our meetings once a week, instead of daily.”
Jason nodded, thinking he was ready to do almost anything for her. He had no idea that is what she actually required of him.
The days following Sandra’s subtle, yet firm, redirection of Jason’s energies had unfolded with a remarkable, almost unnerving, placidity. The air in their shared living space seemed to hum with a new kind of equilibrium, a quiet understanding that had settled between them. Each evening, they sat down and discussed all the issues around a true FLR, one where Sandra now had complete control.
Sandra found herself observing Jason’s attentiveness with a critical, yet pleased, eye. Each evening, as she returned from the demanding pulse of her workday, the ritual was already in motion. After dinner, he brought her a glass of her favorite wine and awaited her on the plush sofa. It was a small gesture, perhaps, but one that spoke volumes. Jason would retrieve a bowl of warm water, a towel, and a bottle of oil. Then, as they talked, he would kneel before her, his hands, surprisingly adept, finding the weary arches of her feet. The four-inch heels, a daily necessity for her professional persona, left her feet screaming by the end of each day, and Jason’s ministrations were nothing short of therapeutic. He even promised to take a course in massage therapy, something she found amusing and exciting.
His progress, she mused, was a testament to his dedication. The silk panties, a size or so larger than normal, with ties on the sides that she’d purchased for herself and regifted to him after a day of use, were a playful experiment at first, but had become a regular fixture beneath his casual shorts. There were moments, of course, when he’d offer a token protest, a shy blush coloring his cheeks as he’d comply with her suggestions, pulling the snug panties over his obvious erection. Sandra saw this as a profoundly encouraging sign, a tangible indicator of his burgeoning responsiveness to her desires. She was slowly breaking down that masculine facade that was a barrier to her taking total control.
The matter of his masturbation habits remained a delicate tightrope walk. He’d assured her, with a sincerity that was difficult to dismiss, that he was abstaining. Yet, the practicalities of verification were, to put it mildly, complex. She had no foolproof method, no hidden cameras or secret sensors. It was, for all intents and purposes, an honor system, a system that, while appealing in its simplicity, gnawed at her inherent need for certainty. The constant state of heightened sexual awareness she detected in him whenever she was near, the way his gaze lingered, the subtle tremor in his voice, all suggested he was adhering to her stipulations.
But Sandra was a woman who subscribed to the adage, “trust, but verify.” She was actively, if subtly, seeking ways to solidify her conviction, to move beyond mere suspicion and into the realm of irrefutable proof.
From a purely carnal perspective, the dynamic was undeniably one-sided, and Sandra was perfectly content with that arrangement. Night after night, Jason’s sole focus was her pleasure, coming from his mouth, a relentless pursuit that invariably culminated in multiple, earth-shattering climaxes for her. She’d praised him, of course, lavished him with verbal affirmations, and promised him “something special” in return for his unwavering devotion. This “special something” was, in fact, a meticulously planned tease and denial session. She had been immersing herself in the theory, devouring information gleaned from online forums and, more significantly, from a discreet FLR (Female-Led Relationship) women’s group she had recently joined. Their insights into the art of tease and denial were invaluable, a veritable road map to the intricate dance of arousal and restraint. The only lingering question in her mind was the ultimate destination: a ruined orgasm, a concept that intrigued her with its blend of pleasure and frustration, or simply the prolonged, exquisite agony of denial itself, leaving him perpetually on the precipice, a state she found particularly intoxicating. She intended to explore both.
This particular Friday evening, Jason had outdone himself. The aroma of a perfectly grilled steak, accompanied by an array of meticulously prepared side dishes, had filled the apartment. After the meal, he had ushered her to the bathroom, where a steaming bath, infused with fragrant oils, awaited, promising an evening of unparalleled pampering. He was, she conceded, playing his cards with remarkable skill, a strategy that was proving highly effective. She had decided that tonight would be a night of deliberate teasing and denial. If he remained a model of obedience, perhaps Sunday would bring the promised, albeit slightly more intense, experience of a ruined orgasm. Fate, however, had a slightly different, and far more immediate, plan.
The instant Jason entered the room, clad in her panties, she noticed his erection had breached the confines of the lace. Sandra had deliberately placed a plain dining chair within the breakfast nook, its simple presence a stark counterpoint to the charged anticipation now in the air. Jason was directed to sit, his hands clasped demurely behind his back. A soft belt, repurposed from a bathrobe, was used to loosely bind his wrists. It served more as a token of his role than a true restraint; it was designed to prepare him for what was to unfold. She had already mentally compiled a list of more substantial restraints she intended to procure at her earliest convenience.
“Now, Jason, this is a session of tease and denial, which means you are not to climax during or after these encounters. The purpose of this is twofold. Firstly, you must cultivate restraint. If we are to thrive as a couple, you will be required to endure these sessions with regularity. It will demonstrate your devotion to my satisfaction. The second reason is to maintain the health of your sexual parts. Because you will not be climaxing, experts say you need stimulation. I have read that tease and denial contribute to the well-being of your sexual organs. It stimulates your body to produce sperm, as well as the hormones essential for sustaining your desire for me. This will form the bedrock of our relationship. We will engage in this practice frequently,” Sandra declared.
Jason’s brow furrowed with concern. “So you are going to… uh use your hand on me, but I can’t climax?” he asked.
“Yes, exactly,” Sandra said.
Jason’s immediate reaction was to blurt out, “But what about me? When do I experience pleasure?”
Sandra offered an indulgent smile, ignoring his outburst. “It is quite straightforward; your pleasure will stem from providing me with pleasure. On occasion, I will grant you a ruined orgasm. This will allow you to release some sperm, enabling your body to continue its functions and produce the chemicals that define your manhood. It will help sustain your sperm count and your testosterone levels.”
“So, I will no longer climax?” he asked, his voice raised and laced with disbelief.
“Well, you will still climax, but it will be a ruined climax, so to speak. It will offer some satisfaction, yet also, I am told, considerable frustration. However, it is all part of your journey to derive your pleasure from pleasing me,” she explained.
“I don’t understand,” he stated sincerely.
“Trust me, you will come to understand all this, but it will require time. I need not remind you, but I shall: you have consented to an FLR. This signifies that I hold the reins, and that control extends to your mind, your body, and yes, your little penis, and the nature of the pleasure it receives,” she asserted. She recognized his current bewilderment but also knew he would comply, likely believing this to be a passing phase for her. She was resolutely determined to seize and maintain dominion over their sexual dynamic. She understood it would be a gradual process, but she possessed all the time in the world and was confident in her ability to make it a reality.
“Now, what’s going to happen,” Sandra began, her voice low and measured, a silken thread weaving through the quiet tension, “is that I’m going to tease you. And if you’re a very good boy, and you don’t… well, if you don’t spurt all over the place before I’m done, maybe I’ll give you a nice little orgasm at a later date… to be determined by me.”
A small, knowing smile played on her lips. It was, she admitted to herself, a calculated deception, a carefully crafted falsehood designed to prime him for the true lesson, a lesson in patience and control. She had concluded that he would never have a “normal” climax again, at least intentionally. Today, he was about to be tested, and in turn, she would gather invaluable data.
“Okay,” he breathed, still not fully understanding. However, his excitement palpable, a tremor of anticipation running through him. He really had no idea what to expect, but knew he was being tested and had a feeling that this test was maybe the most important one in his life to date. He had an even stronger feeling that there would be more.
Sandra procured a second chair, placing it close enough to facilitate her intentions. She reached for the bottle of lubricant, her fingers expertly dispensing a generous amount onto her palm. Slowly, deliberately, she began to stroke him, her touch firm yet gentle. “Now, you tell me when you’re getting close,” she instructed, her gaze steady. “If you go off before I’m done with you… well, there will be hell to pay. So, when you get close, just say ‘hold,’ and I’ll pause for a moment or two, okay?”
“Okay, okay,” he managed, his voice a breathless whisper. Several minutes elapsed, a period filled with the rhythmic slide of her hand and his increasingly ragged breaths, before he uttered the word. “Hold.”
“That’s quick,” Sandra observed, her tone laced with a hint of playful disappointment.
“It’s been almost a week since I’ve… you know, done myself,” he admitted, his voice thick with confession.
“Good. I like it when you obey me,” she purred, a subtle shift in her demeanor. Then she surprised him by leaning over and kissing him passionately. It was not by accident but a calculation that required her to keep him on edge. She said, “It’s getting a little warm in here.” With that, she reached up and casually pulled her top off, leaving her breasts clearly on display.
Jason gasped, and his little guy pulsed, and a small drool of precum appeared at the tip and slowly made it’s was down his shaft.
Sandra noted that with a smile and said, “Now, let’s go again.”
Sandra orchestrated a series of near-climaxes, bringing him to the very precipice of release, only to gently pull back, prolonging the exquisite agony. Each time, the period between starting and his “hold” grew longer. That was a good sign. His body pulsed with an almost unbearable tension, but he was quickly learning to control it. Then, she paused, her hand still. “I’m going to let you rest for a bit,” she announced, her voice carrying a new, authoritative edge. “I have some calls to make, but I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
“You’re going to leave me?” he asked, a note of genuine panic creeping into his tone.
“Oh, stop,” she chided, though her eyes held a glint of amusement. “I’m not going anywhere. Just keep this little thing hard for me, if you can.” She punctuated her words with a light pat to his throbbing penis. She giggled, a sound that seemed to echo in the sudden silence, and sauntered away, her breasts swaying and hips moving with deliberate provocation. As she glanced back, she saw him watching her, his gaze fixed on her retreating form.
Sandra had no urgent calls to make. She went to her office and sat in her chair. She felt she was almost as excited as Jason. Her breath was faster than normal, and her pussy was soaked. She had to hold herself back from using her fingers between her legs. She sat back and calmed herself with deep breathing.
Her self-imposed absence stretched for a full half-hour. When she returned, he was still seated, his head tilted back, his eyes closed in what appeared to be a state of controlled exhaustion. His erection had subsided somewhat, but a definite thickening remained. She strode back to the nook and resumed her position, sitting down almost casually.
“Ready?” she inquired, her voice a soft challenge. His eyes opened, and he looked like a lost puppy.
“Yes,” he hissed, his breath catching in his throat.
Sandra resumed her ministrations, working him with renewed intensity, pushing him to the brink of climax, again and again. The cycle repeated, a maddening rhythm of desire and restraint. Then, with a final, lingering touch, she withdrew. This time, however, she untied the bathrobe belt, ostensively holding him to the chair. “That’s it,” she declared, her voice firm. “You did really well. Now, it’s time for bed.” She quickly untied the bathrobe belt from around his wrists.
“But what about me?” he pleaded, his voice tinged with a desperate hope. “You said if I was good, I would get a reward.”
“You will,” she assured him, her gaze locking with his. “You know that thing you wanted to do to me… with my butt?”
“Yes,” he breathed, a faint tremor in his voice.
“Well,” Sandra said, a slow smile spreading across her face, “as a reward, I am going to let you do it. For as long as you like.”
A flicker of something akin to desperation crossed his features. “Then you will, uh… do me?” he almost begged, the words tumbling out in a rush.
Sandra’s smile softened, but her resolve remained unyielding. “No, not tonight. Tonight, you will start the process of learning to find your pleasure in pleasuring me. Over time, once you’ve mastered that, truly understood it, then we will discuss what kind of pleasure, beyond serving me, you truly deserve.” With that, she rose from her chair and, without another word, turned and walked towards the bedroom, leaving him in the charged silence of his own unsatisfied anticipation.
To Be Continued