Sl*ve G finds himself c*mpletely helpless, tightly strapped to the bench between Lady Dark Angel and I. We are dressed in tight burgundy latex; our aim is to reduce our submissive to a shaking, pleading mess.

We begin by telling our subject, calmly and clearly, exactly what is about to happen. One of us will t*rment his desperate c*ck while the other overwhelms every other sense with words, touch, and spit. There will be no escape from our overwhelming dominance.

I take our helpless sl*ves' c*ck and press the vibrating wand against it. Within moments he is rigid, twitching, already leaking. I work him with deliberate cr*elty — firm strokes, focused attention on the head - whilst Lady Dark Angel sits above his face, her cleavage blocking out everything else, her spit falling slowly onto his open mouth and willing tongue.

Our t*rmented sl*ve cries desperate moans of mercy almost immediately. His hips try to lift against the straps. He is already fighting the urge to explode, already losing his self control.

Each time his body tightens and the *rgasm begins to rise, I stop. C*mpletely. The frustration is written across every muscle. He is trapped between two women, overstimulated, denied, and utterly unable to do anything about it.

The pleading starts soon after — raw, repeated, almost incoherent between whimpers as he is made to swallow more delicious spit. He knows the rule. He is not allowed to c*m. He is not allowed an *rgasm. So he clenches, shakes, and begs, trying to hold back while his c*ck throbs helplessly in my hand.

Even a sl*ve as obedient as G cannot survive this forever. I take him to the very brink and then stop, leaving him untouched just long enough for a thin, ruined, trickle of c*m to spill down his shaft. He cries out in utter frustration but I give him no recovery. I start again at once, dragging him straight back to the edge.

A second, heavier ruined load is pulled from him within moments, his whole body j*rking against the restraints as it leaves him.

Still I continue. His begging has become frantic now pure need. I keep him there, hovering on the brink of that *rgasm he so desperately craves.

I stop.

His c*ck lies messy and spent, coated in his own ruined *rgasm, still twitching with leftover need. He remains strapped down, panting, eyes wet, c*mpletely emptied of dignity and still aching... Exactly as we wanted him.

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