The Keyholder: Part 4

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After their first full night together, Adam found himself sleeping in Joyce's bed.

Each night was more of the same. Adam would return from classes. They would have dinner. Joyce cooked one night. Then Adam cooked the next. One night they ordered pizza and watched an old movie on the sofa.

Joyce would draw a bath, take off Adam's cage and clean him thoroughly. Then she would use him for her orgasm and give him the choice. Did he want more of this tomorrow? Or did he want to come?

Every night he found himself wrestling with the question. Did he want to come?

Of course he wanted to come! It had been weeks since he'd had an orgasm. He found himself dripping almost constantly. Every movement of Joyce's body on him, even around him, even her very scent, made his cock strain.

Being inside of her was a curiously pleasurable torture. He never thought he would make it, but her quiet yet stern voice always talked him through it, until he found himself watching in delight as she came, using his body, his cock, leaving him frustrated, denied, so incredibly needy.

He wanted to come but he also wanted it to never end. He was afraid of what would happen if he made the wrong choice.

Would she be displeased?

Would she feel that he'd failed her?

Would he be banished down to the basement, and kicked out of Joyce's bed forever?

He didn't want to find out.

And, also, if he was being honest with himself, he didn't want the intense feeling of desire to go away. It had quickly become a part of him. Every time he saw his key dangling on the chain between Joyce's beautiful breasts, he was reminded that he belonged to her.

He was hers, and knowing that brought on the powerful feeling of submission he'd craved since....since practically forever.

And not only was he owned by someone. He was owned by Joyce—this...he was embarrassed to think of her this way...but...this goddess. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to fall down to her feet and kiss them and show her how much he desired her, how he wasn't worthy of her but grateful that she'd wanted him, for some reason.

Sometimes he was so overcome by lust and adoration that he did, and she'd laugh and pet his hair, and he knew he was falling in love with her.

So, that evening when she took him upstairs after dinner, bathed him, cleaned him and used him for what he was proud to say seemed like a very powerful orgasm, he was surprised when she didn't ask the question. "Do you want to come now or do you want to do this again tomorrow?"

He was expecting it. He was expecting his answer. "Do this tomorrow. Don't let me come, ma'am."

But she didn't ask.

Her cheeks were still flushed from her orgasm. She'd used him especially well tonight, and he was achy and leaking. There was a part of him that wanted to curl up beside her and cry just because his body was overwhelmed with sensations, and he knew she would be gentle with him.

There was also a small part of him that wanted to throw her down on the bed and fuck her the way he'd fucked girls before he'd discovered this part of himself.

But he knew Joyce would never allow it, and he knew he didn't really want it anyway—not now, after he'd discovered that sex could be so much more if you stretched the desire out like this.

"Did I do something wrong, Ma'am?"

He gulped. It was the way she was staring at him. So neutrally. He couldn't read her.

"I didn't come, Ma'am. I followed directions."

"I know you did, Adam," she said, smoothing back his hair. He couldn't help but lean into her touch. Every dollop of affection made him crave her more.

"You were a very good boy. You let me use you so well. You've been very good...for...what...has it been over a week now?"

"Nine days, Ma'am," he said, and then was embarrassed that he'd spoken, counted, so quickly. He could probably count it down to the minute if she asked.

"And you hadn't come before that either? Had you?"

"No, Ma'am. Not for a while. Not for a few weeks." The more he talked about it, the more desperate he felt. It had been FOREVER since he'd had an orgasm. He'd been starting to think maybe he just wouldn't have one ever again. But if his life could be like this, maybe it wouldn't matter.

"Every night I ask you if you want to come, and you say no."

"You ask if I want to come or if I want this tomorrow." He bit his lip. Had he corrected her? He hadn't meant to. He just wanted her to know why.

She laughed. She was half covered with the bedsheet, one gorgeous breast in his view. "Yes, you're right. I give you the choice. And you always choose to stay denied."

"If it means I get to have you. I'll stay denied for as long as you want if I get to have this."

He couldn't help it. He leaned down and put his head in her lap. He was overcome—with desire, frustration, love, wanting, embarrassment.

"Awww! Sweet boy," she said, stroking his cheek. "I do love you this way, but you have to come some time. I want you to come some times. Just the way I want, and when I want."

She put her hand under his chin and lifted his head up, so he was looking in her eyes.

"And I want you to come tonight, Adam. The way I want."

Immediately, he was harder than he'd ever thought he could be. It was a good thing he didn't have to fit back into his cage immediately, because it would have taken a lot of ice to shrink him down enough to manage it.

"I can tell you like this idea," Joyce said, staring down at her leg. He realized he was leaking on her.

"Oh, Ma'am! I'm so sorry!" He stood up quickly.

"It's okay," she said. "See. This just proves my point. We need to let out a little of the pressure."

"We do?" He wasn't sure exactly what she meant.

"Yes, baby," she said, and she stroked his cock lightly, encouraging more clear liquid to ooze from the head.

He moaned. He couldn't help it.

"If we don't express at least a little of that come, you're never going to be able to keep lasting fo

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Written by The Gentle Domme
Cargado February 15, 2021
Notes "Yes, Ma'am," he said, and he could feel his orgasm starting to overtake him, that powerful rush that made him want to rut and buck and thrust.

But just as soon as it began, he realized there was emptiness.

Joyce's hand was gone from his cock, just out of reach.
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