Kink | Masturbation

He Needs his Mistress to Watch him Cuffing his Carrot

Max is not without conquests, but to satisfy his kink, he visits a dungeon

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Max had been anticipating his time with Mistress Nefertiti, counting down the days with mounting excitement. As he stowed his street clothes in the locker and put on the cotton robe he kept at the dungeon, his pulse was drumming with nervous energy.

He walked down the corridor and tapped on Room 9 with a little trepidation.

“Enter.”

The woman’s voice was stern, making him bristle with a happy anxiety. He pushed into the room and there she stood, glorious in her unattainable splendour. A boned basque hugged her upper body, pushing up her bountiful breasts like an offering, pale and tender. A sheer, black duster coat hung from her shoulders. Shadowing rather than concealing her generous hips and thick thighs, which today were trussed up with an intricate ladder of leather straps and buckles.

Max nearly blew a gasket at the thought of gripping those straps to pull Nefertiti close enough to taste her nectar…

“If it isn’t my favourite wanker!” Nefertiti announced.

Rather than shame, Max felt a thrill of recognition, and his body stirred in response to his preferred term for self-pleasure.

“Have you missed me, you toss pot?”

Nefertiti’s words seemed brutal, but Max bit his lip and his ruler had already jumped from 3 inches to 6 at her question.

“Yes Mistress, very much. Shall I unfasten my robe?”

Max’s apparatus already jutted rudely through the gap in his gown, just as eager for Nefertiti’s attention as the man to which it was attached.

“First sit and make yourself comfortable,” Nefertiti told him. “I know I intend to.”

Max sat gingerly on a bed with straps at the top and bottom ends, which currently dangled empty and unfastened. His mistress settled herself on a padded chaise longue and pressed a buzzer.

While she crossed her luxuriant legs, Max began to stroke himself, starting with gentle, exploratory motions.

“Have you shaved? The way I like it?” Nefertiti barked at him.

Max nodded eagerly, offering his bald plums proudly for her to examine.

When the door swung open, in answer to Nefertiti pressing the buzzer, a slim man, dressed in stockings and suspenders, tottered into the room. His steps were hindered by a short spreader bar and the vertiginous heels he wore. A pink apron hung at his waist, its fussy frill barely preserving his modesty and a sparkly pink halterneck bikini top was worn incongruously against the curled hair on his chest.

“Get me a latte Barbara, you silly girl!” Nefertiti demanded.

The sissy slave answered, “Yes Mistress,” then left the room.

“Keep wanking Max, I haven’t got all day.” Mistress Nefertiti turned her attention to Max’s busy hand, which was moving fast enough to put a froth on his tankard.

“Do you want to ask me any questions, Mistress?”

Nefertiti watched his rapid fist movement for a few moments, and Max felt his equipment swell from her close attention.

“How many times a day do you jerk off?”

“It depends,” he mused, spreading some of his natural lubricant on the rosy crown of his staff. “Twice minimum, morning and night, but it can be more if I’ve read good stories or watched skin flicks.”

His Mistress sipped her latte thoughtfully, and as she pursed her cupid’s bow, Max imagined her lipsticked lips engulfing his rocket, the heat and saliva creating the most perfect pocket, a haven in which he’d happily nestle forever.

“Is that your best effort?” Nefertiti’s words were cruel, her tone scathing. “What kind of man takes so long to get off?”

A cunning man, Max thought, but what he said was: “Please Mistress, show me your norks.”

She leveled her gaze at him, but her stern demeanor awoke a throb that convulsed his body.

“You want to see my girls?” She cooed, lovingly smoothing the upper slopes of her bubbies.

“Yes Mistress, please. If I may.”

Max held his breath as Nefertiti tugged at the ribbons that tethered her corset. When her flesh spilled free, he groaned at their magnificence. Two perfect alabaster globes, delicately veined with violet and tipped with rose pink buds, that pressed towards him like puppy dog noses.

“Perfection,” Max sighed, feeling his sap rising while the tension within his ‘nads held him in a desperate grip.

“I’m going to cum Mistress, May I decorate them with my desire?”

“Not today Max,” Nefertiti’s voice was firm but calm. “But I shall enjoy watching your big cone cover you with whipped cream.”

She swung her shapely pins down from the chaise and turned her gaze to his straining manhood, causing his grip to tighten and his euphoria to peak.

“That’s it!” she cried jubilantly. “Erupt for me, let your volcano spill lava for miles around.”

Max throbbed and twitched through le petit mort, his hips thrusting into his clenched fist to drive spumes of joyous emissions which splattered his bare chest and torso.

“Milk your sacs,” his Mistress instructed, “you have more to give, I know it.”

Max did as he was told, gasping as his bagpipes dredged up another gobbet of glue.

“A beautiful tribute,” Nefertiti sighed, and her praise hummed through him like an opera singer’s vibrato.

Max was blissed out, happy with his release and still mesmerised by the jiggle of Nefertiti’s unfettered mounds as she passed him tissues for clean-up.

“Come, hug me goodbye,” Nefertiti invited as Max stood on unsteady legs.

He was not short, but Nefertiti’s heels made her taller, so he was able to brush a cheek over her right boob as he stepped into her arms.

“Naughty!” she admonished.

“Gotta love a trier,” Max mumbled before taking leave of his mistress for another fortnight.

This story stands alone, but there is an earlier story about Mistress Nefertiti & Submissive Luke. Follow me or subscribe to get my stories in your email. Thank you for supporting my writing by reading on Medium. TwitterX