Day 0
"So _anyway_, I was reading about ruined orgasms the other day."
I look up from my book and raise both eyebrows. You look.. mischievous. One might even say wicked.
"So.. You want me to ruin your orgasm?" I ask, rising to the playfulness. I think we both know that is not what you mean.
"Hmm. Who says you don't do that on the regular anyway?" You answer, kicking my leg and grinning. "And you know very well that is not what I'm thinking about.." You smile a crocodile smile and lean close to me. "... bitch."
The word feels warm and wet in my ear, and electricity tingles through me, standing up the hairs on the nape of my neck.
"I read" you continue, before I can speak again, "that a ruined orgasm leaves the ... victim, agonisingly frustrated. All of the physical release, but none of the pleasure. Leaves all the pent up desire burning you up. Can you _imagine_ what that must feel like?"
I have never heard anybody sound so gleeful. I lean back on the sofa and wriggle slightly, unconsciously adjusting myself. You smirk at my crotch.
"Sounds.. intense?" I say.
"Mmm." You look down at your socks. I follow your gaze. They are grey trainer socks - you ran earlier. "When did you last cum?" You say, scrunching your toes as you do.
"I, uh. Like, yesterday? Why?"
"Because I also read that the experience is more intense, the longer it has been since you came. And the more you've been 'edged'." The subtle shift from 'the victim' to 'you' has not gone unnoticed.
"How do you even 'edge' somebody anyway?" You ask with mock innocence.
"Well I guess you.. keep them at the edge." I say, shrugging "keep turning them on, teasing, bringing them up but not.. letting them go?"
"Ohhhhh" you say.
"Like, if I made you get down on your knees and rub my sweaty, post run, feet, but you didn't get to cum afterwards?" You say, rubbing your socked feet together. I can't look away from them now, which of course, you know and knew would happen. I realise you expect an answer, and nod.
"Go on then. _Kneel._" You say. "On your knees, and rub my sweaty feet, slave."
I slide off the sofa and get on my knees in front of you. I reach for your foot to begin massaging, but you slip it out of my hands and press it firmly against my face, covering one eye. The sole of your sock feels warm, damp against my skin. Against my lips. I can smell your fresh sweat, and see you smiling down at me with my open eye.
"I think.. that I would enjoy being in charge of your cock, for... a while."
"Ok." I say, looking into your eyes.
"Ok?" You echo, a warning note in your voice, pressing your foot a little harder against my face.
"Uh, I mean.. my cock is yours, mistress." This makes you laugh, which makes my face turn immediately red.
"Damn straight." You say. "Now tell me you want me to tease you, and torture you, and deny you until you're a whimpering mess, you dirty little bitch."
I take a deep breath through my nose, the smell of your sweat filling me.
"I want you to tease me.. and torture me, and.. deny me until I'm a whimpering mess. Because I am your, dirty little bitch" I say. For whatever reason I find I am able to say this calmly, steadily without looking away from your gaze. Perhaps, because it is true. I am your dirty little bitch, and I want this. More than anything.
"Great!" You say. The dissonance makes us both giggle.
"Now rub my feet, footboy." You say warmly, dropping your foot into my waiting hands. I peel your damp socks off and set them next to me, then begin massaging your slender feet. I start with firm strokes from the ankles to your toes, introducing myself to your body, before beginning to knead up and down your soles. Your feet feel warm and clammy-soft under my fingers.
"Hang on" you say, shifting position and lying down on the sofa, rummaging for the tv remote. "Put my socks in your mouth, and take your - I mean _my_ cock out." you say without looking down at me, as you start flipping through Netflix. I crawl to the end of the sofa, stuff your socks into my mouth and start taking off my jeans.
"Leave them like that", you say glancing over as I expose my cock. I drop back to my knees, jeans around my thighs and my hard cock slapping my belly. "No touching yourself, footboy."
I return to your massage, making circles at your ankles, digging my thumbs into your heels. I flex each foot and push my thumb below the ball. My mouth is comically stuffed with your sweaty socks, and I have to swallow back my own drool mixed with your sweat. The degradation is overwhelming, and it pulses through me every so often, twitching my cock against my stomach, in itself ridiculous and degrading. You let me carry on rubbing for an hour, while you watch tv. Every so often, you notice that I've become lost in my task and my erection has started to subside. You take these opportunities to ask me rhetorical questions.
"Do my socks taste good?"
"How does it make you feel, being made to rub my sweaty, sweaty feet?"
Each time you evidently relish the renewed swelling of me.
"I can't even imagine getting off on being used like this. But I guess you were just made to be used, by me."
The show you were watching finishes and you abruptly pull your feet away, and sit up to regard me. I stay kneeling, a little thread of drool running from the corner of my mouth, your sodden socks poking out. My cock comically protruding from by half removed jeans. I look up into your eyes. I feel so utterly owned, so overwhelmed with my love for you that it almost makes me weep. And holy hell I want to fuck you. Desperately want to plunge my aching cock into your hot, wet cunt and pound you into the bed.
"Run your finger from your balls, to the head of your cock" you say, looking at me intently. I do as you say, it makes me shudder with pleasure. You smile. "Good boy. Now pull your pants up and go make lunch - you can drop the socks in the hamper. I need a shower!"
You pad off, and I gingerly slide my boxer shorts up and go to cook eggs.
Later that night, in bed. You reach over without warning and stroke my cock through my shorts. You caress it fondly, until I'm hard as a rock, then squeeze my balls affectionately, and kiss me.
"Sleep well babe" you say, turning over and switching off the light.
"After our discussion about ruined orgasms, you suggest a game of feet teasing as part of our BDSM exploration."
"I kneel at your feet, massaging them with a mix of awe and trepidation, as you share your passion for orgasm denial and femdom."
"You leverage your foot fetish, using your sweaty trainer socks to heighten the sensation, while I struggle with the intense desire to climax but am denied due to your control."
"As Day 0 of our orgasm denial experiment comes to an end, the romance between us only deepens, fueled by the passionate bond forged through our shared exploration of BDSM and our mutual desire."