Some time ago, an American Engineer reached out to me, requesting a session of chastity tease and denial in Beijing. A man of science, logic, and control—yet here he was, willingly surrendering himself to me, craving the exquisite torment of restraint.
I agreed to the session. Soon, I found myself standing outside his upscale apartment, the cool Beijing air thick with anticipation and silent power. As I knocked on his door, I could already sense his nervous excitement on the other side.
The door swung open, revealing him—composed yet undeniably eager, a contradiction of authority and submission. I wasted no time. My voice was firm, commanding.
“Strip for me.”
His breath hitched, but he obeyed without hesitation. His fingers moved to the buttons of his polo shirt, undoing them one by one, exposing the firm lines of his chest. The fabric slid from his shoulders, pooling at his feet. Next, he reached for his belt, the soft clink of the buckle sending a thrill through me. With careful movements, he unzipped his jeans, pushing them lower, revealing more of himself under my watchful gaze. The contrast of his vulnerability—a man so used to being in control now baring himself before me—was intoxicating.
When he finally stood completely exposed, I produced the chastity device—cold, unyielding, a symbol of the control he was about to lose. I locked him up, ensuring that his desires were no longer his own. Any pleasure he sought would now depend entirely on my will.
But my cruelty did not stop there.
His predicament amused me. The frustration, the helpless arousal, the aching need. And so, I deepened his torment.
“Massage my legs,” I ordered, reclining into his luxurious chair.
I watched as he knelt before me, his skilled hands focus on serving and worshipping. His fingertips traced my skin with reverence, yet I could feel the undercurrent of his desperation. He longed for more. For permission. For release.
But mercy was not mine to give.
With each firm stroke of his hands, his frustration grew, his body betraying his need, his breath uneven with longing. Every plea, every subtle whimper, was met with my cold refusal. His desperation only fueled my amusement, his suffering my pleasure.
He belonged to me now—his control, his release, his very desires held hostage in my hands.
