Page 18 of Puck Tease
He waited a full minute. The silence stretched, broken only by my ragged breathing. He let my body cool, let the frantic energy subside just enough that I could draw a shaky breath.
Then he started again.
He used a different grip this time. Twist. Pull. Twist. Pull. His fingers worked my shaft with an almost surgical precision, his thumb rubbing over the frenulum, that maddeningly sensitive spot, with a relentless, consistent pressure.
He watched my face, his gaze unwavering. He watched my eyes roll back into my head, lost in the torment. He watched the sweat bead on my forehead, forming tiny rivulets that traced paths into my hairline.
I held out longer this time. Maybe thirty seconds. My body trembled, every muscle locked in a desperate battle.
"I’m so close," I warned, my voice trembling, a high-pitched whine. "Jax, I’m fucking close!"
He didn't stop. He sped up, his strokes quickening, pushing me harder, faster.
"Come on," he taunted, his voice a low growl. "Try to hold it. Try to keep it in. Don't be a two-pump chump, Tom."
I couldn't. My back arched, a scream building in my throat, clawing its way up. My toes curled, my body convulsed.
He stopped. Squeezed. Denied.
"Fuck!" I roared, the sound ripped from my gut, my body thrashing against the unyielding restraints. "You asshole!"
"Two," he counted, his voice calm, dismissive, as if he hadn't just wrecked my world.
He did it for an hour.
His hand tightened around my cock, stroking slow and measured, thumb pressing hard against the underside until my balls drew up tight, pulse hammering in my ears. I arched off the bed, thighs shaking, precum leaking in steady beads down his knuckles—then he stopped, grip loosening just enough to let theedge slip away, leaving my dick throbbing uselessly in the air. Sweat dripped from my forehead, stinging my eyes as I gasped, hips bucking into nothing, begging without words. He started again, faster this time, fist slick with my own mess, twisting at the head until stars exploded behind my eyelids and my breath came in ragged grunts. Close—fuck, so close—the heat coiling low in my gut like a spring ready to snap. But he pulled back again, chuckling low as I whined, body convulsing in empty spasms, chest heaving under the crush of denied release. My mind fracturing into flashes of his smirk, his heat, the endless loop of almost, almost, never quite.
Sweat poured off me in sheets, soaking the mattress protector until it clung to my back like a clammy second skin, peeling away with a wet smack every time I twisted. My cock burned raw, the skin flushed an angry crimson from endless friction, veins bulging as it throbbed with its own furious pulse, slapping hard against my stomach with each desperate twitch. The blue silk ties had chewed my wrists to red welts, the chafed skin stinging like fire, raw edges pulsing with every futile tug, the burn shooting straight to my groin where the ache built hotter, sharper, begging for release.
I lost track of the count. Five? Eight? Twelve? The numbers blurred, meaningless. My mind felt like a broken record, skipping and repeating, unable to hold a coherent thought.
I was sobbing. Not the wet, noisy kind of crying, but dry, ragged, guttural sobs of unfiltered, teeth-grinding frustration, each breath catching in my throat, tasting of ash and defeat.
"Jax," I whispered, my voice a raw croak, barely audible. "Please. I can’t take anymore. My balls hurt. Please, Captain." The title, usually a sign of respect, was now a desperate plea, a last resort.
He looked at me. I was a wreck. Splayed out beneath him, my limbs trembling, my body broken, begging for a release only hecould grant. My eyes were swollen, my face streaked with sweat and tears.
He leaned down, his breath warm against my forehead. He brushed a damp strand of hair off my brow. For a second, a flicker of insane hope ignited in my chest. I thought he was going to kiss me. I thought he was going to show mercy.
He checked the clock on the nightstand. "3:30," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "I have to get to the gym."
He let go of my cock. The sudden absence of his hand was a shock, a cold emptiness where intense pressure had been.
He stood up off the bed.
"No," I whimpered, the sound pathetic, a broken animal’s cry. "No, no, don't leave. Don't leave me like this." My voice was barely a whisper.
He walked over to his dresser, his movements fluid and unhurried. He pulled a fresh t-shirt over his head, the fabric rustling softly. He grabbed his gym bag, slinging it over his shoulder.
"Jax!" I pulled at the ties, the silk rasping against my raw wrists. "You can't just leave!"
He walked back to the bed. He leaned down, his face close to mine.
"You did good," he said, his voice calm, almost approving. "Better control."
He reached up and untied the knot on the headboard. The silk loosened. My hands fell to the mattress like dead weights, blood rushing back into my fingers with a painful, pins-and-needles tingling sensation.
I couldn't move them. I just lay there, staring up at him, my eyes wide and pleading.
