The Teasing Torture of CFNM

One can, and I’m pretty sure I have, gone off on the various psychological inner-meanings at play in CFNM subjection, objectification, and playing with the inverse of traditional power dynamics in stereotypical yet outmoded gender roles etc. etc. BUT that’s not what I want to talk about right now. I just want to get into the teasing torture of CFNM inflicted on one of my pets.

Unassuming but Full of Surprises

I want to tell you all about a pet of mine. A cute guy, tall, rakish and with an impish smile. He has a sexy accent and a wry sense of humor. Specifically, I want to talk about him stripping down on cam for me while I coo at him and laugh. It’s amazing how fast that little smirk fades. How quickly, he has trouble looking straight on into the camera where he knows I see it all. My wide, blue eyes are taking in every inch of him as he kneels before me.

I was sure to note his rather surprisingly flashy, yet adorable animal-print boxer-briefs. They seemed incongruous for him and  out of character for such a typically casual and stylistically sedate guy. They seemed like a bit of a nonverbal confession, just by being worn by him when he knew I would see them. Coincidence? 😉

Of course, I just couldn’t help but laugh at how excruciatingly edgy he seemed. He always is, during our sessions but he keeps on coming back for more torture.

The Erotic Anguish

It’s amusing to me because unlike some of my exhibitionist pets who thrive under the spotlight and enjoy showing off for me, this particular pet of mine looks like he’s going to the doctor for a prostate examine. So dire is his disposition, it almost seems like he thinks might be about to be carted off to the gallows even. An expression of anguish and pure torture is carved all over his face. Of course, I tend to be gazing down at his nice cock more than anything. Having him stroke for me, making him beg for release. Seeing that interplay of reluctant acceptance of his own submission fight with the attempt to rebel that never materializes as more than a grimace gives me such a kick of pleasure. It pains him that his body betrays him. It’s obvious that while he may be anxious, he’s also on the edge of orgasm.

Yet, how could I not enjoy having him on full display for me while I am stretched out on my sofa all comfy in my typical uniform of leggings and a lacy cami top? It was such a thrill not even knowing myself if, when, and how I’d let him cum or if I’d make him ruin his orgasm in those briefs for me. This sort of humiliation is incredibly intimate in that I know how emotionally costly it is for him. He cannot deny he craves it but I can see the strain of it all. In fact, he requested I write about him which shows how much he needs to experience this sensual tease & embarrassment. It seems to make him feel he has atoned. For what, I’m not exactly sure but wherever that impetus originates from, it’s delicious as fuck to watch him symbolically prostrate himself and that’s all the truly matters to me.

~*Fiona la Femme Fatale*~
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