Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Just A Little Scene: Holding Out

Pete’s on his Playstation again when I get home from work. I don’t even need to be a mindreader to know he’s been playing video games all day. I frown as I come into the room and he pretends to ignore me. I watch him for a few moments while he blows away soldiers on the screen in some war simulator. Neither of us says anything. I shake my head and turn to go to the bathroom.

As I turn, I can sense him giving my back a glance. I cock my hips just so as I walk, and I sense his penis twitch in his pants. I hold back a chuckle as I sense him mentally fighting it, trying to stop himself from getting hard. I let him try, knowing how difficult it is for him at this point.

I haven’t let him cum in almost five weeks. He’s pissed as hell, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He thinks he can somehow outlast me. Thinks I’ll slip up and my orgasm denial spell will just wear off on its own, or I’ll somehow get tired of denying him. Fat chance. A man’s determination utterly pales compared to a woman’s grudge. Besides, Sex Magic stacks the deck so high against boys, it’s really quite pathetic. But I’m not complaining. He wants to be stubborn, that’s on him. I told him what he has to do to cum. But his silly male pride is as much a downfall as that silly little thing between his legs.

Heh, well, not so little really. Quite big, in fact. And that just makes him even more fun to fuck with. And just plain fuck, of course. But he thinks because he’s that big, he’s somehow so much more powerful, so much mightier than he is. I wonder if that’s why the word for excess pride is “cocky.” Men are so proud of their hard, needy members, even in a world where women can utterly control them through those members with their mere thoughts.

As I change out of my work clothes in the bedroom, I sense him still struggling with his cock. He’s losing the battle, his penis stiffening slowly, but inevitably. He wants to reach down and adjust himself, maybe rub himself a little to calm down, but I have spell preventing that as well. His hands can only touch his crotch if he’s totally flaccid. Once he’s even a quarter hard, a little magic barrier keeps him from touching his groin. It’s certainly made things interesting in public sometimes.

I chuckle softly as I sense his thoughts whirl. He’s wondering if I’m using my magic to force him to be hard. I’m not. I’m not doing a thing. He’s just pent up, and he’s so turned on by me, even when he’s mad at me. Especially when he’s mad at me. Because he knows how powerless he is against me. And in some twisted fetish way, that just turns him on more and more.

I could start casting spells on him to tease him some more. But I know something that’ll rile him up harder than any spell I could cast. See, if I use my magic, he can rationalize that it’s not his fault he’s so turned on by me. But if I just let his natural male urges churn and boil inside him, let his own thoughts whip him into a frenzy, all I have to do is use natural female charm to turn him into putty.

I don’t bother getting dressed. I walk out of the bedroom naked. I pass through the living room, ignoring him. But he can’t ignore me. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a flash of bare flesh, and instinct takes over, forcing his gaze away from his game. So much for trying to use video games as a distraction. He catches a glimpse of my bare ass as I go into the kitchen. I hold back a laugh as I sense his cock instantly surge to full hardness, his heartbeat and breath quickening. I take my time in the kitchen, letting him sweat it out, anticipating seeing me naked again. I haven’t strut around the house nude for a while. But today I feel like twisting the knife.

After twenty minutes of pretending to be busy, listening to his cock stay iron hard, I get a glass of water and come out into the living room. I sit on the chair next to the couch, crossing my legs. I make sure he gets a glimpse of my bare pussy for an instant. His breath catches. He fumbles in the game and loses a life. He grits his teeth, but doesn’t say anything. He tries to keep his gaze riveted to the screen, while I sit there, watching him play, slowly taking sips from the glass. His eyes keep darting over to me, tracing the curves of my legs and breasts, watching my red lips touch the glass, watching my throat work. Memories of sex flash through his mind, of the times I would swallow his cum like it was my lifeblood, of the times I let him fuck my tits, of the times he had me screaming in helpless ecstasy while he railed me doggy style.

We hadn’t had sex in five weeks either. Oh, he wanted to fuck me. He wanted me so bad right now, he’d pounce on me and pound into me like a mad man if he could. But more spells prevented it. He couldn’t initiate sex. No fucking. No masturbating. No cumming. For five whole weeks. And all he had to do to end the torment was give me an apology and admit that I was right. But his pride wouldn’t let him. I wondered how long it could hold out. He could be quite stubborn. But then, so could I. And I was the one with the magic.

Speaking of which, it was time to up the ante. I could have sat here all night, letting him work himself into a lather. But the longer this little “fight” we had went on, the more ruthless I can be. I uncross my legs and held them slightly apart, enough to make my pussy just visible. Then I let out a slow breath and relax that little, inner part of me, opening the door to my power just a crack. From my pussy, magic flows, invisible, but unavoidable. Pure arousal fills the room, and his cock soaks it up like a lightning rod.

His cock goes from iron hard to diamond hard. With my senses, I can see his naked body right through his clothing, and I watch his cock grow beet red with tension, the head and testicles swelling tight as a drum, and darkening to deep purple, the veins bulging and pulsing along his shaft. I sense in his mind, the need for sex deepening, the ache for intimacy burning hotter.

He lets out a shaky breath, but bites his cheek. He’s determined not to beg. Not to give in. I let the magic flow stronger. His cock can’t possibly get any harder, but the mental pressure continues to grow. Soon, he is shaking, not even playing the game anymore, his eyes squeezed shut as he tries, and fails, to shut me out. I let him struggle for several more minutes, then stand and walked up to him.

I push his legs open and step between them. He drops the controller and leans back on the couch, hips squirming, cock clenching. His eyes are tightly shut, his hands balled into fists, his teeth grit. I let the magic flow even stronger. His penis begins to vibrate like a battery-powered dildo, the tent in his pants ruffling at high speed.

“Well?” I say softly, huskily. My voice reverberates across his mind, shaking his will. But he holds strong. Even as his breath starts coming in gasps, he shakes his head vigorously, denying me his submission. So stubborn. So strong. And all mine. God, I love him, even if he does tick me off sometimes. I feel my pussy moisten watching him valiantly struggle against me. He catches a whiff of my scent, and he almost cracks, but chokes back his words into a whimper.

I stand there for another minute, pushing bucketfuls of arousal into him, his cock vibrating so fast, I can feel the heat throbbing straight through his pants. His brain would turn into mush if I kept him like this any longer. I wait until a split second before it would be too late. Then finally, I step back and cut off the signals.

He sags in his seat, his genitals aching and throbbing, but he can’t even cup them. I reach down and give the tent in his pants a nice, hard flick. He cries out and bucks fiercely as he tries to cum, but only succeeds in a fierce edging. As he writhes, I walk back into the bedroom and put on a robe, satisfied I’ve made my impression for the day.

I wonder how many more days he can hold out. He is just a man, after all. His penis will betray him. It’s inevitable. Me, even without Sex Magic, I can wait as long as I have to, and I will. The Magic just makes it more fun.

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