*Just a heads-up: Some chapters might be more detailed, while others will be short. Rather than a full-fledged story, think of these chapters as a collection of my past fantasies, all sort of connected by the same premise. That's essentially what you're diving into here. Now, if you will, get ready to step into my wild imagination.*
There are times when the master puts me on display, not just for pleasure, but to raise funds for the prison. I’m showcased in a glass enclosure, perched on a rotating platform, edged and teased for the pleasure of wealthy patrons and doms. Each tip they give isn’t just a donation — it’s power. Power to decide how the edging unfolds. The standard sequence is simple: a 30-minute warm-up and teasing session, followed by 30 minutes of nipple play and stripping, then a full hour of edging before I’m granted the sweet release of orgasm. That’s the usual program for a sub in the prison. But when it’s me on display? Every step of the process can be drawn out, twisted, and customized with just the right amount of tipping. The more they give, the longer the torment… the deeper the cruelty. There are no limits.
And the beauty of it all? Each dom has their own preferences, their own desires. Some want the tease to last, some crave the sight of my nipples aching under attention, and others are laser-focused on my cock — right where the real money flows.
When the edging begins, that’s when their sadistic hunger truly reveals itself. A single small tip slows the stroking, easing the pressure on my cock just as I start to feel that irresistible pull toward release. And when enough of them pool their tips together? They can bring the strokes to a torturous halt altogether.
Their favorite moment is always the same. Watching as I’m stroked perfectly, my body betraying me, tensing, aching, desperate for the release it’s so close to. Just as I’m on the brink, muscles coiled and ready to explode, the tips start flooding in. The strokes slow, dragging me back from the edge, keeping me trapped at that unbearable 80% for minutes or hours, however they like. My body strains, trying to push past the teasing, but the slower the strokes, the more desperate I become. At 90%, 95%… the torment reaches its peak — and then, it stops. The platform resets, and I’m left in agony for a full 30 seconds before the teasing starts all over again.
And the worst part? It costs them nothing. Just a dollar here or there, a small price for endless denial on my end. They drag it out as long as they want, as long as it amuses them. They’re wealthy, seasoned men, well-acquainted with the subs and slaves in the prison. They’ve brought countless men to their knees, brought them to orgasm time and time again. What interest do they have in seeing me cum at all? I’m nothing but a toy, after all. Just a plaything to prolong their pleasure — and my torment…
