"You can't come. I haven't come yet."
There's a panicked gasp amidst his entwined moans and begging for orgasm. As he realises he is going to come, to disobey my newly instated rule, his legs start to jerk and thrash. Face down, latex hood closing out the world, he's trapped in his body and trapped in the waves of driving sensation.
I could, of course, always stop what I am doing to him - but where would the fun be in that? Certainly, I've been building him up to this. I'd spent the evening alternating between beating him with his own belt, using his mouth and fucking him with the strap-on as he lay on his back in the middle of the room. I wanted him to feel prone, exposed, so he was stomach up, legs parted and resting on my thighs to get the perfect angle, his arse rising to meet me as I gripped his shoulders and thrust. Once he was suitably tired, I took him upstairs, still blinded by the eyeless hood, bound him to the bed and started to fuck him once more.
Then, surprisingly, an orgasm started. I was pressing the large, beaded vibrator deeper into his arse, holding it inside him with my thigh as I lay on top of him, fingers on my (very wet) clit. Indulging in a little masturbation at the sight of him. I started to grind my hips against his legs, then felt the orgasm rise up out of his body, through my hand, stomach and out into the cool night air. I leaned towards his ear:
"Don't you fucking dare."
He strains to speak through the gasps and pants: he's sorry, he can't help himself, he can't, he can't, he can't not. Of course, he does. And when he comes, he comes hard: sweating, groaning and flailing. There's a part of me that's pleased: after all, I've just popped the cherry of Mr Smith's anal orgasm. Most of me, however is pissed off. I didn't allow this, in fact, I've been trying to curtail his natural, slightly lazy, lie-back-and-take-it tendencies by limiting his orgasm to a maximum of one less than me.
I feel a strange mix of elated, angry, let down and slightly shocked. I've already punished him once for orgasm without permission but this time is somewhat different. Obviously, there needs to be punishment, but equally obviously, I'm not entirely sure I want to keep paying attention to him. I stop everything that I'm doing and pull the vibrator roughly out from him, smirking as he winces. I adjust the ropes at the head and foot of the bed so he's tied over to one side. I am still hot with annoyance, so look around for a leather tawse and lay a few blows onto his upturned bottom. He grunts but otherwise lies still in a post-orgasmic slump, which only serves to make me more annoyed. The tawse raises wealts, red and thick, but I don't actually have the heart to deliver a sound beating. That would be effort and I'm disinclined to spend any more effort on him.
I get up, turn the light off, and without saying anything, get back into bed and curl up facing away from him, leaving him tied up, partly covered and mostly abandonned.
He starts to squirm and whimper. He's extremely tactile, and I know that refusing to touch or acknowledge him after such an intense orgasm will be difficult. I wait, in the darkness, as he blusters apologies, wanting desperately for me to reach over and tell him it will be ok, to hold him and wrap myself around him as I usually do before we both fall asleep. I'm having none of it. I retrieve a vibrator and start to masturbate, informing him that at least this toy responds to commands. I smile to myself as I watch him: tied a few inches away from me, groaning as he hears me sigh with my own pleasure, separate from him and his body. I like the idea of him waiting, for me to be ready to use him. It's a strange kind of voyeurism and exhibitionism: he cannot see me, but he knows what I am doing. I am enjoying the sensation of being desired and withholding that desire. Teasing, yes, but also deeply satisfied by the knowledge that at any moment, if I wanted to, I could do anything to him.
Eventually, brain full of the thought of perfected human toys, I orgasm and he utters a noise of displeasure, a pouting note of unhappiness. The climax flushes out a lot of my immediate personal frustration and calms me somewhat, allowing me to focus on what to do with the disobedient object to my left.
I slowly unbind the ropes and pull him out of bed. I navigate him into the bathroom, roughly, letting him bump a little into the walls as we go along, then put him on his back in the bathtub, kneel over his face and let him believer for a moment he can lick my cunt before rising up slightly and pissing into his open mouth.
"If I can't rely on you for one thing, I'll find other ways for you to be useful."
I smile as he splutters a bit, then starts to swallow. When I'm done, I turn the shower on, setting it to cold and wash myself briefly before soaking him thouroughly until I can see goosebumps. He shivers and brings his arms up to protect himself, then curls them to one side. I turn off the water and step out.
I turn off the light and shut the door. A plaintive cry of "Don't leave me to sleep in the bath!" follows me into the corridor and I do my best not to giggle. I shut my bedroom door and listen to the noises of mild, sulky complaint echoing out of the bathroom.
After I've decided he's had enough I turn the light back on and lay a warm, dry towel over him. I gently remove the hood and help him out. It's a slow process, he's shaky and unsteady. I rub him down, reminding myself once more why he's a horse and I hold him close to me before leading him to bed.