You bring him to a party with a vibe pushed deep into his cunt, and pass the remote around.
He spends most of the first half-hour clinging to your arm, whining and shuddering, sometimes squealing when someone cruel turns the vibe up particularly hard. But it’s never enough to make him come - you made sure of that. It just makes him writhe, and whimper, and leak so much that you have to scold him for dribbling on the host’s clean floor.
Surely the mess deserves a punishment, you say loudly, but you’ll give him a chance. If he can guess who has the remote now, you’ll give his poor wet cunt a rest: he can have the remote for the rest of the night.
If he can’t, he'll be punished, and doubly so for squandering the chance you gave him.
He shakes as the crowd gathers around to leer, their hands hidden in their pockets or behind their backs, and the vibe still buzzes relentlessly, melting his mind. Anyone could have the remote, and he knows better than to keep you waiting - he finally points at a man with a crueler smile than most, who seems to be moving his hand almost in time to the pulsing of the vibe.
He’s wrong, of course. The crowd cheers.
His punishment is an orgasm, on his hands and knees before the crowd, fucking himself back on your fingers. The humiliation brings tears to his eyes, and your fingertips jolt the vibe still inside him with each stroke, but the climax after being teased so long is almost a relief.
But then the vibe buzzes back to life inside him, and now he’s even more swollen and sensitive and overwhelmed. The party’s barely started, and his real punishment has just begun.
You ask him again, with a smile: Who has the remote?
baratheonpilled
prguitarman
jacobvanloon
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turnnoffyourmind
