Let’s play a little game.

A countdown.

You’ll stroke with me.  
Follow my rhythm.  
Match my voice.

And when we get to the end…  
You’ll get nothing.

No orgasm.  
No permission.  
No reward.

Just the sting of your failure — *because I planned it that way*.

Stroke.

Start slow.

Breathe with me.

In through your nose…  
Out through your mouth…

Now grip that cock.  
Nice and tight.  
Like it’s still worth something.

And follow my voice.

**Ten.**

Stroke.

**Nine.**

A little faster.

**Eight.**

You’re already shaking.  
Already twitching.

**Seven.**

I can hear your breath change.  
I *love* that part.

**Six.**

Keep going.  
Feel the pressure.  
The ache.

**Five.**

Halfway, loser.

Do you think this ends well?

Do you think I’ll let you cum?

**Four.**

That cock doesn’t get to cum.

It gets to *hope*.  
To *ache*.  
To *fail*.

**Three.**

Stroke faster.  
Match my count.  
Obey.

**Two.**

Your balls are tight.  
Your eyes are closed.  
Your whole body is begging.

And now?

**One.**

Stop.

Stop everything.

Hands off.

Back straight.

Breathe.

Don’t touch.

Don’t whimper.

And definitely don’t cum.

You thought this was your finish line.

But baby, this is the start of your *denial training*.

Because from now on…

Every time I count?

You’ll twitch.  
You’ll throb.  
You’ll *leak*.

And you’ll *never finish*.

Because pleasure isn’t yours anymore.

It’s mine.

And I *withhold it* beautifully.

Next time, we start from twenty… and go *even slower*.