Bratty JOI Phone Sex: I Edged Him for an Hour and Laughed

The rooftop party was at my friend Maya's penthouse, string lights everywhere, some DJ who thought he was better than he was, and this guy Jake holding court by the bar telling his friends that no woman had ever made him wait for anything. I heard him say it twice. The second time he looked right at me when he said it, like it was a challenge. Men are so predictable it is almost sad. Almost.

I walked over with my drink and told him he was either lying or he had terrible taste in women. His friends laughed. He did not. He said, sweetheart, I finish when I decide to finish. I smiled and said, that is adorable. Want to bet. He asked what the stakes were and I told him his dignity. Everyone laughed at that, even him, but I was not joking even a little.

Twenty minutes of flirting later I had him by the hand, leading him down the hall to the guest bedroom. Maya would kill me if she knew, which honestly made it hotter. I locked the door and pushed him back onto the bed. He started to reach for me and I caught his wrists and pinned them above his head. My rules, I said. You wanted to prove something. So prove you can follow one simple instruction.

I told him to strip. Just him. I stayed in my little black dress, perched on the edge of the dresser where he could see everything and touch nothing. He got naked fast, already half hard, trying to look cocky about it. I looked him up and down slowly and said, okay, not bad. Let us see what you can do with it. Then I told him to wrap his hand around his cock and stroke. Slow. Exactly the way I say.

This is my favorite game and I am very, very good at it. I started talking him through it, the bratty JOI thing I love most. Slow strokes, I told him, eyes on me. I slid one strap of my dress down, just one, and watched his hand stutter. Keep going, I said. Do not you dare stop until I say so. Then I described in filthy detail everything I would do to him if he earned it, and I watched his hips start lifting off the bed on their own.

When his breathing went ragged I said stop. Just like that, one word. He froze and actually whined out loud. Please, he said. I laughed right in his face. Did I say you could talk. Start again. Slower this time. I made him count his strokes out loud, one to twenty, and every single time he got to fifteen I told him to stop and start over from one. His cock was leaking, his thighs were shaking, and I had never been wetter in my life. Keeping a man right on the edge is better than any drug I have ever tried.

I stood up and walked to the bed and straddled his legs without letting him touch me anywhere that counted. I ground my soaked panties against his shin while he watched, helpless. Look but do not touch, I whispered. He was groaning now, properly begging, please, please let me come, I cannot take it anymore. I leaned down close to his ear and said, you told your friends no woman could make you wait. Look at you now, baby.

I let him stroke again, faster this time, and I talked even dirtier, telling him how pathetic and gorgeous he looked, all desperate and shaking because a girl in a dress told him to wait. I edged him three more times. Three full times. By the last one he was nearly crying, his whole body locked up tight, and I finally said, okay baby, you can come, but you do it on my tits. He scrambled up so fast he nearly fell, I pulled my dress down, and he came so hard it shot across my chest while I laughed and told him what a good desperate boy he was.

After, he just lay there staring at the ceiling like he had seen God and God had laughed at him. I wiped off with his shirt, which felt completely fair, and fixed my lipstick in the mirror. He said, that was the hottest thing that has ever happened to me, I swear. I said, I know it was. Then I unlocked the door and told him to come find me when he recovered. If he ever recovered.

Here is the thing about orgasm denial that men never understand until it happens to them. It is not about being cruel. It is about reminding a man exactly who is in charge of his own body. Me. I am in charge of it. And I will keep you right there on that edge for as long as I feel like it, because your begging is honestly my favorite sound in the entire world.

Wanna find out how long you would last under my rules? I am waiting, baby. But I should warn you. Nobody has ever beaten me yet.