“Do you want to cum?”
The words sent a shiver down my spine, and I felt the instinct to scream back, “Yes!”, but a part of me paused.
“You mean, ruin sir?” I said slowly, cautious.
His eyebrows rose. “Did I stammer?”
I shook my head as I gazed into nothing, my face likely plastered with a confused expression. “No… no sir.”
“Then, would you like to cum?” his voice inquired from above.
My confused expression came back when he pushed me over the edge, and kept touching. I writhed under him. My breathing was heavy as he let me go, my climax having reached incredible heights, my first orgasm in months so very potent. As I came down, I didn’t breathe a sigh of relief.
I cried softly as I realise just how much I hated what just happened. “Please, sir,” I whispered. “Don’t ever make me do that again.”
He frowned. “Do what, pet? What’s wrong?” he said gently.
I looked up at him. “Don’t make me cum sir. I don’t like it anymore.”
I wasn’t lying. Now, instead of threatening to deny me, he threatens to make me cum. And honestly, when he ruins my orgasm, a part of me is terrified he won’t stop. Maybe it’s been said too many times before, but until I had an orgasm after denial, I never realised how true these words can be.
A ruin is a cum and a cum is a ruin.
And so the gospel spreads…