“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.

I nodded.

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…

Leave a Reply