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He’s laid you flat on your back in front of him. He’s not much larger than you in height, but he towers over you now, gripping onto your legs with his thick, square hands. He pulls your legs open and they fall away easily, staring directly at your exposed pussy.
“God,” he says. “I can’t even see your clit, you’re so small."
You spread yourself for him, just showing him where your little cock is hidden. His breath hitches when you do, and embarrassingly, you throb at the sound.
“This is going to help grow my cock?” You ask, just to clarify, because he’s staring at you so hungrily. He’d be much more content to rip you apart—or worse, maybe even just watch you throb.
“If you listen,” he says. He’s still bracketing your wet, pink hole with his hands, pushing your thighs back. You hold yourself open still, because when you move to hold back your own knees, he shakes his head.
“No. Not yet. I need your clit exposed,” he chides you gently. You nod at him.
“Yes, sir.”
You’re a little entranced by the man in front of you—his large, broad shoulders. The hair growing in on his chin and chest. He’s not much farther along than you are, really. You started testosterone injections last month, at the clinic he recommended to you. He’s been on injections for maybe a year and a half, he’s said. Still, he feels so much older. Wiser, almost. You watch as he fumbles around on his bedside table, still folding your left leg back, and plucks a little tube of something out of a junk drawer. You nestle your head further into the pillow you’re both using to prop you up. He told you he could help you with bottom growth, and of course you agreed. Of course, him being a dominant also sweetens the deal.
“Keep your legs spread,” he instructs, with no particular inflection, as he squeezes a dollop of something onto his finger.
“That’s the cream?”
“The DHT, yeah. It’s what I use. You’re gonna need to get your own, though. Or, keep seeing me. Both work,” he flashes a look at you, smirking a small bit.
“Mhm,” you hum, watching as he spreads the sizable amount onto your small, throbbing clit. You’re turned on enough that the head of your cock is peeking out, just slightly, and it feels like someone is plucking your individual nerves when his finger brushes your tip. You’re so sensitive, you make a small, hurt sound at the contact.
He shushes you, soothingly. He rubs the rest of the DHT cream onto your clit with a single finger, circling you, evening out the intense, sharp pleasure from before.
“Good boy,” he says. “You’re going to feel it really intensely in a little. You’re sure you can still listen to me?”
You nod, just a small bit dazed, moving your hands to pull your knees back, keeping yourself spread for him. You sense he’s asking that last question rhetorically. You’re certain you will be able to pay attention to him showing you his dick.
He pulls down his sweatpants and boxers, already wet from his arousal. He doesn’t even need to spread his lips to show you his cock; it's bracketed by coarse, dark hair, thick and throbbing as he pulls back his foreskin to present himself, with one leg on the bed. He’s already reddened and swollen from arousal, as if he’d been edging before he met with you. He squeezes some of the cream onto his hands in a practiced motion, spreading it all over his cock, staring straight at you.
Bending over, he grabs something else from the bedside drawer as he speaks. “So, I have a couple pumps in here, but you’re not using the one I use, okay? You’re too small.”
“Uh-huh.”
He sorts through several large, oblong cylinders, and picks out the smallest one. It’s wide and short, with a knob at the end for twisting. “This is a nipple pump,” he says. You twitch.
“God, you poor thing,” he says, spreading your lips and bracketing your clit with his fingers. He places the pump over your clit, and the suction is nearly torturous. “You’re dripping.”
A moan escapes your throat as he tightens the pump on your oversensitized clit. You spread your legs further, just begging him to give any part of your aching pussy attention. That ache blooms, spreading across your whole body and going nowhere. He shushes you again.
“It’s really only going to get worse,” he says, somewhat apologetically. “You know the results are best when you don’t cum.”
When the pump is fully tightened, your throbbing cunt feels tight, encased and obstructed by the pump. You look at him, hoping for some relief. Any at all, knowing any alleviation of the intensity will be short lived at best. He kneels in front of you, seeming to have discarded his pants on the floor.
“Don’t worry,” he says, noticing your pleading expression. “I’ll help you out. I’ll clean you up.”
His tongue finds your wet, dripping hole, and laps at the slick collected there. The feeling is dulled considerably because of how wet you are, no doubt sloppily soaking his blanket and sheets. It’s barely soothing, just reminding your poor, aching clit of the one thing it won’t get: an orgasm.
He presses you open, still, working his tongue into your pussy. He tastes every part of you, deliriously, save for your cock, trapped in the pump, pleasureless. You nearly beg him to run his tongue along the hard, plastic shell encasing you. You know he wouldn’t listen if you asked.
He continues lapping at your cunt, not long enough to give any real pleasure to your pussy beyond the fleeting laps of his tongue. Your mouth moves without your input, blabbering, begging for any kind of consistent or lasting pleasure. Anything at all. He ignores you.
He licks one long, deep stripe all the way up your cunt, and stops just shy of the lip of the pump. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” He lifts his head to ask, “I told you I’d help you grow your little cock.”
“Please,” you beg. “Please, please, it’s so intense, I need—-I need anything—just edge me once, please.”
“You’re going to wait,” he chastises. He then switches from stern to gentle, suddenly. “I think you can help me while you wait. You’d like to help me, right?”
Beside yourself, you nod frantically, hoping for any break to the roiling intensity. He presses two of his fingers into your hole, scissoring you open, and shushes again as you whine.
“Don’t worry. You want to be a good boy, right? Just help me a little, and I’ll help your little cock.”
He stands, and lines himself up with you. You register what he’s about to do.
His t-dick is so big that he’s going to fuck you with it.
It’s so gentle when he presses into you. You can feel how swollen and edged out he is as he grips your thighs, and bends over you to fit himself. Oh, god, he’s so large from this angle. His hair falls over you in thick tufts, and his skin is so warm in the freezing room, and his throbbing dick is so warm and wet inside of you. A low, deep rumble escapes your lips.
“Your pussy is so good. So fucking easy to slide myself inside,” he blabbers, bucking into you. “Oh, god, I’m gonna give you such a thick cock. Such a pretty, thick cock, you’ll be able to fuck someone else like a fleshlight.”
Your cock aches. You’re completely at his mercy, pinned down as he slides his dick in and out of you, not even to pleasure you, just to jerk himself off in your wet hole. He fills you so nicely, though, just enough to make you want more. He really is using you like a fleshlight, trapping your little cock so it can do nothing but swell and throb for him to tease later.
“I’m so close,” he whimpers just above your head, slowing his gentle rocking into your hole. “I’m so, so close, your pussy feels so good.”
“Please—please cum in me,” you beg. “Please, please, please—”
He makes a pained groan as he continues to pleasure himself inside you. “I can’t, I can’t. Edging my cock is the most important part. Keeping myself big and swollen. Don’t even let myself ruin.”
As he speaks, he pulls his cock out of you wetly, and you watch him throb pleasurelessly without your pussy. It looks almost painful, watching him pulse so intensely, without any orgasm. It’s such a mindfuck, knowing this type of agony is in store for you, too.
“Can you help me again, good boy? Just one more time, help me again before I take care of you.”
“Yes—yes, sir—!”
He groans again at the honorific. “Clean my cock. Don’t let me cum. J-just clean your slick off my cock.”
He stands at the foot of the bed and holds himself open for you, inviting you to crawl over to him and use your mouth. Moving shoots new resounding waves of pleasure up your body, feeling the weight of the pump between your plush lips. The pump hangs off you like a cock would.
You can feel your own slick pooling between your legs as you kneel, on all fours, and lap at his dick. You know you’re dripping.
You begin with soft, gentle licks to the tip of his cock with the flat of your tongue, trying to give him as little pleasure as possible. It would be so bad to force an orgasm out of such a pretty, swollen cock that’s been trained so well. He moans, anyway, and you’re so careful to lick quick stripes with lots of breaks in between. You taste yourself on him, working his dick clean so slowly.
“You taste so good, right? Such a shame you won’t get to cum.”
“Mhm,” you moan around your mouthful.
You continue lapping at him. Just soft and gentle, and beyond any more cleaning that he’d need. He quivers in your mouth, and you take that as a sign to pull off just before his dick tips over into orgasm. A long line of drool runs from your mouth to his thick cock as you pull off, and he tussles your hair as you look up at him.
“Lay back down,” he says. “I think we’ve pumped your clit enough.”
You do as told, spreading yourself open for him. Your pussy is raw, red with aching arousal, and it feels nearly divine when he releases your poor little cock from the pump. You look down. Your clit is bigger, thicker, throbbing.
“Look at how fat your clit has gotten,” he says. “Maybe someday it’ll look like my cock, huh?”
You want to touch your clit so badly. It’s still so little compared to his cock, and you know sliding your fingers across its inflamed ridge would be heavenly, but you eagerly await his instruction instead. He’s the one teaching you.
“You’re such a good boy for not letting me cum. Do you think you’re ready for more training?”
You nod. “Yes, sir.”
“You’re going to tell me when you get close.”
His tongue on your clit is torture and relief all in one. Your clit is pulsing with need, electric, and you’re so thankful for the wet and gentle teasing of his mouth; but knowing you can’t cum, and knowing that every lap and flick of his tongue along your swollen clit only exists to make it worse—-it’s such a mindfuck. You moan. You drip and throb into his mouth, feeling as his tongue circles your aching, growing clit with such intensity. He’s going full throttle, losing himself in the feel of you, keeping your hard clit spread so your head gets no relief from the relentless pleasure. An orgasm bubbles up inside of you, and you hit the edge hard when he pulls away suddenly, without prompting.
You whine.
“You were supposed to tell me.”
“Mm—-I’m sorry, I’m sorry sir, it just felt so good.”
“It felt too good?” He repeats, “Too good?”
He toys with the swollen, exposed head of your clit as he speaks. It’s so sensitive it is nearly painful, but your cries don’t dissuade him. “Do you want to grow your little cock, or are you going to try to orgasm? Because if you’re going to cum, I’m not touching your clit. I’ll use you like a fleshlight again.”
You nearly cry. “I—want a big cock—please, please keep edging me, sir—”
“You’re not allowed to edge anymore,” he decides. “I’m just going to tease your cock. Every time you start getting close, you’re going to tell me.”
You ache. “What—-what are you gonna do to me if I edge, sir?”
“I’ll dose you again, trap your clit in the pump again,” he says. “And you’ll go home with it on.”
You hold your pussy open for him. “Y-yes, sir. I promise, I won’t get close.”
He begins softly, this time. Gently licking circles around your fat, throbbing clit. It’s torture, soft, controlled, gentle torture. He laps at you with the flat of his tongue, clitwarming you, just enough pleasure to leave you aching for an orgasm that will not come. He moves downwards to your cunt, licking up more of your slick in a long stripe, circling your tiny cock with it. He stops every few seconds, as if not trusting you to tell him when your pussy is nearing an edge. The pauses aren’t enough time to gather yourself, or prepare your pussy for more. You just hold yourself open, knowing you’re making it worse for yourself.
“‘M starting to get close,” you admit, feeling the pleasure blossom quickly in your tiny cock. He laves at your clit one last time, nearly pushing you over, and then removes himself from between your thighs.
“Good boy. See? It’s so much better to deny your cock. Your clit is getting so swollen already.”
He toys with your pussy with his fingers, just gliding up and down your slick cunt. It’s almost a relief from the ache of denial.
“Do you think you can handle more?”
You nod. You can’t handle more, but you need it.
His tongue gliding slowly, heavily across your engorged clit is almost too much already. You yelp, but he’s continuing at the same pace; slow, heavy, hard, almost as if he’s trying to make it difficult for you. The edge almost creeps up on you, nearly impossible to catch, but you’re determined to be good.
“Sir—Sir, I’m almost—!”
He pulls himself away suddenly, a wet noise following. Your pussy throbs pathetically as he stares. He doesn’t ask you before he begins again, this time, but at least he begins slowly; torturously slow, in fact. Giving your clit almost nothing at all.
His tongue barely moves, lapping at you so lazily; laving over your aching clit in slow motion, at first so lightly, so fleetingly; but then he increases his pressure with each lap until he is back at the pressure of your first and only edge.
“Sir, sir, I can’t handle any more, I’m—”
“Don’t worry, I’ll slow down,” he moans against your pussy, his hot breath hitting your cock. He switches back to that lazy, achingly slow pace, as your swollen clit throbs and twitches against his tongue. He’s not doing much more but pressing and holding his mouth to you, teasing you so lightly and softly. But your pussy trembles so violently that you know you’d orgasm if he continued.
“Sir, sir please, please, my pussy is almost there—!”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you cum. I won’t ruin all your hard work today, good boy.”
“Sir, I’m getting so close, please—please don’t let me edge, please—!”
He laps at you so, so slowly.
“Just a little more,” he whispers. “I know you can handle just a little more.”
You buck your hips up to avoid the edge, right as he licks a deep, slow stripe up your abused clit. Your pussy bursts, squirts with no orgasm, dripping further onto the sheets as you throb.
“Sir, I—!”
“Did you cum?” He asks.
“No, no, I promise s-sir, I didn’t even edge. I—I can’t handle any more on my cock, sir. I’ll cum.”
He soothes your pussy with his fingers, avoiding your swollen clit altogether.
“Good boy,” he says. “I want you to know, that edge you had? It’s your last one for a while.”
You nod. You know your cock will grow big and swollen with him in charge.