My birthday has arrived and was celebrated as usual among our friends and a traditional chocolate bonbonnière at the office which I shared with everybody. At this day, once a year I’m allowed to ask Her Highness, only once, for an orgasm as my FLR gift. Most of the time, I get one, but not always, which puts me in a stressed anticipation to her final call. It arrives a couple of days later after she considers all the pro and cons. Depending on my behavior and progress and mainly on my plea which should be long and emotional, she would make her verdict. The more I would demonstrate admiration and self degradation, there are better chances to get one. But, considering the last year successful policy of long term chastity, I was nervous and full of self-doubts whether I should try it all. On the other hand, the same argument made me do it, knowing that I may miss a rare opportunity to ease the torture in my craving balls.
So, after we had returned from my birthday gathering with our friends, I asked my wife for a permission to approach. As we were very tired, she set the date for a formal petition to the next afternoon, and I returned home an hour before to prepare myself for the ritual. Exactly on time, I was waiting naked on my hands and knees at the entrance to the leaving room with my head down and my eyes focused on the floor. Mistress let me wait like that for about 15 minutes before she stepped in with her high heels knocking on the floor when they passed by me just an inch away from my lowered head. That was the only item from her dress I could notice, as I’m not allowed to raise my head during the whole session and look at her directly.
I groveled towards her feet, kissing the floor, her shoes, and her legs just a little above her ankles, as I’m not allowed to reach further up. I started flattering her, saying how much I admire and worship her as my Goddess. I thanked her for allowing such a worthless creep like me to serve her as her slave, and for her non-compromising domination and efforts to make me a worthy slave. Then I humbly and shyly described the biological torture and need to release the pressure in my useless organs, admitting I’m not a man and as a slave I’m not entitled to have an orgasm. I begged her, as a wise and generous lady, to allow me on my birthday to ejaculate and empty the tormented and annoying load in my glands.
Her highness did make it easy on me, and reminded my disrespectful behavior to Lady M. as her chauffeur after I was allowed to masturbate. “Give me one good reason to spoil your slave wired brain with a man’s pleasure that you do not deserve?” she asked coldly while pressing my face down with her foot. I was desperate and lost my line of thought as she played with my head with a mix of scolding and questions I couldn’t answer. “Please Mistress, please” I whined kissing the floor again and again, “I love you so much…”. I was dismissed and crawled out of the room to prepare her dinner, which I served still naked. Her decision was given in the following weekend. I will be allowed to come the next day, but I’ll be punished severely immediately for my selfish choice. Her Highness gave me one day to consider it, suggesting I would give it up, as that momentary pleasure, if any at all, does not worth the painful punishment that will follow it.
As you may guess, I chose the orgasm, so the next day I was standing smoothly naked in front of my wife. My cage was replaced by a tight cock and balls rubber ring, and the “start stop” masturbate game had begun. I had to bring myself to the edge with my hand and then stop with “Please Mistress, I’m about to lose control” cry. During these breaks, Mistress used to hit my cock and balls with quick light strokes from the tip of her riding crop, and I was squirming and “dancing” in pain to her delight. From time to time, she was giving me instructions how to touch myself, “use two fingers, one finger, left hand, touch your balls only, squeeze them hard, harder, harder slave, harder”. She laughed and called me a “useless slave” when I bent forward, sitting on my footstool, with my tongue outstretched out to lick my dickhead, which I couldn’t reach as she ordered. After an hour or so I was so flooded and high with lust and desire that I was out of my mind, just gasping “please Goddess, please”. It was obvious that I will not be able to hold myself and I will uncontrollably spurt if I touch myself again. Her Highness ordered me to sit on the footstool with my hands behind my back, and left to the kitchen. After a minute, She returned with a glass of hot water and a simple medical dropper. She dripped the hot water on my swollen dickhead, drop by drop, making me gasp and yelp with each sting. I threw my head from side to side in a desperate frustration as the hot water drops continued to tap on my orifice and flew slowly down my shaft, over my balls all the way to my shaved asshole. “You had enough for today slave” she said, “You may come from these, but that’s all what you get, no more touching for you”. It was a direct brain shot. I screamed when a huge wave of orgasm was built down from my balls, exploding my brain into a thousand diamonds. I was humping my hips up in a desperate desire to feel the warm squeeze that will conclude my tortured orgasm, but all I got was my wife’s giggle as I shot my load up to the empty air.
My punishment followed it and was severe as promised. Mistress didn’t waist a second and immediately ordered me to bend over and assume the position. Twelve awful times Mr. Right landed on my behind with her full power. I was in tears when I shouted “Thank you mistress, I’m not a man, slaves don’t come” after each one, counting my painful penalties I gained for my selfish weakness. I groveled at her feet, sobbing, apologizes for my egoistic choice and thanking her for punishing me for being such a poor slave. She just sat on her queening chair and pressed my head down to the floor with her shoe, “Happy birthday slave” she said, I could hear the satisfied smile in her voice.
Mistress K. was “shocked” again when she heard about my orgasm. My wife listened amused as usual when she gave her stern speech about the damage it causes to the submissive male brain. I could hear all that because it was my maid day, and I was dusting Her Highness study when they had their video call. She turned the camera to my direction, to allow Mistress K. viewing me in my French maid outfit, doing my chore. You don’t need to tell that wise Domme how to react in such a situation and how to play her friend’s game. I could hear her loud laugh in the speakers when she said, to my wife’s delight, “What a lovely hubby you have, Beth, he is so pathetic in this maid outfit”. Aren’t you going to thank Mistress K. for her compliments, Dorothy? My wife asked me sarcastically. My maid protocol specifies that when I’m addressed as “Dorothy” I have to reply in a girlish voice, otherwise I should use my regular tone. Mistress thinks it makes me more focused and concentrated on her every word, knowing that I’ll be caned if I fail to use the right tone. It also allowed her to toy and switch between the feminized sissy maid to the submissive male in the ridiculous outfit according to her mood. “Thank you, ma’am,” I responded in my most girlish voice, while turning towards the camera and displaying my best maid curtsy, lifting my skirt and exposing my locked package. “Again” my wife commanded, and I repeated that act while their lough grew louder. “Go on! Don’t stop” she ordered me, and they were both laughing to tears as I continued thanking and curtsying. “Oh my God, he is so pathetic, you are such a wonderful wife Beth”, I heard it again while my lips started to shiver and my voice cracked as always when I’m under deep humiliation. “Happy birthday slave” Mistress K. said before I was sent back to complete my chores.
The inferior mal 