You'd have to ask him what his denial day count is, but I daresay we are well over the week mark at this point. He's got the block built up in his shaft to prove it -- a cum dam to show that I've been hard at work on his cock, getting it just how I want it.  His purple cock is taut, raging with arousal. He writhes around in agony while I taunt him with some of the nastiest verbal he's ever had. I tell him how bad I want a hot girl to boss around to help Domme him. How I want him to let Miss Epiphany take his ass again. How I want him to be a good boy and eat it for Superia. How I want him as the exhausted, starry-eyed caged cuck in the corner, in awe of my raw sexuality. It gets sadistic. I spit on him, scratch him, make him fuck my feet ... He doesn't know which way is up, but he realizes there's no way out. He's chasing relief that won't come tonight, because he won't cum tonight.  And I'm not going to let him just walk away. Like he thinks I'll get bored and just ... be done? No, I'll make him beg for chastity. I'll make him beg and beg and beg. It can't be my idea; it has to be his. He has to really mean it. Edge after edge after edge, until I'm certain he means it. Then, sweet chastity.