As I unlocked his chastity cage, I could feel the tension radiating from him—days, maybe weeks, of pent-up frustration, all held back by that small piece of metal. The moment the lock clicked open, his breath hitched, anticipation flooding the air. But I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. I loved the power, the control, and he knew that tonight would be pure torment. Slowly, I teased him, my fingers barely grazing his sensitive skin, watching him twitch and strain against the inevitable. Every moan, every subtle shift in his body was my doing, and I reveled in it. His need grew more desperate with each passing second, and I played with that desperation like a toy, taking him to the very edge, only to pull back. Finally, I decided to grant him release—but not the way he hoped. The first ruined orgasm was explosive, but hollow, leaving him aching for more. His eyes pleaded, but I wasn’t done yet. I milked him again, dragging out every drop of his surrender, ruining any hope of satisfaction. By the time I was through, he was utterly spent, trembling and empty, yet completely mine.