By David Sellers
Five minutes later—maybe less—I heard the deadbolt click and the door to the storeroom open.
I groaned, unhappily, and pushed against the straps. I wanted the ballcrusher off. I wanted the gag removed. I wanted out.
“I know, honey,” my husband said, patting my chest, “it hurts, all of it. It’s supposed to. Ten more minutes. Maybe fifteen. Unless you moan and groan—do that and I’ll leave you here.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled. I would be good. I would be quiet.
My husband began to stroke my cock—which is the only thing that makes the ballcrusher bearable. What felt like five minutes went by. I was getting close to coming.
“You close?”
“Yes,” I grunted with the gag in my mouth—I was close. Really close.
Another long stroke. Another. My cock began to throb. With his free hand my husband undid the buckle of the gag and removed it from my mouth. I was right on the edge.
“Permission to come?!?” I said, desperately. “Please? Can I come?!?
My husband let go of my cock.