Mistress Ezada’s teasing
just watched “Mistress Ezada teasing”, with my chastity on of course, as You had directed me, watched it repeatedly… What can i say? Stapana, Doamna… Such beauty, such teasing denial of pleasure, such tender cruelty, words of sweet tyranny, sheer divinity … The sound of Your hands stroking the soft leather of the boots alone would be enough to drive every submissive male crazy.
The way i feel now. So desperately aroused, yearning, longing, sobbing … Ready to go up the wall, but so helpless…
It is then that i literally howl at Your beauty on the screen, like that famous dog in heat. It is then that i so desparately want to please You, adore You, worship You, pamper You. Trying to offer myself, my humble service, my adoration to You, so that You would wickedly smile down on the kneeling naked me in satisfaction, lay back, delicately rubbing Your thighs against each other, very slowly, listening to the soft hissing sound of Your shiny pantyhose, then maybe even touching Your authoritative breast, stroking it gently with the tip of Your index finger, up and down, again and again, going round the delicate tip in circles, just for Your own pleasure, to relish my worship with Your eyes closed yet feeling it all over You, my burning desire warming Your body as if You laid on a polar bear rug in front of an open fireplace in cold winter, my ardent longing soothing Your adorable vanity like a cool breeze in hot summer…You start moaning and my eyes fill with tears of love …
Going to bed now i will be wearing the chastity. Even if it has not been You who has put that on me. At least not the physical You, but the spiritual. For the very first time i will be doing so. i want to feel its steel grip around my throbbing cock at night, want to wake up by the pain of the restrained futile early morning erection which is already bad enough without the iron cage on. Imagining that it is You who is doing that to me, who is in control, over me, my body, my thoughts, my sexuality. Feeling as if i was not here, but back in Bucharest, in Your apartment, locked like a prisoner in his cell, hoping for the guard to return in the morning and for the staccato sound of her heels on the tiles of the hallway, 6 floors below.
