Ruined Orgasm

Victor returns, cock already hard before Ivy touches him. Blindfold cuts off sight. Chair ropes bite his wrists and ankles. She kneels between his legs and drags a slow tongue up the shaft, letting him feel every warm inch. He jerks, chair legs scraping the floor as he tries to pull away, but her mouth closes tight and she starts sucking like she wants to drag his soul out through his dick. Each time his hips buck, she backs off, strokes the wet shaft with a slick fist, then dives back down until his thighs shake. Ropes creak. He can’t see. He can only feel the wet heat swallowing him, the quick twist of her wrist, the sudden stop that leaves him throbbing in open air. They move him to the bed. New ropes. Same blindfold. Ivy climbs on, sinks down until his whole length disappears inside her. She rides hard, palms on his chest, using his cock like a toy that belongs to her. Whenever his breath hitches she lifts off, wraps fingers or a buzzing sleeve around him, works him right to the brink, then stops. He growls. Sweat slides down his ribs. She smiles against his throat and starts again. Last round, she strips the rhythm down to pure cruelty. Fast strokes. Brutal. No mercy. He arches. His balls draw up. She holds the base tight, watches the first spurt pulse out, then lets go. His load spills in weak, ruined jets across his own stomach while his body tries to chase an orgasm that never arrives.