Roped up Femboy gets jerked off till he cums (No Nut November Edition)

Roped up and at the mercy of his master’s touch, the delicate femboy hung suspended like a rare delicacy, bound in intricate knots of silken rope that framed his lithe form like the tendrils of a debauched flower. His pale skin glistened under the soft amber glow of the room, a canvas for the arts of bondage and pleasure. He wore nothing but a pair of lace panties, pink and flimsy, a bold proclamation of his submissiveness, his desire to be objectified and exploited by his dominant partner.

As the bound femboy dangled there, helpless and exposed, his master began to stroke his bound body, tracing teasing patterns across his abdomen, down his thighs, his fingers ghosting lightly over the swell of his pert ass. The femboy shivered, his body responding to the touch despite his efforts to remain stoic, to play the part of the dignified sex slave. But his cock betrayed him, as it swelled and tented the front of his lacy panties.

The master noticed, of course. A wicked grin spread across his face as he hooked a finger in the elastic of the panties and slowly peeled them down, exposing the bound boy’s throbbing cock, flushed pink and dripping with need. He didn’t touch it directly, not yet. Instead, he focused on the boy’s balls, cupping and weighing them in his palm, rolling them lightly in his fingers until they drew up tight and the boy whimpered.

Only then did he give the struggling cock the attention it craved. He wrapped his large hand around it, pumping slowly, squeezing tight until veins stood out on the boy’s neck and he was forced to gasp, to moan like the desperate slut he was. The master kept his strokes firm and even, milking the boy’s cock like a professional while his free hand continued to wander, teasing his nipples, tweaking them between his fingers.

The femboy bucked against his bonds, trying in vain to fuck into his master’s fist. The stimulation was almost too much to bear, particularly given his precarious situation. He was completely at the mercy of his master’s whims, and his master’s whims tonight appeared to involve getting him to the very brink of orgasm before drawing back, leaving him desperate and aching for more.

Which, of course, is precisely what the master did. Over and over again, he would stroke the boy’s cock until his balls drew up tight and his hips began to jerk erratically, and then he would release him, stepping back and letting his cock bob in the cool air. The boy would whine, would beg, but the master was unmoved. He would watch impassively as the boy struggled against the ropes, trying to rub himself against anything that might grant him some relief.

It was only after several rounds of this teasing, each bout leaving the bound femboy more desperate than the last, that the master finally deigned to bring him to completion. He wrapped his hand around the boy’s throbbing cock one last time and pumped firmly, his other hand reaching down to play with the boy’s tight little asshole. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, and within a few strokes the boy was coming undone, spilling his load across the floor with a cry of surrender.

The master continued to stroke him through his orgasm, wringing out every last drop until the boy was spent, his cock softening and his body going lim. Then, with a wicked grin, he released the ropes and let the femboy crumple to the floor, his limp body covered in sweat and rope marks. The master stood over him, looking down at his handiwork with clear satisfaction.

“Now,” he said, his voice low and commanding, “you’re going to clean up the mess you’ve made. With your tongue.”

The femboy knew better than to disobey. Shaking, he crawled forward and began to lap at the puddle of cum on the floor, his tongue swirling to catch every last bit. The master watched, his own cock throbbing in his pants, but he made no move to touch it. Tonight was all about the femboy’s pleasure, his torture. The master’s own gratification would have to wait until another day.

As the boy finished cleaning up his mess, the master bent down and cut away the ropes binding him, letting him collapse into a heap in the middle of the floor. He gave him a pat on the head, almost affectionate, before turning and walking away, leaving the femboy alone and trembling in the aftermath of the most intense orgasm of his life.

And so ended the night’s festivities. The femboy lay there for a long time, coming back to himself slowly, the ropes having left deep impressions in his skin. His cock, now, was finally flaccid, having been milked dry. He doubted he’d be able to get another erection for hours, maybe even days. The master had taken everything he had to give, and then some.

But as he lay there, basking in the afterglow of his utter submission, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction. He had pleased his master, had surrendered himself completely to the other man’s whims and desires. He had been used, abused, and utterly debased. And he had loved every minute of it.

With a content sigh, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep, the floor beneath him hard and rough against his skin. Tomorrow would be another day, another chance for him to serve and be used. But for now, he could rest, satiated and sore, dreaming of what the next night might bring.

The End.