Tormenting the male organ is one of the cruel acts that leaves me almost intoxicated with pleasure.
Abusing it—including the testicles, such a vulnerable point—is called CBT. What I enjoy is the perversity of forcing a man into humiliation, watching the very fact that he is male gradually become nothing more than my toy.
Penis play in particular feels cruel to me, because it draws out a primal, almost monkey-like excitement from a masochist leaning forward in anticipation—yet he must still obey the command to wait.
Cock rings, chastity devices, and edging make that possible. I enjoy watching a masochist suffer in two ways at once—physically and mentally.
Sometimes I feel like gagging him, leaving him rolling on the floor while I toy with him using nothing but a single foot.
And given the kind of place we are in together, it only deepens the sense of wretchedness.
Left there, positioned just out of reach until permission is granted, the masochist writhes in desperation, seemingly intoxicated by his own submission.
Seeing a masochist like that only makes me want to provoke him even more.
I would tease him endlessly, only to push him away with “Not today,” just to see the pitiful look on his face as a despairing sound escapes him.
If he were castrated, it would be confiscated forever—placed somewhere he could never reach again.
