I was doing my level best to remain as still and sturdy as a statue. A statue with its arms locked in an armbinder, and in a leather hood, complete with blindfold and ballgag. A statue with a collar wrapped around its neck, preventing any head movement without turning my body. And most importantly, a statue with a serving tray attached at my waist and to my collar, with an all-important, vital, glass of cool ice-filled water standing atop it. It was that glass, and what it contained that made me so aware of any movement, the most microscopic twitch.

I groaned as I felt the return of that damnable, wonderful hand. Softly teasing up and down my hardening shaft as I squirmed and moaned. I heard a quiet, satisfied laugh from the woman who had placed me in this predicament. Who had brought me under her power, all because I had begged her for this chance. The chance to prove myself. To demonstrate my self-discipline. And most importantly, to be allowed access to my own cock back.

“Beginning to regret this particular challenge, slave?” her voice was soft and teasing, a perfect partner to her hands as she made me quiver, “Just remember, for every spill you’ll be spending an extra day in chastity.” I moaned into my gag and she gave the head of my jutting member a flick that nearly made me jerk away with horrendous consequences, “If you were to drop my glass of water…hmmmm. I think an entire month locked away would be appropriate for that level of discourtesy…”

I shuddered, gently, and groaned into my gag. I wanted nothing more than to boldly thrust into her hand. To recover some of my agency in this whole process. But I knew that was precisely what she wanted me to do. That her flogger and crop lay within easy reach to punish any excessive action on my part. And that it would shift from difficult to impossible to hold her glass steady were she to bring corporal discipline into play.

So I had to stand there, knees knocking, and endure her teases, her stroking, and her warm, sensual giggles.

I let out a despairing moan, and for that I got another flick to my most sensitive bits.

“Hush slave. I’m reading.”