Five Thrusts and a Lesson in Control

 There was no good choice.

I had been denied for over 80 days, kept in a state of desperate frustration by my Mistress. Every night, every moment, my body craved release. She knew this. She loved knowing this. And then, finally, she offered me a choice.

I could either stroke myself to a quick, humiliating orgasm—something that would give me release but no real satisfaction—or, I could do the unthinkable. I could be allowed to enter her, to actually feel her warmth wrapped around my little penis for the very first time, but only for five thrusts. No more. And I would have to count them out loud.

I barely hesitated.

The answer was obvious, inevitable.

I wanted her. I wanted to be inside her, even if just for seconds, even if it would break me to have her and lose her all at once. I had been aching for this for months. My need wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, psychological. I needed to feel her, to know that she would allow me inside her, even for the briefest of moments.

She lay back, spreading herself just enough for me to enter, watching me with an expression I’ll never forget—part amusement, part boredom. She knew exactly what this meant to me, and she didn’t care. Or at least, that’s what she wanted me to believe.

I positioned myself at her entrance, my entire body shaking, my mind swimming in anticipation. This was it.

I pushed inside, overwhelmed by the heat, the slickness, the unbearable pleasure. It had been so long since I had felt this. My breathing hitched, my fingers dug into her skin, but then I remembered—I had to count.

“One.”

I pulled back, every nerve in my body screaming at me to keep going, to forget the rule and thrust endlessly until I was lost in her completely. But I knew better. I knew what would happen if I disobeyed.

“Two.”

She watched me with detached amusement, her face revealing none of the pleasure I felt. To her, this was nothing. I was nothing. Just a toy, given a brief taste before being discarded again.

“Three.”

I wanted to beg, to plead for more, but I knew it wouldn’t matter. Five was all I would get. Five and then nothing.

“Four.”

The need to thrust wildly was almost unbearable. My body was moving on its own, desperate to claim what I could never truly have. But I forced myself to hold back. Just one more.

“Five.”

And then it was over.

She pushed me away, wiping herself clean, her expression unchanged. I was left kneeling there, panting, my erection still throbbing, my heart still racing. It was the closest I had ever been to true satisfaction, and yet it left me feeling more empty than before.

The cruelest part?

She didn’t even tell me to stroke myself afterward. She simply turned away, leaving me there, aching, desperate, and completely under her control.

Reflections

This is a true story, though certain details have been enhanced for storytelling effect.

Looking back, I realize that this was one of the most defining moments of my submission. The power dynamic wasn’t just in the denial—it was in the allowance. She let me have her, but on her terms, in a way that only deepened my frustration, only reinforced my place beneath her.

Five thrusts wasn’t a gift—it was a lesson.

A lesson in control.

A lesson in denial.

A lesson in just how little I mattered.

A collaboration between my mind and my Mysterious Trainer—pushing me further each day.