💎 Bound Without Touch

October 1

When I travel I do not need rope. I do not need cuffs. I do not even need to be in the same room. I lock him in his own head and leave him there.

Before I board my flight I send him a single instruction. It is never about touching. It is about not touching. How to sit. What to wear under his clothes. How to breathe while he waits for me. He follows it because he knows if he disobeys I will know.

He walks through his day like a normal man. People see him in his office at lunch in meetings. They do not see the silent countdown he is under. They do not know his cock is already throbbing from hours of self control because I told him he may not touch. They do not know his heartbeat spikes every time his phone vibrates hoping for my next instruction.

Sometimes I give him a taste. A single message. “Edge.” He rushes to the bathroom or his car desperate pulling himself to the brink. And then the second message arrives. “Stop. Hands off. Breathe.” He obeys panting forehead against the cold mirror fighting the tremor in his thighs.

He is not tied to anything except my words but the frustration wraps around him like rope. Every denied release another knot every missed orgasm another turn of the handle. By nightfall he is trembling a beautiful *** mess held in place by nothing but the echo of my voice.

When I finally allow him to finish days later or weeks it is not an accident. It is a ritual. He kneels in front of the phone voice cracking thanking me for the control for the ache for the way I can take him apart without even being there.

This is my favorite part of traveling. He thinks distance will free him. It does not. It binds him tighter than any rope ever could.