On Time

The first lesson had been about restraint.

This one, apparently, was about delivery.

Mistress unlocked me herself.

That alone felt significant.

I had spent long enough in chastity that the sensation of being free seemed almost indecent. My cock hardened immediately, eager, stupidly optimistic.

Mistress watched.

“Don't get excited.”

Too late.

She smiled.

Then she hooded me.

The toy was already in front of me.

The same kind of rubber torso I'd trained on before.

Familiar enough that my body knew what to expect.

Different enough that the rules mattered more than the object.

This time there was no metronome at first.

No green.

No red.

Just Mistress's hand on my shoulder and the sound of her voice.

“You have forty-eight seconds.”

I laughed.

I couldn't help it.

“Forty-eight?”

“My age in seconds,” I said.

“Yes.”

That seemed generous.

Absurdly generous.

After the training, after all the denial, after being taught to stop and start on command, forty-eight seconds sounded like an eternity.

Mistress placed one hand against the back of my neck.

“When I say go, you may do whatever you're allowed to do. If you come before time runs out, you succeed.”

“And if I don't?”

“You don't.”

Simple.

“And if I come after?”

“You won't.”

The meaning of that settled slowly.

There was a pause.

Then:

“Ready?”

I nodded.

“Go.”

I moved immediately.

Too quickly.

That was the first mistake.

My body had been trained to wait for a rhythm, and suddenly there wasn't one.

I had freedom.

Actual freedom.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I could choose the pace.

So I chose badly.

Fast.

Too fast.

Desperate.

The pleasure was there, but it wasn't building the way I expected.

I changed angle.

Changed pace.

Tried harder.

Mistress said nothing.

I had no idea how much time had passed.

Ten seconds?

Twenty?

Surely not twenty.

My mind started counting despite itself.

One.

Two.

Three.

That was useless.

I had no idea where I was.

Then Mistress spoke.

“Thirty seconds.”

Thirty left?

Or thirty gone?

Panic hit before I could ask.

“Left,” she added.

I pushed harder.

The toy moved beneath me.

I could feel pleasure gathering now, but the thought of the clock was contaminating everything.

Twenty-nine.

Twenty-eight.

I didn't know whether she was counting.

I was.

Badly.

My body had learned too well.

Part of me kept waiting for red.

For the command to stop.

For the rhythm to be imposed again.

None came.

This should have been freedom.

Instead, it felt like another kind of control.

“Twenty.”

I was close.

Not close enough.

I tried to force it.

That made it worse.

My hips lost rhythm.

My breathing became ragged.

The pleasure receded just enough to scare me.

I slowed.

Found the motion again.

Mistress said nothing.

I wanted her to say something.

Anything.

Tell me faster.

Tell me slower.

Give me a rule.

Instead, she let me own the time.

That was the cruelty of it.

“Ten.”

No.

I was close now.

Very close.

My whole body tightened.

Nine.

Eight.

I imagined the numbers even though she wasn't saying them.

Seven.

Six.

The pressure built.

Five.

Four.

I couldn't tell whether I was going to make it.

Then everything tipped.

I came.

Hard.

Messy.

Overwhelming.

For a few seconds I forgot about the clock entirely.

Mistress let me finish.

Then she said:

“Three seconds left.”

I laughed into the hood.

A shaky, relieved sound.

“Good.”

Her hand settled briefly against my shoulder.

“On time.”

I thought that meant we were finished.

Then I heard the lock.

The cage closed around me again.

Still sensitive.

Still trembling.

Mistress secured it carefully.

The freedom had lasted less than a minute.

That was the lesson.

Not that I could come when I wanted.

That I could come when I was told.