Well, yesterday, it was almost a month since I had allowed bitch-boy to spurt and if he did not get to spurt yesterday, for various reasons it would be at least another week before I would be at home to facilitate a spurting.
9 November 2019 My concern over his prostate health meant I really wanted his spurting to be yesterday, BUT, I had a minor injury and having him spurt under the sole of my shoes was not possible. But I had not used my hands since the 4th March and I had no intention of him having that pleasure after being denied it for so long. All his spurts since then had been under the sole of my shoe. I was not going to let him touch himself, or for instance fuck the gap between my boots as I stood with legs together. No touching, no thrusting (like a man) ever! And always bound and gagged.
I had a brainwave. A little tool I’ve had for three years.
After a thorough dicki-discipline session with the ruler that went on for rather a long time and did mean the nasty rock hard birth defect was all sore and red, I squeezed the brush end together so it gripped nicely and, to the sound of miserable panicky whimpering and squealing, I pulled the brush down over the sensitive head and to the sore shaft and began to wank the object.
What was most amusing was the squealing turning to heavy breathing after a few minutes, but sprinkled with squealing too. And then he spurted. And as soon as the euphoria was over there was much whimpering and sobbing coming through the gag. Sexual release, but degradation and terrible soreness. Poor puppet.