Just More Denial With Claire

I had been naked, a pillow tented under my crotch, writhing on Claire’s low futon, Enya playing on her stereo, candlelight tickling the high walls and my girlfriend sitting in yet another creative piece of lingerie in a chair pulled up to the side of the couch, many a time. But what the curly-haired queen-of-all-my-sub-screams told me this Sunday evening starred a whole new cast of characters and two this time, not just one. That the pair Claire had just dommed, a gay male couple both men in their late 20s, had been strangers to her only a week before, both sporting fantastic cocks, was surely hot. But denying the men in the specific, evil sexual way as she had…man, if I had ever wanted to come before in Claire’s presence I really did so then!
I wouldn’t though.
The busty raven-haired beauty sitting next to me was the resident sexual predator in our three-by-eight-mile Pennsylvania town (and I mean that in the best way possible). Like me, Claire was resolutely bisexual, but unlike me, she was a stone-cold dom…although she had told me once about a skinny young black girl she had dated who had a thing for single-tail whips and would slice at Claire’s wide bottom so often that Claire became as scared for that attention as she had loved it. But generally, it was known in our little tri-lakeside ‘burb that Claire would entertain men, women—or anyone how they identified—couples, etc. demanding the dom role, even if the people she was with were not kinky.
In other words, Claire ran her fuck as much as she ran anything else she did sexually.
Once we realized (or more precisely I finally admitted after months of us rubbing and making out) that what I most wanted was for Claire to talk to me while I lay under her naked and writhing, she took to our twice-monthly meet-ups like an edging master. Denying me any sexual stimulation beyond some French kissing when I came through her condo door, she’d watch me strip, turn me, land a few swats on my skinny little ass, then have me lie on a pillow she always left for me dead center of her low couch while she unbudded from her robe to yet again flash me her voluptuous just enough to make me crazy. As the one who always led her sexual liaisons, Claire was well versed in all forms of prolonging her partner’s orgasm or denying them. Still, she had admitted never yet finding a partner like me who could keep herself from coming every time we got together no matter how incredibly close I piston myself as she talked to me, or how deeply and loud Claire clutched her big tits or diddled her clitty as I watched.
Ever since I could remember, I had been metering my masturbation. I don’t know exactly when this self-denial began. But after a rather unfulfilling six months fucking Jack Letting senior year of high school, where he’d fit his thicker-than- most dick up me, push for a good two minutes then come a fount into his condom, I really felt disconnected to what was happening to me down there. Sure, I diddled plenty before I met Jack—and way too much during—but just about as Jack and I broke up I came (pardon the pun) to want orgasms less than I did the run-up tease to them. I came to crave the pleasure I seemed to coddle staving them off and found a good few weeks’ denials made my eventual release mind-blowing, deep, and multiple. Not many lovers understood this, especially as the men (more boys really) and the women I was wanted friction at all costs and as an afterthought took it as a badge of honor to get me off. Sure, I certainly enjoyed all the rubbing, playing, pussy-wetting, insertions, and getting my partners to come (I was especially fond of blowjobs).
But more and more I faked coming or simply rolled away when I was getting all too close.
The ‘boys,’ as Claire called the two twenty-nine-year-olds she had just visited for the first time a week before, had been lovers for two years, were dyed-in-the-leather gay men, but had heard of Claire’s reputation, and had always been of a mind to be dominated by a woman. That Claire had had the forethought only after meeting the pair at our local Starbucks to suggest they both purchase cock cages, was the first morsel of the story that got me humping. What she did to the guys when they finally met them, making each fit a cage on their dicks, then taking each cock cage lock’s key, got me very close to coming when she admitted it. Her giggling over the fact that the guys had texted her every day since was what I was suffering through right then as Claire scooted forward and again slapped my ass.
“I…I never heard, never heard you deny someone else,” I squealed my chin turned into her couch’s arm so I could watch every movement of her shelf-of-alabaster tits as she shimmed in her corset to slap me again.
“Yes, you have, yes you have,” she giggled, straightening back up in her chair.
Indeed, I had, she was right. Claire had admitted that it had been my influence that saw her domming her partners lately by making denial a centerpiece of her play. In some cases, as with her recent encounter with ‘the boys,’ denial became the only reason for their meet-up. I loved how much I was seeping into her naughty times beyond the times we were together. I wondered how deep her chastity with her new finds would go…could she ever suggest it to me? Would I want it?
“It’s just, it’s just…”
“But this time is just so hot, right? Gay guys, nice big cocks. Caged. Suffering. Me holding keys like I never have. I really feel like the number one dom now, I can tell you. This is going to wear out every vibrator I have.”
I laughed with her despite how close I was, how much my cunt was aching, how much I wanted to turn over and ask her to slap my pussy and get me off. Part of Claire’s tease, the danger about her overall, was that we both knew with a mere snap of her fingers (or anything else) she could make me come if she ordered it. And we both knew, how incredibly deep an orgasm I would have if she did, while I’d be gripped with regret over doing so.
Christ, what a combination of feelings to work through at the ripe old age of thirty-three. 
“If I can keep all three of you spinning for a while,” the high-hipped woman at my side said, scooted back in her chair, and unsnapped her underwire bra from the oh-so-naughty snap at its front.
Claire’s big alabaster D-cups came spilling forth, her rock-hard nipples already jutting far out from her big light pink areolas. I really began smacking my crotch then as she lifted first her right tit, suckled it, then let it go to do the same with her left. Spreading her legs to give me the full view of the front of her lacy red panties, I wasn’t surprised when she then thrust both hands into her crotch and began riding the backs of her tented hands.
“Could…could you hold out for another two weeks, do you think?”
Two weeks more would make it a full month of not coming, and a full month was pretty much my sweet spot, a period I had trained well for.
“Yaa, yeah.”
“I know it’s cruel for their first time,” Claire continued her big brown eyes wide as she humped even more forward onto the back of her knuckles. “But if I can keep them caged that long for the first time, that’ll make the point plain of who they are dealing with.”
“Sounds good to me,” I sighed, clutching my cheeks as I saw the recognition of both Claire’s desire to elongate all of our denial as well as her stare land on my ass.
I smiled into the couch’s pillow and clutched my cheeks just for good measure.