Jerk Off Instructions: Smoke and Surrender

Jerk Off Instructions: Smoke and Surrender

The only thing he knew to expect that night was jerk off instructions. I sat back in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, the faint glow of my cigarette lighting my face as the first curl of smoke drifted lazily upward. The room felt heavy, filled with the faint sweetness of tobacco, yet beneath it pulsed something darker and hotter. On the floor in front of me, kneeling like the obedient creature he was, my submissive waited with his eyes lowered. His cock was already hard, aching, a silent confession of how much he craved what I would do to him.

I inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in my lungs, savoring the moment before exhaling a thin stream that floated toward him. I tapped the ash into the tray and began to speak the jerk off instructions. His hand wrapped around himself and began to move, slow at first, deliberate, exactly as I liked. Breath came sharp and uneven. His cock twitched violently against his fist. I tilted my head and gave a quiet command to slow down. He obeyed instantly, trembling from the effort of restraint.

I knew every second felt like fire for him, the longer the jerk off instructions denied him.

I shifted in the chair, crossing my legs the other way, watching the sweat bead across his chest. The smoke from my cigarette curled lazily around his face, clinging to his hair, sinking into his skin. I could see him twitch as I blew another stream directly at him, as if I were marking him with every drag. Soon, his rhythm grew sloppy again, too eager, too desperate. I corrected him by ordering him to stop. His cock throbbed visibly in his hand, the head flushed red and wet, leaking with need.

His mouth fell open as he gasped, holding perfectly still as commanded. I let the moment stretch endlessly, savoring the sight of him squirming inside his own body, denied at the edge. Then I let him begin again. Each time I did, his movements became more frantic, more pleading. He stroked faster, gritting his teeth, shaking from the tension. I stopped him again, cruel and merciless, right when he was about to tip over.

His moan filled the room, low and broken, a sound that made me smile as he obeyed my jerk off instructions.

I ruined him repeatedly with the jerk off instructions. I let him climb, then yanked him back down with a single command. His balls tightened painfully, his whole body jerking, yet still I denied him. The sweat poured from his forehead, his arms shook from holding himself steady, his thighs trembled uncontrollably. Every ruined orgasm drained him, yet somehow filled him with more need. By the time I reached the end of my cigarette, he was destroyed. His cock was swollen, angry, red, and dripping, his hand slick with his own frustration.

His chest heaved as if he had run miles, yet all he had done was obey my jerk off instructions. I blew the final exhale of smoke into his face, leaned forward, and told him to stroke one last time. This time, I let him go until he was just seconds away from bursting. His back arched, his hips bucked helplessly, his cock ready to erupt. Then, with a smile, I ordered him to stop. He froze, whimpering like a wounded animal, his orgasm ripped away before it could arrive. His body sagged, broken, his cock still twitching violently but utterly denied.

The ruin via my jerk off instructions were complete.

I stubbed out my cigarette slowly, letting the silence stretch. He knelt there, trembling, ruined after my jerk off instructions. I lifted my heel under his chin, forcing him to look at me. His eyes were glassy with desperation, yet they glowed with devotion. He was mine, body and soul, wrecked by nothing more than my voice, my smoke, and my refusal.

I whispered that he would not be getting a corner of pleasure, that his ache would follow him into his sleep, haunting him with every twitch. Tomorrow he would beg me again, harder than before, dressed as my sexy maid. He knew it. I knew it. And that was the sweetest part of all.

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