Ready. Set. Go!

Before going out on a date, Jill liked to unlock her sissy cuckold's chastity cage and play a little dice game. Sissy rolled a die, then rolled it again. The numbers then represented how many seconds sissy had to play with her sissy clit and make herself cum. Once her time was up, it was back into the chastity cage, whether she made herself squirt or not.

And squirting was rare. Very rare.

See, Jill unlocked the cage, but would not let sissy remove it until her time started, so she always started with a flaccid clit, meaning anything less than thirty seconds was NEVER enough.

Tonight, sissy was lucky, very lucky. She rolled a 4 and a 6, giving her forty-six long seconds to reach an orgasm.

"Ready, sweetie," Jill asked, looking at her watch. "Set," she looked up at her sissy, to make sure she wasn't touching herself early. "Go!"

The second Jill spoke the word 'Go' sissy reached for the unlocked padlock, fumbling to remove it so she could remove the cage. Sissy was particularly excited today, she had not cum in six weeks and knew that forty-six seconds could be, should be, enough time. Barely, but enough.

Ironically, it was this knowledge, this eagerness, that was her downfall. Eager and excited, her boy clit was swollen, not erect, of course, impossible in the cage, but swollen to the edges of the hard plastic. The swelling made the cage tug against the lock, causing her to have trouble removing it. 

Second after second passed by.

"Thirty-eight seconds, sissy," Jill said when ten seconds passed, smirking watching her sissy struggle with the lock, wondering if there would be enough time. At thirty-five seconds, wasting thirteen precious seconds, the lock was off.

"Thirty seconds," she continued her countdown, just as sissy ripped the cage off, freeing her now fully soft boy clit, the pressure of the countdown ironically making her soft the second she should get hard (just as it made her hard when she should have been soft.)

The instant the cage was clear, she watched him start rubbing the tip of his boy clit with two fingers (two fingers, like any girl, all he was allowed to use).

"Twenty seconds." She watched him, watched his clit swell, slowly, too slow, knowing it would be close, knowing he needed at least fifteen seconds after he was hard to have ANY chance of cumming, knowing he knew it, too, and that would make it that much more difficult for him.

"Fifteen seconds," she said sternly. His clit was not quite there, not quite erect, close, close, but not fully. He was going to run out of time, she realized, suddenly elated. She much preferred the times he couldn't cum, preferred his attitude the next week, his desperation, his devotion to her. While she did not want to completely deny him, she wanted him to have the CHANCE to cum, she loved it when he couldn't. 

"Ten seconds, sissy," she began the countdown, sure now he would not finish. 

"Nine..." 

"Eight..."

"Seven..."

"Six..."

At six, he grunted, the grunt he should have made at ten seconds, the grunt that he was getting close, not there, but certainly close. All the better, she knew, for him to have a fighting chance to cum and lose it because of his own fumbling. Nine times out of ten, with forty-five seconds or more, he would cum, but not today, not today.

"Five..."

"Four..."

He knew it now, knew there wasn't enough time, knew he was going to have to stop in seconds, stop when he was close, so fucking close, so tantalizing close. This was the worst, the absolute worst...

"Three..."

The cage would be tight the rest of the night, the entire time his was was out on her date, he'd think of her with him, her with a man, and denied his own orgasm, he'd be wild with jealousy, envy, and lust.

"Two..."

"Please Jill," he rubbed furiously.

"One..."

"Please..."

"Stop."

Instantly, he removed his hand, knowing the consequences if he didn't. Not that it was easy, in fact, quite the opposite, stopping now, so close, so fucking close, was TERRIBLE.

Jill reached down to the floor, to where the cage had dropped, picked it up, handed it to him wordlessly. 

The looks on their faces said everything. His of crushed hopes, hers of smug satisfaction.