NOvember Ambivalence

"Good morning, Goddess," he typed.

A moment later a response appeared. "Good morning, pet."

He smiled, then sent another message. "It's the 16th."

"Indeed," Ms. Morrigan replied. "And?"

"So, NOvember is half over."

"Hmmm."

The ambivalence of her response caused him to inhale sharply. He had been hoping for a "congratulations" or a "good boy."

After a too-long moment, another message appeared on his screen. "So, NoVEMBER is half over. NO-vember doesn't have to be."

He felt a cold spot inside his chest, even as he also felt the cage tightening around his genitals.

and she silently smiled in her own perverse way as she felt his anguish grow. She was indeed pleased.

On the first of November, he had started channeling his pent-up energy into carving little animals out of soap. At first it was just a lark, not really even necessary. Two or three days without an orgasm was nothing to even think about.

After about a week, he found himself challenging himself to start getting more intricate in his designs. Although, spending an hour on the task instead of fifteen minutes didn't distract him. Quite the opposite. Every minute, no matter how hard he concentrated on manipulating the soap and the little carving knife, he was only that much more aware that he was doing this instead of stroking himself, instead of experiencing the quick but intense pleasure of the male orgasm.

And now, halfway through the month, he had lined up his little sculptures, in three rows of five, on top of his dresser. His dresser, from which he had cleared off everything else, to make it into an altar to her. And his carvings were his offerings to the Goddess. Each one a little sacrifice, a carefully crafted commemoration of each of the fifteen days -- so far -- when he had surrendered his greatest pleasure to her. Fifteen days, out of his finite life, in which he had not cum, and now would never get back ... given to her for the pleasure she received from knowing he was denied.

He felt himself feeling thick but restrained inside his cage. But, in a sudden fit of inspiration, he got his phone and took a picture of his precious offerings on his Goddess' altar. He craved her approval, her assurance that his sacrifice was appreciated -- even more than he craved his long-denied orgasmic release. He sent the picture to her.

A minute passed. And then several. Then finally, blessedly, the little notification icon popped up on his phone. He opened her message.

"Very nice."

A pause.

"Which one are you again?"

It felt a little like a ballpeen hammer to the sternum. Not "who are you," but "which one." However, before he could even think about how to respond, yet a third message arrived.

"LOL."

He exhaled and shuddered. Of course she was just toying with him. Her ability to do that to him is why he adored, worshipped her. But, still. In the seconds between her second and third messages, his heart had nearly shattered.

And his cock had nearly split open his chastity device......the explanation coming up....