It's only been a few short weeks since you took ownership of your cock, and already I have trouble remembering why I ever thought that being in control of touching it, stroking it and making it come was a good thing.
This morning, when I woke up, your cock was rock hard and aching desperately to be touched. I wanted to run my fingers over the whole length of it, and stroke it gently at first and ever quicker and harder until I exploded all over my hand, spent and drained. I wanted to feel the delicious rise to the edge and heartstopping plunge over it.
But your instructions were clear, and did not brook argument. I was not allowed, not yet. As much as your cock ached to be stroked, my entire body ached to obey your commands and deny myself the pleasure until you gave permission.
That's what it comes down to; the control I have you, that you took so happily. The control over your cock and what happens to it, and when. I always knew I wanted to give it up to someone, but it always comes as a shock to me how deeply and desperately I do until it happens. Many crave the rush of orgasm and the sweet caress of sex in all forms, and while I do as well those feelings pale when compared to my need of not being in charge of my own sexual pleasure. The feelings that rush through me when I ask for permission to touch your cock are indescribable, and never depend on your answer. It is not the act of touching, or stroking, or coming that get me off. It is the act of asking to touch, stroke and come, and submitting to your answer, whatever it may be, that does.
Your cock exists to bring you joy, and to torment and tease me with delicious anticipation. My orgasms are yours, to do with as you please, and I would not have it any other way.
My only regret is that I do not have a cage for it yet, so that you could hold the key.