You're utterly helpless now.

The conference was an amazing success. Several deals came in during the following weeks, earning you praise from the higher-ups at the company. Months pass. Each day, you hear the familiar click of her harness and the snap of the lube bottle before the familiar tip of the strap-on presses against you. The grip of her hand tightly around your cock, the punishingly brutal assfucking she gives you, becomes a familiar routine every morning and every afternoon. But over time, it changes, bit by bit.

She teases you. Every time you get close, her strokes slow, her grip loosens, and her thumb presses against the slit of your cock. She keeps you there, on the edge, for what feels like forever. You whimper with the pain of your denial, and cruelly, she demands that you beg for release. And every time you beg - gasping and desperate - she increases her pace, pounding you with a force that shakes the desk beneath you. But inevitably, she slows, to the point where she practically tortures your throbbing cock and aching balls.

And when she finally allows it - when she gives the command to cum - her strap-on pulls out of you, and her hand releases your cock, leaving you empty and aching, hard and unsatisfied. Instead of the explosive release you desire, it's a pathetic, pitiful dribble - your cock twitching as a few sad drops of semen spill onto the desk. Your body trembles, not with pleasure, but with shame and desperation.