Partner-Swapped Estim: Part Three – The Competition

He was panting now, chest rising and falling against the leather strap, cock straining and wet, every twitch magnified by the electrode locked around him.

The Domme at the controls stood and gestured to her partner. “Your turn. Let’s see how quickly you can make him beg.”

Her counterpart slid into place with a wicked smile, fingertips brushing across the dials like she already owned him. She twisted Channel B first, ramping up the deep contractions in his ass until his thighs trembled and his hips lurched forward. Then she flicked Channel A into a fluttering burst — short, sharp pulses crackling across the head of his cock in a maddening staccato.

The effect was instant. His moan tore out raw, half-pleasure, half-panic. The precum that had been dripping now slicked down his shaft, a clear sheen under the dungeon’s low light.

“Look at him,” she taunted. “Already so close.” She leaned down, her lips grazing his ear. “I could tip you over in seconds if I wanted.”

Her partner chuckled and tapped the strap across his chest. “Don’t you dare. Not until I’ve had my turn.”

The box beeped softly as the control was swapped again. The first Domme dialled the frequency low, drawing out each pulse into a grinding, drawn-out clamp around his cockhead. It wasn’t fast — it was relentless, like invisible fingers squeezing and holding until his toes curled against the straps.

His face twisted, jaw tight. He was teetering. They both knew it.

“Edge,” she commanded, twisting the dial higher just at the last second. The surging current sent him over, his body stiffening as he groaned. But just before release could crest, she dropped the intensity back, holding him cruelly at the brink, cock drooling but orgasm denied.

He sagged back against the chair, gasping.

“Not bad,” the other Domme said, slipping in to retake the controls. “But I can do better.”

This time the assault was merciless — alternating patterns, sharp spikes on Channel A that made his cock jump, followed by deep rolling contractions on Channel B that milked him like a clenched fist. She rode the dials like an artist, dragging him to the edge again in half the time.

His voice cracked as he begged incoherently, thighs trembling, every muscle screaming to release.

But again, just at the brink, the current dropped. He howled with frustration, head tossing against the chair.

The Dommes exchanged a satisfied glance.

“Two edges,” one counted aloud. “And we’ve barely started competing.”

“Let’s see how many he can take before he breaks,” the other replied, already turning the dials back up.

The game had begun.