I Have an Idea

Ella texted her mentor. 'I can't get past the guilt.'

Her mentor texted back. 'Why are you feeling guilty?'

'Because I'm manipulating him, not letting him have any orgasms while I have more than ever. Because I'm hurting him and liking it. Because I'm afraid he's going to wake up one day and hate me for changing his life so much. He's not the same guy I--'

'Stop.'

Ella recoiled at the order. She sipped her wine and waited for her friend to continue. When she didn't, she typed, 'Am I supposed to be okay with this?'

She got a smiley face. 'He's ready. You're not.'

'What does that mean?'

'It means,' her friend explained, 'your boyfriend has made his peace with being controlled by you. You feel guilty because there's some part of you that worries what people will think, that it's not normal, that's it's weird and kinky and abnormal.'

She ran the flat of her finger around the rim of her glass, then typed back: 'Yes. That's true.'

'Then stop. If you don't like it, if you don't want to do it, don't. Just stop.'

Ella's heart sank. 'I can't.'

'Can't or don't want to?'

'I'm afraid we'll break up if we go back to the way we were.'

'Saved by kink, hm?'

Ella didn't want to laugh, but she did, then she felt guilty about that, too. 'I'm all messed up, aren't I?'

Her friend gave her a big LOL. 'I hate to break it to you, Sweety, but that's not so special. We're all messed up. Let me tell you a story.'

'Okay.' Ella relaxed back in her chair.

'I didn't have an orgasm until I was 22. 22!!! And I only had it because I was drunk and doing it with a guy that picked me up at a party and I was feeling like such a slut. But what made me have the orgasm was I was just drunk enough to really let go, and then I realized I loved feeling slutty. I wanted to feel slutty. I didn't want the reputation of being a slut, but I wanted to be the total slut that all boyfriends and husbands want their girls to be. We're the ones that get it all mixed up. We believe the hype that we're supposed to be virginal and innocent forever, that our sex is some gift. Gift means it's something we give away and never get back. We miss out on so much until we finally surrender to our desires with a good lover, then we kick ourselves for not having figured it out sooner.'

Ella typed: 'Lol, that's pretty messed up.'

'Once, when I was thirty and relaxing with my husband, he started pinching my nipples and playing rough with my breasts. I never was very sensitive in my breasts, but this started to turn me on. REALLY turn me on. The more he mangled my poor breasts, the hotter I got. It was crazy. I couldn't understand it. I probably spent a month wondering what was wrong with me, then I decided the only thing wrong with me was that I was 30 and still didn't know what turned me on. That . . . that was the true sin.'

'You're trying to make me feel okay with all of this?' Ella wondered.

'I'm trying to inform you that to be abnormal, you'd have to be different than everyone else, and even if you are abnormal, well, then that's who you are. The sooner you make peace with yourself, the sooner you can really enjoy your amazingly hot sex life.'

'Okay,' Ella replied. 'So, how do I get past the guilty feelings?'

'You want the secret?'

'Yes.'

'You're not going to like it.'

Ella was getting irritated. 'That's okay.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes!!'

'Okay,' her friend typed. 'Here it is. Ready?'

Ella laughed and cursed as she typed, 'YES!!'

'You just do.'

* * *

She drank wine. She thought about her friend feeling like a slut and liking the sensation. Good sex, it seemed, was all about letting go. Why was it so hard to let go?

She put Jim in the corner, giggled at his forlorn expression. He asked quietly what he'd done wrong. She sipped her wine and smiled, replying, "Nothing, Baby. I just want you there."

He knelt in his spot, pressing his nose to the tape she'd stuck to the wall, arms behind him, one hand grabbing the other wrist, his naked butt all shiny and beautiful. She sipped her wine and let her eyes roam over his body, the thick neck, the broad shoulders, the muscles of his back, his white ass and strong thighs. "My man meat," she thought to herself and giggled. She sipped her wine and picked up the remote, cranking up the stereo, feeling her buzz taking hold, making her feel wild, making her feel like taking risks.

She was losing her inhibitions. On purpose. Tonight was the night she made peace with herself. She sipped her wine and sang to her favorite song, danced over to him, ran her fingers through his hair. She thought to herself, "Tonight, I'll do whatever I feel like. Tonight, I'll fuck him or make him fuck me. Tonight, I'll be a slut."

She slipped off her panties and placed them on his head, giggling. She snatched her panties up in a hurry and leaned over him, letting her silky chemise brush against his back, kissing his neck, feeling him shudder. He turned his head and she planted a kiss on his lips. She tasted like wine. She parted his lips with her own and found his tongue. Their tongues did the waltz in their mouths, slow and soft, the way she liked; she was leading. She'd never appreciated tongue kisses before, but perhaps that was because he considered it an Olympic sport. For the first time, she was kissing him and being kissed the way she wanted to be kissed.

When she was done, she crumpled up her panties and pushed the wet wad into his mouth, then ran giggling to the bed, leaping into it.

"Now," she ordered, still giggling, "you be a good boy and stay right there while I play. Do you understand, Slave Boy?"

"Ym, Mmstrss."

She sipped her wine and opened her bedside drawer, seizing the little pink vibrator that she had fallen in love with back in college. She held it up before her and cranked it on full power, giggling at Jim, wondering what he must be thinking.

Was it her imagination or was he groaning? His cock cage was filling up again, she was sure of it.

She laid back on the bed, nestled in, made a nest among the covers, propped her legs up and open, and spent a few minutes rubbing herself, warming up. She tried pinching her nipples, giving her breasts a little rough massage. Her friend was right; it DID feel good.

In another few minutes she had her little pink vibrator just above her clitoris, not daring enough to apply it directly, just teasing herself, but doing an amazing job of it. She wasn't just wet, she was flooding, soaking the bed. She glanced over at Jim, so stiff, so male, so obedient. She panted, "Don't you . . don't you wish this was . . you?"

His whisper was soft and desperate. "Yes."

She risked it, put the tip of the vibrator right on her clitoris, making circles. "But," she panted, "it's not, is it?"

His reply was equally desperate. "Nm, Mstrss."

She squirmed and moaned, probably a little louder than she needed to, because she felt like it, because she was making her peace with his pain, with his denial, with his need, and her own. "Why," she panted, "why are you . . . in that corner . . . instead of fucking me?"

He whimpered; she could hear it. "Becm, ym pt mm hm, Mmstrss."

He wanted her. Wanting her was becoming an every day hum in his body, no longer a special event, but a normal intense background. He forced his mind away from imagining her body, all limber and female, her smooth, soft skin stretched out before him. The metal cage around his cock controlled him, re-purposed his mind elsewhere, not on sex, not on her beautiful body, but anyplace that wouldn't arouse him. Pain had enormous power to change one's thoughts, he realized, even when it was a small nagging pinch.

His mind had found other places to go, places that startled him. He thought about her, her thoughts, her desires, what she needed, what she wanted. He thought about her happiness. Inevitably, because he was a man with male hormones and a man's needs, he couldn't stop his brain from turning back to serving her. That need had deepened in an alarming way over the last few months.

Had she done that on purpose? Was he now being the man she wanted him to be? He had no complaints. It was hard to feel you were missing out on life when you came home and saw the smile and blush of love in her eyes. That filled him in a way nothing else in his life had and reinforced his deep, unabiding desire to give her whatever she wanted. It also reinforced his desire to do whatever she said, which was the more insidious and exciting of the two.

She laughed and watched his body sag. Even to her own ears, it sounded . . . unsympathetic. No, she decided, it sounded cruel. "Are you my good boy?"

Hopeful now. "Ym, Mstrss."

She felt herself twitch with pleasure, feeling a new wave of erotic tension building. She hummed, purred, caught her breath and ordered him. "Come here."

He scrambled, the metal of his cock cage biting into the flesh of his cock. It was instant erection when he saw her, laid back in bed, propped up by pillows, legs wide open. He moaned with pain and desire the moment he laid eyes on the gleaming moisture coating her swollen lips. The words, "I can't stand this" ran through his head. It was too much. She was too sexy.

He knelt and was ashamed of the very real whimper that left him. He could feel the tension on his face. There was pain in his eyes. The pain of his cock trapped and squeezed by metal and the pain of excruciating, unending desire.

She removed the wad of panties from his mouth. "Yes?"

He nearly cried. "Please, Mistress."

She prolonged it until he was sure he would go mad, running her hands through his hair, combing it with her fingers, feeling lazy and drunk and sexy. How could she not feel like a supermodel when she saw that look his eyes? How could she not feel like a porn queen? A Goddess? It was the look of a man with utter sincerity. It was the look that said, "I will do anything you ask if you'll only let me touch you."

"What do you want, Slave Boy?" She grinned, let out a little giggle.

The thoughts ran through his head: I want to touch you; I want to fuck you; I want to devour you; I want to be devoured by you. So many choices. He opened his mouth and let the first words that popped into his mind come flowing out his lips. "I want to please you, Mistress."

She laid back and moaned. "But it's not about what you want, is it?"

The tension in his face increased. His heart was going to burst. He felt nauseous. The butterflies were churning. Yet, somehow it all added up to the agony of desire and arousal. It shouldn't feel good, the pain of need, but it did. "No, Mistress."

Her grin was lazy. The pleasure glazed her eyes and made him fall in love with her and her body again and again. "Fortunately, that's what I want, too."

Now he was Pavlov's dog, mouth salivating, fingers tingling, cock crying, a terrible mixture of wonderful pains and pleasures, waiting for her to give the "go" command. She hadn't touched him, hadn't spoken more than a few words, but he was utterly focused on her. She loomed as large as the world. She was all he could think about. He stared at her, tense and anxious, and waited with absolutely no patience, but no choice either.

She bit her lip and smiled and rolled over. Her ass made him weep with desire."Please, Mistress Ella!"

She tossed her long brown hair to the side and saw the priceless expression on his face. With a start, she realized she was hurting him, but she hadn't touched him. He was hurting solely from the need alone, the need to touch her. "Go get my purse."

His eyes brightened like a toddler tasting ice cream for the first time. Her purse was where she kept the key to his chastity device.

He scrambled and retrieved her bag, half thinking he should hold it with the straps through his teeth. She collected it, sat up and bed and rummaged through it. "I can never find anything in here." She grinned at him and watched a flush of heat spread out across his face. She stopped moving her hand, gave him a surprised expression, and giggled. "Oh! What is this?"

She dangled the key before him. He licked his lips.

She grinned. "Time to let out the monster."

It took them a few minutes. His cock was not cooperating. It was almost as if it didn't want to come out. When they finally managed it, she giggled. It popped up like a flag, nice and strong and happy.

She ran her fingers around his face, letting them slip beneath his jaw, down his neck, enjoying the thick tendons that connected to his collar bone. She let her fingers wander down over his chest, flicking a nipple and watching the reacion cascade down his body. She could do anything she wanted with him. He was her little Ken doll. She wondered why she hadn't though of that before. She had not been dressing him. She made up her mind that he would start wearing the kinds of clothes she wanted him to wear.

She sipped her wine and pulled him on to the bed. She had him sit on the edge, good posture, back straight, arms behind him, then she slipped to her knees.

He blinked with shock. "M-mistress?"

She gazed up at him and his heart began to thud. A heavy pulse began to run through him. Her eyes peering up at him, slightly drunk and full of mischief, she whispered, "I want to play with my toy."

Why did she have to call it a toy? He felt his mind rush to another place, a place where he could no longer think or reason, a place where he was one raw nerve being caressed with the softest silk. She was soft. He was hard. The contrast was maddening, yet she was in control, controlling his hard male her body with her soft one. It made no sense, but it was so clear and right.

She wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, wet her lips and applied the tip of his penis as if it were a bold new lipstick. She moaned and peered up at him again.

Jim was no longer there; he was gone, far, far away, overwhelmed by pleasure.

She giggled to herself. She might actually breaking him with pleasure.

He didn't just moan; he gasped, and it was loud. It echoed off the ceiling, bounced back at them. He felt her mouth like a wet furnace envelop his cock. "OH . . . GOD!"

She began to stroke him and already the tip was glazed and leaking. A long drip left him and landed on her knee. "Does that feel good, Baby?" She knew the answer, but she liked asking it. She wanted to see if she'd driven him past the point of speech yet.

When he finally pried his eyes open, he gazed down at her, seeing her face, so pretty, her eyes so big and beautiful, and all of a sudden a wave of tears began to trickle down his face. He nodded.

"I have an idea," she said.

He shook his head, the sensation of her hand on his pulsing cock too much for him stand.

"I thought of it when were training you." She drove her mouth onto his cock and withdrew it slowly, letting her lips caress its length. When she was done, she smacked her lips and started to stroke him wit her hand, whipping it away the moment she sensed his imminent orgasm.

His cock twitched once, twice, then a third time to a lesser degree, then let out a long stream. She giggled and watched it as he thrashed his head back and forth, his body tense, his hips helplessly thrusting his cock out into the air between them.

He groaned with misery and delight.

When she was certain it was safe, she wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock again, marveling at how hot it had become.

"Don't you want to know what it is?" she teased.

His lips parted, his jaw dropped, worked a little, but he couldn't manage a sound.

She gave his cock a long stroke with her wet hand. His cock was sloppy with cum and saliva. "I thought, why just train you so formally. You should be trained to show me your devotion whenever and wherever I want."

He nodded and kept nodding. She wasn't sure if he was still listening, but she continued anyway. She gave his cock another long, wet stroke with her mouth, watching for the telltale signs of an orgasm. "From now, Honey, no matter where we are, no matter when, when I snap my fingers, I'd like to see you on your knees."

He groaned. Wherever? Whenever? Did she mean . . . in public?

She kissed the tip of his cock, put her wet mouth just over the tip and peered up at him. His face was naked. He was so easy to read these days. She had never been sure what was on his mind before their little game. Now, she felt like she had the blueprints.

She stood and gave him a kiss. She tasted like his cum, which he would never have permitted before submitting to her. He didn't want to taste himself. Now, it was a new taboo, a new level of pleasure. Their tongues did another waltz with her leading the dance. He got the full flavor of himself in her mouth, getting a whiff of it on her breath. His heart and hard-on blossomed to a powerful euphoric mixture of love and lust.

"Do you understand, Jim?"

Without hesitation, he said that he did.