I Have an Idea

She had him on his knees on the floor while she sat on the edge of the bed. His face was buried between her legs and they were both moaning. She didn't know what he had to moan about, but he was doing good work. She'd thought about tying his hands behind him or insisting he keep them that way, but she needed his fingers inside her. She had that urge: to be filled. His fingers were good enough for now since his lips and tongue were doing such a deliciously good job on her clitoris, but she was getting to the point where she might need his cock.

She wondered how many condoms he would have to wear to manage it. Her giggle was cut short by yet another wave of lovely tension cascading up from some indefinable place inside her.

She draped her long legs over his shoulders, enjoying his large male hand on her ass. Now and then, she could glance down at him and see his eyes gazing up at her and it gave her a burst of pleasure.

She wasn't trying for an orgasm, and strangely that fact made it all so much hotter. She always felt such pressure when he was going down on her, even when he was inside her, because it was something he wanted. He wanted her to have an orgasm for him, to please him. Maybe it wasn't really that way, but it felt that way. Now, it was all turned around. It wasn't about what he wanted.

She got a little convulsion and moaned and he re-doubled his efforts, but one quick hand in his hair signaled him to slow down. She ordered him to withdraw his fingers and give her a long, slow licking. For the first time, he didn't ask if she'd cum. He obeyed, licking her, teasing her lips, slipping around her clitoris lazily, kissing and nibbling on her inner thighs. His arms wound under her legs and embraced her, his fingers digging deep into her ass. It was a nice feeling.

She closed her eyes and enjoyed the ride, guiding him now and then by his hair. She was not quite aware of how forcefully she was grabbing it, but some of his moans were from the pain. Idly, as she caught her breath and wallowed in the pleasure, she glanced down at him and then around the room, considering numbing cream and condoms.

Her eyes fell on her wet panties, wet with his saliva, sitting on her night table.

She pointed to them on a whim. "Maybe I should make you put those on."

He froze. "What?"

She grinned. "You heard me."

She didn't know why she'd ordered it. She'd read his comments on the Divine Tantra forum only a few days ago about cross-dressing. Some Dommes were discussing the devastating effect it had on their subs, crushing their egos, making them behave more submissively. While some subs enjoyed the feeling, even dressed completely in femme, Jim had commented that the idea didn't arouse him in the slightest. He had added though, "If she wanted me too, of course, I would."

His head was turned, his eyes fixated on the soft pink material.

"Well?" she asked. Her tone had gone hard again; it wasn't surprising her as much as it usually did.

He gave her one of his old Jim looks, the kind he used to give her when she suggested an idea he didn't like. "Really?"

She blinked and sat up. "Yes. Really."

He swallowed, feeling the ice getting thin beneath him. "Why?"

It stumped her. For a moment, she felt genuine shock. He was actually refusing to obey her or at least questioning her. He'd gone from utter submissive to rebellious boyfriend in a heartbeat. The heat flooded her face. He was ruining the game! He was--

She remembered her mentor's advice, her friend and advisor from the DT site, 'Don't ever get mad. Get stern, but speak quietly. Don't nag or yell or complain. Follow the plan. If he won't do what you ask, give him consequences and stick to it.'

She collected her thoughts, licked her lips and placed her hands on his face, cupping his cheeks. "Are you asking to be punished?"

His throat bobbed, his complexion ghostly white, his response as soft as a child's. "No."

"Aren't you? I've asked you to do something and you're questioning it."

He bowed his head. His cheeks colored. "I . . . I would rather do the punishment, I think."

She noted the term "Mistress" was suddenly absent from his vocabulary. She told herself not to get angry. She had been warned about such things, times when he would be reluctant. She wondered if what her friend told her was true: did he really want to be forced to do this?

'It's important to recognize a hurdle when you see one. He will throw up obstacles every now and then. What he truly wants in his heart is for you to be strong enough to help him overcome them.' It sounded so reasonable.

Ella hadn't been so certain. 'But . . . what if he really doesn't want to do it? What if it is really a sticking point, something that he hates?'

Her mentor, as always, had the answer. 'First, think about what you're telling him to do. Is it a big change? That might be something you two need to discuss later, but he still gets punished, no matter what. That's important! He still disobeyed you. But if it's some ridiculous thing, a silly thing, then what is his real objection?'

She brushed his hair with her fingers. The worry was plain on his face. "Punishment it is."

He bowed his head, obviously disappointed. She wasn't sure if he was unhappy with her or himself. "Yes, Mistress."

She smiled. It was wonderful to hear "Mistress" again. She was startled to discover how much she missed it when it was no longer there. In the old days before their little "game", she would've been very upset, pouty, cold, but now she had new tools, new goals. "You're a very bad boy today."

He nodded, sullen. "I'm sorry, Mistress. It just doesn't turn me on."

She lifted his head so she could see his eyes, so she could look down on him. "So you only obey me when it turns you on?"

He shook his head. "I--I didn't mean--"

She nodded. "I think I understand. Get on the bed. I'll be right back."

She noted that his cock was drooping. It picked up when she re-appeared in the doorway holding the rope.

"I'm being punished now, Mistress?" He was part apology, part hope.

"Shush." She noted that his cock was at full mast again. She smiled as she wrapped the rope around his wrists and tied each one off to a bed post. When she'd made the final knot, she straddled him and felt the butterflies churning again in the pit of her stomach. It was another "got'cha" moment.

He was helpless. It made her swoon with pleasure. He'd laid there and let her make him helpless. She reached for the panties, held them up so they could both take a look at them. While he blanched, she felt a heat in her face that made her sweat with desire. Was she really going to do this?

"I just want to see if I have this straight," she told him. His eyes were focused on the pink panties hanging delicately from her fingers. "You don't mind being naked and wearing a dog collar with your willy all locked up and me training you like a dog, but you do mind a little pink cloth?"

His eyes dropped. She noted his cock was pointy again. "I . . . I don't know. I'm just not into the whole . . . dressing like a girl thing."

She nodded, put her finger to her lips, pretending to consider it all, to mull it over, feigning deep concentration. "Hmm, I see. You're too manly to wear a girl's panties, even if your Mistress orders it."

He shrugged as best as his trussed up body would allow. "I don't mean it like that, not like something bad."

Ella spread the pretty pink panties neatly out across his chest and patted it, smiling. "So, being a girl isn't a bad thing?"

He shook his head, the hint of a grin starting on his lips. "No, Mistress."

He knew what she was planning. She knew he knew. It was a silent communication, and the erotic current that had been running through them all afternoon was humming along nicely once again, increasing in intense increments.

She snapped her fingers. "Pay attention."

With a start, he realized his eyes had drifted down to his chest, where the panties lay. He met her eyes and nodded, blinking. "Yes, Mistress."

She grinned. That grin was going to kill him, he knew. He was developing a love / hate relationship with that grin.

She stretched her body out beside him, her face close to his, her leg draped over his, her head propped up by her arm while she grinned, her eyes twinkling. "I wasn't going to tell you this, but I had an adventure planned. Your punishment is that the adventure is cancelled, but your real punishment is that I'm going to tell you what you'll be missing."

She ran her hand over his chest, enjoying the bumps of his muscles, of his rib cage, enjoying the broadness of his chest, the tickle of his chest hair on her fingers. She found the softness of his belly and the coarse hair surrounding his cock. His cock, which awaited her attention, was the key to him, she'd come to realize. She placed her finger in her mouth, made a show of wetting it, and placed her fingerprint on the underside of his cock, where it was most sensitive. She rubbed him there, softly, made slow circles and delighted at the big breath he took.

With a quiet, soft tone, just above a whisper, she spoke to him. She really did feel like a Goddess, casting a spell, seducing him. She wondered if he would break, and if so, how would long would he last.

"Do you know my friend from work? Christina?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"She's very attractive, isn't she?"

His throat bobbed. Trick question? "Not as attractive as you, Mistress."

Ella grinned and gave him a quick kiss. "But she is attractive. Red hair, petite, nice figure. You do find her attractive. I know you do."

He silently pursued his right, refusing to incriminate himself.

She chuckled. "She and I have become friends at work. We have lunch together often, talk about our lives, our boyfriends."

His throat bobbed again.

"Yes, Sweety, I talk about you. I didn't at first, but over the months she squirmed it out of me. She's fascinated by it. She's been having the usual boyfriend problems, you know? In the last few weeks I've told her quite a bit about what I've been doing to you."

He turned pale, looked guilty.

"She has expressed enough interest that I had planned on inviting her over for dinner one evening. I was uncertain, of course, but then I remembered that one of your fantasies was two women."

He remembered confessing to her under duress, her hand on his cock, his cock rock hard and straining, so on the edge of orgasm, so out of his mind. What couldn't come spilling out of his cock had come spilling out of his mouth, his latest fantasy. She was a woman who never forgot anything, who had obviously filed it away for later and was about to use it against him.

She made soft wet circles on the underside of his cock, slow and insistent, rhythmic and regular. It felt good, but he'd longed for the sensation of her mouth or her hand enveloping him. That was starting to change. As she spoke, the softness of her tone, the insidious images she was planting in his mind was starting to sensitize his cock to her finger. It was starting to vibrate and tingle all over as he struggled to get more pressure on his sweet spot, but failed.

That one finger was starting to drive him insane.

"Y-yes, Mistress."

"You told me all about it, how you thought about serving two women, being used by two women, bossed around by two Mistresses. I was going to make that fantasy come true."

He thrashed for a second, his wrists captured securely by the rope, then tried to settle himself. Her finger had lost his sweet spot for a moment, but found it again. He began to whimper like a lonely puppy, his heart racing.

"I was going to have her come over dressed to the nines." Ella laughed. "She wears the cutest outfits. Tight skirt, beautiful red pumps, light pink silky blouse, unbuttoned down to here. She has this lovely silver dragonfly necklace with matching ear rings. Red lipstick, of course, the reddest. I was going to have you meet her at the front door, kneeling, naked, with your cock all caged up, maybe with your leash attached. You would greet her. You would serve us drinks. Maybe I'd get you a little apron. Then dinner. You could kneel by me at the table while we talked, not part of the conversation. Girl talk. You would be there if we needed anything, solely as a servant we ignore."

She collected the glaze oozing from the tip of his cock and spread its slippery goodness up and down the length of his erection, gradually returning to her insistent circles beneath the head of his cock.

He was shocked to discover his eyes watering, and he couldn't dry them. His cheeks were wet with tears. He couldn't seem to catch a breath. He couldn't seem to catch a thought. His world had suddenly become her voice and the motion of her finger. 'What is she doing to me?'

"Then," she continued in her soft voice, "after dinner, I could show her how well you've learned to heel. How well trained you are. Beg. Sit. Heel. Maybe I'd let her take your leash for a bit, show her how well I've conditioned you to do anything I ask."

The head of his cock buzzed and tingled, his balls tight. He felt the fullness of orgasm, but no orgasm. He thrashed again on the bed, mindless, crying softly, biting his lip.

When he was done, she against placed her finger on his sweet spot and began her slow, maddening circles once again.

He could feel his desperation tightening the lines of his face. He wore the expression of someone in great pain, though he was in anything but. "Please, God, please, Mistress!"

"Please what?" Ella asked, grinning, her eyes bright and twinkling. "Please let you wear the panties?"

He parted his lips to speak, felt them part on their own, but at the last minute turned his head to the side and moaned miserably.

She was heady now, dizzy with power. For the first time, an idea that would've unfathomable a week ago popped into her head. 'I'm going to break him.'

She didn't feel like Ella and Jim anymore. She felt like Mistress and slave: Goddess and worshiper. She felt him as she felt herself, perfectly attuned, knowing what he was thinking, feeling, knowing his desperation. Empathy, perfect empathy. All of his buttons were bare, naked, available, and she was going to push them one at a time.

She wasn't planning; the plan was self-evident. She wasn't thinking. She was a raw nerve caressing his raw nerve. She knew without knowing how she knew, knew exactly what to do next. His button, the button that would break him to her will, was bold and red and presenting itself on a silver platter.

She was no longer grinning, smiling. Her expression was somber.

Her voice, however, remained soft and seductive.

"Then, Baby, one we're done with dinner. Once I've showed you off, you can offer her a foot massage like you do--"

He bit his lip and thrashed his head. "Please . . . no. . . ."

She kissed his neck and placed her lips next to his ear, her finger rubbing on his sweet spot, no longer in circles, but up and down, sometimes veering down underside of his cock, mostly concentrating on the spot that made him squirm.

"Do you remember how I conditioned you to love my feet?"

He couldn't speak; he nodded.

"You didn't like cleaning my shoes when I asked, just like you didn't like doing my laundry, but I fixed that, didn't I?"

He nodded again, his breath ragged, his hands cured into fists, his body tense.

"I just gave you a gentle cock massage and parked your cute nose in my shoe, made you breathe in the smell of my foot after a long day. You held the heel up to your nose and I gave you a little stroking, every day, day after day. And every other day or so I'd test you, not stroke you at all at first. I'd just have you smell the inside of my shoe and see if your little willy obeyed. Then . . . one day . . . it did. Do you remember, Sweety? One day, I came home and you knew the routine. You knelt before the couch and took off my shoe, and your little willy got hard all by itself. I didn't stroke you so much after that, then barely at all after a few times. After that, you couldn't wait to clean my shoes. Clean, buff and polish, getting a long last breath of them before you cleaned the insides."

He thrashed, then stopped, then thrashed again, then stopped again. He was past words. He could barely breathe. His face naked with need.

"When Christina is here, I'll see if you like her feet, have you clean her shoes for her, give her pretty feet a massage. Maybe I'll even have you paint her toe nails for her. You've gotten quite good at it. Then you can smell her shoes, her sweaty feet. Do you think they'll smell different? Do you think if we blindfolded, you'd be able to tell the difference?"

He whimpered quietly, his bottom bouncing on the bed for a few seconds.

She returned to rubbing his sweet spot.

"Jim," she called, and his head rolled until his eyes caught hers. She felt like she was going to feint. His expression was driving her crazy. She had him, had him in the worst way, in the deepest way. He was hers. Totally. In body. In mind. In spirit. He was hers.

"Are you my good boy?" she whispered. It was soft, she wasn't sure he could even hear it.

He nodded, adding weakly, "Yes, Mistress."

"Will you do anything I ask?"

He bit his lip, squeezed his eyes shut, but nodded. He knew what was coming.

She grinned, collected the panties from his chest and held them up before his eyes.

There was a moment when she thought she might have to work on him some more, though she was out of ideas. Something would present itself, she knew, but she wasn't sure if giving the poor boy a stroke was worth it. Then, his face fell. The tension left it and his eyes flooded, not with pleasure, desperation or need, but with utter compliance.

"Yes, Mistress."