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."
