Cobb Gherkin walked slowly through the lobby of the PainCafe's Hotel. He paused, breathing through his nose.
Would he get lucky this afternoon? Ivy had intimated last week that the law of averages was moving his way, though of course she was no mathematician.
Last week Ivy had smiled her full lips on his desolate face as she'd locked him up after his forty-five minutes of teasing and torture.
"You're too focused on the results, Cobb. Be happy with the experience."
But he wanted the EXPERIENCE of cumming. It had been 38 days—over a month, since he'd had sevens.
Cobb had looked it up on Yahoo! Answers. According to Yahoo, there was "6/36=1/6 chance of a 7 being rolled. If it has a 1/6 chance of being rolled, it will happen, on average, on the 6th roll."
But Cobb had been seeing Ivy once a week for twenty-two months, and he'd cum, so far seventeen times. Seventeen times out of like, 105 weeks.
As he got on the elevator, he thought of the benefits of this plan, though...chastity was good for him.
He was more focused at work (Cobb was General Manager at Buttermilk Falls Tire & Muffler Fair) and he had a meaningful relationship with a Christian girl, who he could date for long periods of time without pressuring her for sex!
As Cobb approached the door, he tried to focus on the last time he'd gotten sevens, and the pleasure he'd gotten when Ivy had allowed him to cum, humiliatingly, by rubbing his dick on her carpet with his hands cuffed...
The aftermath, being forced to suck up his scum, hadn't been pleasant, but it had been 96 days before THAT , when he'd gotten sevens, and so what a relief it had been!
God, Cobb's dick hurt. Cobb remembered when Ivy and her um, friend Wishbone had taken him for his fitting downstairs in the PainCafe's Dungeonopolis Gift Shop, almost two years before.
He'd fantasized for years about chastity, but the reality was SO much more painful.
He'd had to put aside money, and really work hard for commissions, to come up with five hundred bucks for each visit.
But hey, his hard work had had rewards! He'd gone from a pothead stoner sales associate to now being GM of the whole Tire and Muffler Fair, and was making seventy grand a year.
People often asked why Cobb lived in a rented room in a group house—a SMALL rented room, and why he had no car, just a ten-speed.
He couldn't explain Ivy and how expensive she was, so he told people he had a widowed mother to support. This got him even more Christian girlfriends that he couldn't have sex with!
Inside Ivy's suite, the six foot blonde was counting her money as Noah Touriel tearfully dressed.
Ivy Bornfeld smiled and sighed slightly, and Noah cheered a bit, watching her bosom heave in the frilly camisole blouse.
"Don't be upset, Noah. Four isn't as bad as six, you know..."
But four was pretty bad.
When the dice hit four, Ivy had thrown them right after Noah undressed, and was standing in his chastity belt (hoping for sevens, of course) it meant serious punishment.
Eleven was the next best to seven—the belt removed, a long teasing and just a light paddling. Four was nearly the worst, though.
"I don't program the dice, Noah." Ivy said good humouredly, as she'd tied him over the sawhorse and whipped his bare buttocks with the fiberglass crop.
Then, of course she'd tied Noah's wrists to the ceiling hook in her "parlor" and unlocked his chastity belt...
Better, she'd used the automobile cigarette lighter, a little metal tube with a hot end (that she kept stuck in a generator since of course she couldn't have a'76 Buick in the apartment) to burn a few welts into poor Noah's cock as he'd screamed and cried.
Then Ivy had locked Noah up again, no teasing, and she'd pressed a button, and Wishbone Cheeks, her African American intern, came in from the next room, and took the fully heterosexual Noah into his "lab" and fucked both Noah's holes until Wishbone had cum seven times.
Wishbone had then whipped Noah's butt with a wooden Spencer paddle, the kind with the holes, and sent him back to Ivy.
"Don't be so upset, Noah..." Ivy said sweetly.
"Last week you got threesies, and I gave you an hour long teasing and just one kick in the nuts...and last summer you got sevens TWICE. That's a lot, you know. You told me you wanted me to be strict."
Noah's lower lip trembled a bit, and Ivy, having tucked his five hundred bucks in her camisole, opened her arms, and he ran to them, giving her a big hug and kissing her neck.
"I-I-you just seemed so mad at me, Ivy" This was his special name for her. It was used more literally when the dice hit nines and he was put in bonnet and diapers.
Ivy hugged Noah tight and kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear. "You know the rules, Noah. I don't want to punish you.
It's all about the role, honey. I'm no easier on any of my other clients than you, my little misfit."
She kissed Noah on the lips, and he immediately forgot that she'd just spent the past hour and a half kicking the shit out of him.
"Oh, don't talk about your other clients, Ivy." Noah said brokenly.
"I like to fantasize that you're my-my girl."
And he came to visit quite often. Noah was a former Pittsburgh Steeler, receiving healthy royalties from his visage on a Wheaties box, and could afford to visit Ivy two to five times a week.
He'd just "retired" from the team a year ago, but several times, when overcome by all the pressures of the game (it's tough to be a wide receiver whose chastity belt gets knocked by tackling Miami Dolphins) would send for Ivy to travel with him as he played various games across the country.
He'd begged Ivy to marry him, and it would've broken his heart to know that Ivy had no sexual interest in men who needed to be dominated, and in fact, was Wishbone's common-law wife...
Still, Noah had been Ivy's client for seven and a half years, and was quite devoted to her.
Noah kissed her again and hugged her, and then Ivy gently reminded him that she had another "friend" coming.
"Honey, I'll see you soon. Why don't you schedule for Friday. I'll give you three hours for only a thousand dollars. I'm feeling so generous. Maybe you'll get sevens!"
Thus cheered, Noah blew his nose, as he was still hurting from Wishbone's paddle, and walked out.
He hated Wishbone, and it was interesting how Ivy would almost side with Noah against Wishbone, until the dice were rolled...
"I hope that bad man doesn't punish you..." and then she'd comfort him as if he were an abused wife after Wishbone had done his dirty work.
Once, Noah had been bleeding from the rectum after Noah had shoved his dick in a little too hard (and then made Noah lick his shit off Wishbone's wiener.)
Yes, and she'd held the weeping Noah in her arms for nearly half an hour, lamenting that she had such an evil person in her employ. (As if she had no control over the situation!)
But, as Noah opened the door he gave Ivy a cryptic, desperate wave, and she smiled, while thinking that he was the wussiest human being, for a 390 pound athlete. What a freakin' crybaby!
Earlier that morning she'd had a timorous looking funeral director, who had rolled eights—which was fifty with the bullwhip downtown at her warehouse....
The eights were rolled, Thurman the undertaker had blanched, but he'd smiled gamely. "Guess I better get dressed again, Miss Ivy."
And she'd smiled sympathetically. He'd left with Wishbone, she'd watched "The View" and when he'd returned, naked, welted and in a sack (Carried over Wishbone's shoulder from the parking garage of the PainCafe hotel) there were no complaints.
Thurman had rolled out of the sack, the welts and red bloody streaks all over his cringing stiff little body.
Eights called for a thirty minute manual tease combined with sandpaper being rubbed on the nipples.
Wishbone had tied Thurman down and gone to work with the sandpaper, while Ivy had gently rubbed and stroked Thurman's hard cock, (his last Sevens orgasm had been 83 days before) and she'd leaned over to show him her full cleavage.
None of Ivy's customers had ever seen her bare breasts...but she did give the stoic Thurman a flash of nipple!
After the tease was over, and she pulled her nimble red-tipped fingers away just six seconds before Thurmie would have orgasmed, she re-locked his belt and he'd kissed her feet (and Wishbones) and silently dressed and left.
What a dream client!
And even this morning, real early, she'd gotten Hardesty McGonigle.
Hardy always showed up on Wednesday mornings, interrupting his daily jog, in T-shirt and shorts. Hardy was on the honor system, since he was sort of happily married.
He fucked his wife, holding back his orgasms, and when he got sevens, he'd hold off until he went home to Elyse and given her a good shot. (This had impregnated her twice now...all that backed up spooge.)
Hardy was great because he masturbated in his office, without letting himself cum, he'd call her on his cell, and she only charged him a hundred per ten minute call...
Oh, she'd talk sexy and blather on about playing with her tits and how he wasn't worthy...all that submissive shit...
And then once a week, or twice sometimes, Hardy would come in, throw the dice, and take his punishments...or go home to do his reward faithfully with his wife.
And he didn't bitch and moan like so many of the other dorks.
Now, Ivy paused to re-apply her makeup.
She had a concoction of putting on soft pink lipstick first, then, taking a slightly darker shade of sparkly pink lip gloss on the tips of her fingers and gently tapping it on the edges of her lips so it shone.
This gave Ivy's lips a magical touch, and made men wish she would blow them, as she was putting out cigars on their balls, et cetera.
Wishbone opened the door to his "lab" and gave her a wink.
Ivy knew that although the Bone was bisexual, he really loved her best...
Hey but what better job for a third grade dropout, and San Quentin parolee than to cum in white men's mouths and rectums ten to fifteen times a day (Wishbone was quite fertile) and make the equivalence of $50,000 a year for doing it?
