"So you want to cum." Jenna stopped studying me over the rim of her coffee cup and set the cup down carefully on the little bistro table, as though she was weighing my request. We were sitting at an outdoor café on a warm, pleasant morning in the trendy area of Barcelona. The buzz of pedestrian traffic was beginning to percolate through the café as the city woke up.
She was doing a good job of making me feel uncomfortable. I had not been allowed to have an orgasm for several days, despite being on my best behaviour. I was beginning to worry that she was disregarding my efforts to please her and that she was deliberately ignoring my need, out of some misguided notion that I had to suffer in order to appreciate my place in our hierarchy.
We had an agreement. I would be more considerate of her wants and desires. I would think of her first and myself second, not just when we were having sex. Although, these days it seemed even everyday activities were tinged with sexual undertones. In any case, I was confident that I knew my role.
In return she would permit me to cum often enough to keep me satisfied. We both agreed that she should control my orgasms, it just worked better that way. It was the beginning of a FLR, a Female Led Relationship that we were both curious about. She needed to feel more in control and I wanted a way out of the male stereotype I felt trapped in.
It began as my preference to be used. It was an exciting curiosity for me to be regarded as her property. The inherent benefits of being submissive became apparent to me very quickly. It was both a sexual rush and a relief to be depersonalized, as though a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. How our sexual life manifested suddenly became her responsibility. She dictated when we had sex and if I was allowed to cum. She decided how often I deserved to be rewarded. My role was simply to satisfy her and shelve my own need until she decided I had earned the privilege of release.
Together we worked my predilection for self-objectification and humiliation into an unquenchable craving. Now I needed her permission to release the tension that built steadily as a consequence of relentless daily edging and intermittent teasing. The cock cage, so instrumental during the initial phase of my indoctrination was no longer necessary. My obedience had become well established, rooted in my desire and shaped by her subtle manipulation of my addiction. She sat calmly sipping her morning coffee, watching me squirm while she considered my request.
"Can you tell me why I should allow you to experience the pleasure of an orgasm? Why do you deserve a reward for simply doing what you're told? Convince me."
I fought to control my frustration while I searched for the words to articulate a convincing argument. She watched with amusement while I struggled to find a good reason why my request should be indulged. I tried appealing to her sense of logic.
"Well, it's been a week. I have tried to be attentive to the conditions you prefer and I think I have succeeded. I have refrained from touching myself sexually. I have not cheated even once. And well, they say positive reinforcement is the most effective way to achieving compliance, right? Please?" I hoped she at least thought I was cute. But she didn't smile.
"Stand up." It wasn't a request. I knew the tone. She was at least expecting compliance, if not an in-depth appreciation of the FLR moment.
"Are we doing this here, right now? You want me to stand up and do what?" She had a reason. I knew her demand was not just an arbitrary test of obedience. And I knew that if I stood, the consequences of seven days of deprivation would be on display. She knew that too, so she played with me.
"Don't you want to? What's wrong? Not part of your plan? Remember we talked about submission and how you need to figure out what submission means to me? Yes? So, one last time, stand up."
We both knew compliance here meant submission in a public kind of way. That's why she wanted me to stand. It would be a kind of confirmation. She was telling me that it wasn't my decision. I knew that much, I was just embarrassed to show anyone in sight that my pants were tenting. But I stood. I stood because she told me to. Because I trusted her. I waited in silence while she inspected me from head to crotch. Fortunately the other café patrons were busy with their own lives. No one stared at the man with the erection threatening to poke through his pants.
"Maybe you better sit down. Bet you wish you were wearing inderwear. How did that happen? I'm sure you haven't been hard for a week. Half the time maybe," she joked. "Did you like asking for permission?"
I blushed. "Yes."
"It's been a week huh? How badly do you want to cum? I wonder how it feels to hand over control of when or even if, you get to cum. Does that feel intense? Did it make you hard just getting up the nerve to ask me?" She didn't look like she was really expecting an answer so I said nothing.
"Sit. Good boy," she smiled. "I know you like to be demeaned so that's what I'm doing here. But you were likely already hard, weren't you? How long have you been sitting there with a hard-on? Of course you got an erection from begging to cum. Oh excuse me, I mean, providing a plausible rationale for your desperation."
"Ok, I concede to your logic. It's been awhile and overall you have been much more attentive. I can't expect a complete surrender overnight, but I do expect you to continue the spirit of these last several days. You were quite obedient and thoughtful regarding my comfort. Regardless of whether we keep track of them or not, all these little niceties and considerations accumulate and predispose me to grant more frequent opportunities, if you know what I mean."
I knew what she meant. But I was on the edge of my seat literally, hoping I didn't need to launch into phase two of begging and humiliating myself in public. Or maybe hoping for the opportunity.
"Should I say yes? You'd be grateful, I'm sure." She smiled again. "Who's been a good boy and really wants to cum?" Her face had that challenging look, checking to see if I still wanted to play. But she already knew that I did. I swallowed my pride.
"I do. I've been a good boy and I really want to cum." I got down on my knees in the bistro like I was asking her to marry me. But no ring. Not counting the metal-studded piece of leather fastened securely around my testicles, that I was suddenly very conscious of.
Her face flushed and her breathing became shallow. "Get up you idiot. Someone will see this for what it really is. Stand! We're not doing a free BDSM show in downtown Barcelona."
I could see she looked guilty but just a little excited at the same time. I almost felt in control of the situation. Almost.
"Ok, you can have an opportunity when we get back to the apartment. You can make yourself cum but I'll watch this time. Submissive men need to perform for their reward." She signaled the waiter for the cheque.
I was elated. After a week of being conscientious, I had permission. Seven days of self-denial despite provocative teasing and edging were about to be rewarded. The intense hormonal explosion that always accompanied her consent flooded through my body. We were leaving to go back to the Air B & B where I would be allowed to strip naked and masturbate until I came. I would be allowed to chose pornography that featured men like me being used by dominant women. And she would watch.
She would see me stripped of any romantic illusions I was keeping. The raw, depraved corners of my mind would be on display for her when she saw what I liked to watch, what made me hard. And she would use what she saw to hone how she shaped my responses. Naked, animalistic, exposed for what I was, I would have no choice but to cum for her.
"Let's go." Jenna grinned and turned to leave the relative sanctuary of the bistro. At least here I could hide my embarrassment. She knew I would have to risk exposing myself to the scrutiny of other café customers but we had to leave sometime.
"Come on, do you want to cum or not?" Her amusement at my discomfort twinkled in her eyes. Red-faced, I stood and followed her out of the bistro and up the street past store venders and people walking their dogs. I kept close behind her to conceal the anticipation in my pants.
"Not so close! Another six inches and we'll be arrested for public indecency. Walk beside me. Don't worry, no one but me is looking at the extra appendage in your pants." She took my hand. "Besides, I like you a little vulnerable, and nothing says 'he adores me' like a man with a hard-on walking next to you."
We laughed, she slapped my ass and we walked on. The city was humming with people buying fruit and vegetables from open markets and the distinctive lilt of the Catalonian dialect hung in the air. More than a few times I saw curious eyes darting away as they realized what the protuberance in the front of my pants meant. A tall buxom woman with raven black hair swept back in a cascade down her back caught Jenna's eye as we passed one another.
"Hmm, ese es grande el que tienes ahÃ, that's a big one you have there," she smiled.
"Thanks," Jenna replied. "I made it myself." The women laughed at the implied ownership humour and we strolled on toward our building. The delicious feeling of being displayed as her trophy lingered all the way to our apartment.
"Did you like being ogled by women you don't even know, just because you're a sex trophy?" I knew what she meant.
"Very much. But I see your point. I would be insulted if I wasn't. I know a lot of women have to put up with being sexually objectified, don't they?"
"But you find that exciting don't you?" We were alone in the stairwell. She unzipped my fly and pulled out my erection.
"Still hard. Good." Using my stiff cock as a handle, she led me up the stairs into our apartment then left me standing in the foyer.
