Bound to Her

Georgina lay beside me, propped on one arm, her head resting on her hand, lightly stroking my cock with the tips of the fingers of the other, looking into my eyes, smiling with anticipation. She touched me very lightly, pausing when my cock stirred and I began to get hard, refraining until it settled down again to rest atop my balls.

"Such a pretty cock," she said.

"I told myself I'd never see you again," I replied.

"Oh, no," she said. "You needed a little time away from me, but I really don't think you could get along without me."

"It was better when you were gone."

She laughed and gave my nipple a hard pinch in reproach. I started and winced. "But it was so easy to get you back," she said. "Really no trouble at all."

Shifting a little down the bed, she took my still-soft member in her left hand and teased the tip with the nail of the middle finger of her right. Although the other nails were of a normal length, this one was almost an inch long and sharpened to a point. She inserted the point just inside my urethra, causing a not-unpleasant irritation on the soft membrane inside.

"Don't be scared," she said. Still holding my cock gently upright, she slowly inserted the nail, stretching my urethra, the sharp edges of the nail feeling like they would slice the membrane right open. An electric burst of pain shot down my penis and into my anus. I cried out and squirmed, but there was little more that I could do, because I was restrained to the bed. The leather cuffs that encircled my wrists, ankles, and throat were attached to the bed frame with rope. My hands were held firmly by my sides, my legs were spread, I could barely lift my head. Slowly, deliberately she inserted the nail and withdrew, inserted and withdrew, until I could think of nothing except the pain at the tip of my cock, burning, shooting, frightening, exquisite.

Georgina and I had dated for a while when she lived in New York. We'd met at a party and I was instantly smitten. She was an artist and had a unique mind, an unusual perspective that I found fascinating. After we'd spoken for twenty minutes or so I asked if she'd like to get together the following night. She looked at me as if offended by my temerity.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked haughtily.

"Oh, dinner, the theater, a film...anything you like."

It was that

anything you like

that got her attention. She agreed to go out with me, specifying the restaurant where she wanted to eat and the show she wanted to see. And that set the tone for our relationship: she got anything she liked. I was there to accompany her but she was in charge. Pretty soon she made it clear that I wasn't to call her—she would call me, and tell me where and when to meet her.

And that applied to the bedroom as well. From the first time we kissed, she took charge. Sex with Georgina went quickly from me trying my best to please her to her simply taking her pleasure with me.

By now I was getting hard and she was finding it difficult to get the nail in and out, so she said, "Enough of that for now," and withdrew it. She ran her hand softly around my balls and over my cock, then circled my scrotum, between my cock and balls, with the fingers of one hand, and pressed my balls with the other. Unable to see, I could only imagine the taut skin over the delicate testicles.

She put one finger against my scrotum, between my two balls, and pressed slowly. As the pressure increased the pain rose, starting as a mild ache and rising swiftly to sharp torment that I could feel running deep inside me. She took one ball between her thumb and forefinger and pressed lightly, but enough to make me buck against my restraints. My vision turned a little blue and I could think of nothing except her fingers on my ball. My breath came in quick bursts with little grunts. I longed to tell her to please stop but didn't want her to think I couldn't take whatever she had to give.

After squeezing one testicle and then the other for a while she began tapping them with her hand, steadily, rhythmically,

thwack, thwack

. I was sick with the pain. With each hit my body jolted spasmodically. My eyes closed and the world fell away, there was nothing in it but her, me, the bed, and pain.

"Poor Hrolf," she said soothingly. "He wants so hard to make me happy."

I tried to get control of my breathing, all I could see was black with lights shooting through it.

"It will be all right," she murmured. "Don't worry, it will be all right."

Thwack, thwack

, and I tried not to cry.

At first I hadn't minded Georgina's dominating ways. I told myself she was a superior person and that I was lucky to know her. She was showing her work in galleries, giving talks, making appearances in Europe and Japan—in the rarefied world of contemporary art, she was a minor celebrity. I enjoyed being on the periphery of glamour.

I guess I'd always assumed that after a while our relationship would progress, that as time went on and she got to know me better she'd begin to treat me with more respect. But it was, if anything, the opposite—she treated me more and more like a hireling. Sometimes I'd go for a week or two without hearing from her, and then she'd summon me for whatever she wanted—to drive her somewhere, to take her out, to have sex with her.

And then one day I found myself waiting for her on West Broadway for an hour in the pouring rain. She'd told me to meet her and never showed up. As people hurried by, I imagined they could see right into me—that I was standing there like a fool, waiting for a woman who had me wrapped around her little finger. I felt their contempt and, worse, their pity.

Although I have a submissive nature, her disregard of me was so complete that out of simple self-respect I knew I had to force myself to separate from her. The next day I insisted on seeing her. She acted like it was a bother but agreed to let me come to her apartment. When I got there I told her my frustrations with our arrangement, that it was one-sided, that she insisted on having everything her way, that my needs and my feelings were never considered. She listened intently while I spoke, then, when I'd finished, looked at me steadily and said, "And your point is...?"

I told her I couldn't see her anymore and she responded with a shrug. It was hard to separate from her. I thought about her night and day and a thousand times was on the verge of calling her and begging her to take me back. But somehow I retained the tiniest kernel of self-respect and resisted the urge. Eventually I got over her. Or thought I had.

She stopped slapping my balls and I lay in grateful relief, my head flopped to the side. She reached up and grabbed a nipple, gave it a good pinch. I tried, uselessly, to pull away, but of course got nowhere. She pinched the other, pulling at it left and right, like a terrier shaking a rat.

"Oh, look," she said. "The tip of your cock is wet." She ran her finger around the head of my cock, down into my pee hole, collecting on it a good swab of my pre-cum. "Mmm, yummy,," she said laughing, and reached up and spread the pre-cum all over my lips. Obediently I licked it up. It was slimy, less salty than blood. "Good boy," she said.

One hand still gripping my cock, she climbed atop me and eased me into her, taking me into her pussy, the warm wet center of the universe. She sat atop me and our eyes locked and she smiled with pleasure. She made little rocking motions forward and back, keeping me at a peak of arousal but easing off and resting when I got close to coming, then, when I had recovered, starting again, lifting and lowering her hips just enough, slowly enough, to keep me on the edge, like a man perched at the edge of a cliff, rocking forward and back over the abyss. Once while she rested she leaned forward and presented her left nipple, pink and soft and erect, just above my mouth, pulling it back just out of reach when I strained against the rope and tried to lick and suck it. When my neck tired and my head fell back on the pillow she leaned forward again, teasing me with the lovely soft swelling my lips longed for, denying it to me cruelly, amused at my frustration.

At last she sat up straight, rocking rhythmically, faster and faster, her pussy lips gripping my shaft, then reached behind her and ran her fingernails gently over my testicles. The instant she did that I came, heaving agains the ropes, bucking up and down, almost choking myself in my frenzy. I pictured my cock inside her, spewing semen into the warm yin dark, a stream of frantic sperm wriggling and swimming for their lives, for life.

I heard that Georgina had moved to San Francisco, then London. It was a relief knowing that I wouldn't bump into her in New York. I got on with my life. I dated other women, although no one for very long. I focused on my career and was making progress toward the type of life I wanted. I told myself I was over her. A year went by, then two. And then the text came. Just like before—a few words telling me where and when to meet her.

In an instant, all the self-reliance I'd built apart from her vanished. Once again I was the powerless supplicant needing her approval. I did not reply to the text, but I showed up where she told me to, right on time. As she'd known I would.

When my orgasm was finished I lay back, exhausted, and looked up at her. She seemed gratified. Her lovely round breasts with their soft pink nipples rose over me in a vision of womanly loveliness. But my repose wasn't to last. She rose, releasing my still-hard member from her moist grip, and crawled forward, getting her knees over and around my arms, her feet at my flanks, kneeled right over my face, then lowered herself onto my mouth. Her labia were swollen, soft and read with arousal, the silky inner lips opening wide like the petals of a lustful flower. They were coated with my semen. I reached out my tongue and licked the rose of her lips, tasting the salty, acrid fluid I'd just shot into her. She loomed above me, looking down at me between her round breasts.

"You like that?" she asked mischievously.

I shook my head, to the extent I could, gripped as it was by her thighs.

"Well, how many have you made swallow it? They didn't like it either, but they did it to make you happy. Now you make me happy. Fair is fair. Eat your cum."

Really it wasn't fair, for I'd never made any woman take my cum in her mouth, although a few had done it voluntarily. I've never made anyone do anything.

As I licked her vulva, more of my own fluid leaked out of her and found its way into my mouth, but it wasn't quite as unpleasant as simply tasting one's own cum, because it had been diluted by her feminine liquor and combined the acrid, bitter taste of man with the humid forest aroma of woman. Nevertheless I can't say I liked it. I tried to concentrate my tongue work on her clitoris, thinking perhaps there'd be less semen gathered there, but I suppose it got all over her womanly parts and I couldn't avoid my mouthful. Whenever I thought I'd had all I could take and turned my head for relief she put her hand on my cheek and forced me back where she wanted me.

Finally I made up my mind to ignore whatever it was I didn't like and devote myself to pleasing her and I flicked at her clit with my tongue, feeling it swell and thicken, to the point where I could just wrap my lips around it and suck it, as if it were a tiny cock living within her wet and womanly home. Her breathing was coming faster and she made little thrusting motions with her hips, gripped the bed frame with her hands for support, closed her eyes and threw her head back, and finally she came with heaving cries. My tongue ached and I had the residue of sexual fluids all over my mouth but the unpleasant taste was gone, replaced by the flavor of a gratified woman.

She raised herself off me, swung one leg over, then settled down beside me, her shoulder in my armpit, her arm across my chest, her face next to mine. She closed her eyes in a dreamy fashion and heaved a great, satisfied sigh. I could feel her heart beat, rapid and strong, like the cruel blows she'd give my balls.

"Nice," she said. Her finger found my nipple and played with it briefly.

We lay quietly awhile, resting. She kissed me once or twice, and occasionally her hand would drift down to visit my cock, just to pet it and then withdraw.

When I began to feel restless and cramped I said, "How about untying me now?"

She nestled against me and held my face with her hand. "Not yet," she murmured. "Not just yet."