Ceding Control Ch 01 03

Note to Readers:

This story in Gay Male but the reasons for this classification do not become explicit until late in the story, in subsequent chapters.

Comments are always appreciated, even negative ones if they are thoughtful. But there's no need to leave comments of the following sort:

"This story describes instances of unsafe sex--of people having casual oral, anal, or vaginal intercourse without protection."

True, so true.

It's a fantasy, numbskull, not a script to be followed.

"I would behave very differently than the character in this story."

Good for you! This story isn't about you.

"Cyanlot is a sick puppy!"

Well, no... I'm fine, thank you. My stories don't convey some deep, dark yearnings. They're just stories.

-Cyanlot

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Ceding Control

Chapter 1: Preparations for Training

"That's pretty good, Ethan," Cecilia said, as she removed her finger from my ass.

I felt a sense of pride at the compliment. Unfortunately, her evaluation was quickly qualified.

"But I think you can do a lot better. You're still not able to use your boipussy like a proper milking machine. You need more practice and exercise."

"I'm sorry," I muttered.

"Apologies don't matter, Ethan. What matters is correcting the problem. And I have just the tool to use for that."

With that, Cecilia pulled out a box and opened it like it was a present. What she removed from the box was some kind of butt plug, but like none I'd ever seen before. It was made of some sort of latex and, while it had a larger bulb at the end to keep it firmly in place, the base was thicker than most butt plugs I'd seen before. But, most significantly, it was clearly some sort of electronic device.

Cecilia pressed an area on the external part of the buttplug and I saw a blue light glow, showing that the device was on.

"Let me show you how this works, and then we can talk about your exercise regimen." She opened her laptop and fired up an app that I didn't recognize called 'A-Trainer'. The screen immediately showed an indication that the A-Trainer device was on and connected over Wi-Fi but it also indicated that the device was "idle". Below that confirmation was a graph that looked like one used to show the history of videos on home security cameras.

"This is much more than what it looks like," Cecilia said. "Watch."

Cecilia squeezed the base of the A-Trainer device and the line on the graph shot up from the zero line on the vertical axis and stayed there as she continued squeezing. As she relaxed, the line began dropping. She squeezed and released in rapid succession and created on the graph a series of spikes.

"This will keep track of how much force you're able to exert on the base of the A-Trainer device and for how long you can hold it."

I saw where this was going.

"And that's not all. Not only can I track your progress from anywhere, but I can set up exercise routines for you to follow. Let me show you."

Cecilia fumbled with the computer for a moment and the graph changed. Suddenly there was a zig-zagging horizontal blue line running out from the vertical axis. Cecilia squeezed the base of the A-Trainer and the tracking line moved up from the zero line to match the blue target line. As it rose below the target line, it was red; when it reached the target line, it turned green.

"You see ... We can set up an exercise regimen for you and measure your success in following it." I did see, and I wasn't sure I liked this idea. But what I liked and didn't like wasn't really relevant in my dealings with Cecilia.

"Let's see how it works in place," she said with obvious excitement. She lubed up the A-Trainer, told me to bend over, and then shoved the device up my ass. As I stood up, I saw that the graph on Cecilia's computer was registering some force.

"That's the base level--just the force that your anal sphincter naturally exerts. Now squeeze!"

I did, and we both watched the tracking line jump.

"Hold it." And the tracking line stayed at the same level, but my cock didn't. It began to swell and rise, something that Cecilia didn't miss.

"Nice," she cooed. "You're liking this. Now relax." The line dropped to the base level but my cock stayed hard.

"Isn't that wonderful?"

I couldn't agree that it was so I didn't say anything.

"And we don't need a computer to track your progress. There's an app for each of our phones. Here, give me your phone and I'll install it on yours."

I gave her my phone and watched as she went to some dark site to download the app for the A-Trainer. When she fired it up and linked it to my A-Trainer device, I saw the same graph that had displayed on her computer.

"See, now you can easily track your progress and review your history. And I can do it from anywhere."

"Oh, and there's one more terrific feature of this device. I'll show you." Cecilia grabbed her phone and clicked on an icon on the A-Trainer app. I immediately felt a strong vibration in my ass.

"Now, squeeze hard." I did that, watching the graph on my own phone to see the tracking line rise to the target line. When it hit that line, the device stopped vibrating.

"You see, I can prompt you to exercise at any time. If you respond properly, the A-Trainer stops vibrating. If not, the vibrations get stronger and louder. Eventually it will shriek like a siren. So, you don't want to ignore the prompts."

"And, as you can see, I can tell whether you're wearing the A-Trainer or not. You're to wear it at all times except when you recharge it at night, though you're allowed to take it out for ten minutes or less a couple of times a day to take care of the other business your ass needs to handle. If you don't follow those rules, I'll get an alarm. You don't want me to get an alarm."

Great,

I thought, sarcastically.

Now Cecilia can control me even when I'm not with her.

I wasn't sure what I thought about that.

Chapter 2: The Backstory

Perhaps it would be helpful in trying to understand my situation to have the backstory--my origin story, at least with respect to my relationship with Cecilia.

From what I've told you so far, you might assume that I'm a submissive wimp, a classic "beta male" who can be dominated by a woman like Cecilia. There's something to that, of course. But it's hardly the whole story.

If you met me in any other context, you'd never think that of me. Physically, I'm good looking, fit, with strong masculine features. I've been very successful in business, creating a phone app in college that caught the attention of Google, which bought the rights to the app for a ridiculous amount of money--ridiculously little from Google's perspective but ridiculously much from mine. I used that money to start a business that was very successful. At 38 years of age, I could retire, never work another day in my life and, really, want for nothing materially.

And, in my business affairs and every other part of my life except my relationship with Cecilia, I'm in complete control. Don't get me wrong. I'm not a micromanager. I let my employees use their own creativity. But there's never any doubt about who's at the helm.

Everything had come very easily to me. I'd never really been challenged or had to yield to another in the pursuit of what I wanted. I was, in every aspect of my life, the master of my fate, the captain of my soul.

Maybe it's precisely

because

I had so much control over every aspect of my life that I sought out the relationship I have with Cecilia. I found her in the way people do these days, personal ads on an edgy dating site. She's beautiful--5'5" with chestnut hair, a slender but curvy figure, nice firm high breasts, and a face like a pixie. The innocent, elfish look is quite in contrast with how she described herself. She advertised as a smart, creative femdom mistress looking for a man to dominate and control. She said she could cause the unique pleasure that can come only from ceding control completely.

And Cecilia was everything she advertised and more.

The focus of her domination--my submission--was never pain. I wasn't into that and it really wasn't Cecilia's style, either. Her control over me was all about humiliation. She quickly learned what my real limits were and distinguished them from what I thought were limits but really weren't. Her goal was to push past what I was sure was a limit but never past things that were really limits.

She was very good at this. So often, I would protest one of her commands, insisting that I couldn't bring myself to do what she was ordering me to do. Only on a couple of these occasions, when Cecilia was still learning my true limits, did she withdraw the demand. And, when she did not, we both learned something about what pleasures could be found beyond what I thought were my limits.

Things started very gradually. At our first meeting, Cecilia insisted that I undress completely while she sat in a chair drinking a glass of wine and observing me closely. Maybe that doesn't sound like it's very humiliating. And, from my perspective now, I see how trivial it was. But at the time it felt like a big deal.

Undressing alone, in front of a woman you just met who is staying fully clothed is very different from undressing

with

a woman. It was, for me then, humiliating--the more so because Cecilia's expression was enigmatic. I couldn't tell whether she was impressed, surprised, amused, or what. The only thing that was obvious was that she was in absolute control.

When I stood completely naked in front of Cecilia, my mistress, she had me turn around a quarter turn at a time, inspecting me as if I was a bull at auction.

"Now come over here and kneel down before me." I did. It was actually a relief to do something other than just stand on display for her.

"Take off my shoes and massage my feet." Her shoes were 4-inch stiletto heels with an ankle strap I had to unfasten. When I got them off, I massaged her feet as instructed. She seemed to like that but, before long, she had another demand.

"Now kiss my feet." I should have anticipated this. Isn't kissing a person's feet the stereotypical sign of subordination?

I kissed both her feet for a while, long enough that I felt kind of silly, but she was in control so I wasn't going to stop until she told me to. When she did, it was to issue yet another command.

"Now jack off and cum on my feet," she ordered. "Here's something to help," as she handed me a tube of lube.

When I went to apply the lube to my cock, I realized for the first time that my cock had hardened. It wasn't at full mast, maybe at half mast. But it was clearly not flaccid anymore. I wasn't sure when that had started: when I stripped for Cecilia or when I was kissing her feet. Maybe it was the combination. Whatever ... I was clearly aroused by what was happening.

Masturbating in front of a person--a fully clothed person who is just impassively observing you--is humiliating. But despite this (or maybe

because of it

), with only a few strokes, my cock was at full mast.

"Don't look down, Ethan. Look into my eyes while you stroke your little dick and spew your weak load on my feet." There was nothing wrong with the size of my cock or the strength of my load. But Cecilia's words weren't to be tested by whether they were true but whether they worked to further my humiliation.

I learned that masturbating on command in front of a person you hardly know is even more humiliating when you're forced to look the person in the eye as you do it. Cecilia's expression continued to be damnably enigmatic. Was she disgusted? Did she hold me in contempt? Was she pleased? Amused? I really had no idea.

"Come on ... Don't take all day. Shoot your little load!"

I don't know whether it was coincidence or Cecilia's uncanny ability to time things perfectly but her command came just as my cock was about to explode. And explode it did, shooting ribbon after ribbon of white cream over Cecilia's lovely feet.

For a second, I looked down to see where my cum was landing. But Cecilia immediately rebuked me: "No! Keep looking at me."

So I was looking at her, and she at me, while my face contorted in the pleasure of an orgasm. All through this, Cecilia showed no emotion.

"Okay, Ethan. You've made a mess. Now clean it up." When I turned to look for something to use to wipe my cum off her feet, Cecilia barked," NO! With your tongue, Ethan!"

I'd tasted my cum before. I think most guys have. I wasn't into eating my cum, though. But what I was or wasn't into wasn't the issue here. The whole point was that Cecilia was in charge. And if I disobeyed whenever something made me uncomfortable, or even when it disgusted me, the whole thing fell apart.

So, I brought my tongue down to Cecilia's feet and carefully licked off all of my cum. I'd always been proud of the fact that, when I came, I shot a big load. It wasn't seeming like a plus now, though.

Finally, when I'd cleaned Cecilia's feet to her satisfaction, she had me stand up and put my clothes back on.

"That will do for now, Ethan. Same time next week?"

"Yes," I said as I pulled my clothes back on.

As I was reaching for the door to leave, Cecilia stopped me. "You forgot to thank me."

"Thank you," I replied.

"Thank you WHAT?" she scolded.

"Thank you, Mistress."

"That's good, Ethan. You did well today. Next time, we'll have new activities to explore."

Chapter 3: From Then to Now

There were a number of steps between that first session with Cecilia and where I am now, being fitted with the A-Trainer which will extend her control over me to times I'm not with her. There's no need to detail all of the steps but mentioning a few might help to understand how I got to the place where I'd accept Cecilia having this sort of control over me.

The most pleasant tasks that Mistress Cecilia set for me were ones that involved serving her. To be clear, none of these were designed for my pleasure. I was always cast in a subservient, often demeaning, role. But, whether it was kissing her feet, as I'd done that first day and on many other days, or licking her clitoris, which she had me do plenty of times, this way of being subservient was the least humiliating and the most pleasant.

Many of the other actions Mistress Cecilia tasked me with included me having an orgasm. That is pleasurable, of course. But she found multiple ways to ensure that my pleasure was heavily tainted with humiliation. Sometimes it was pretty trivial: stand before her naked, jack off in my hand, lick up my cum, and describe to her in detail the taste, texture, and smell of my semen and how much I loved eating it.

Cecilia was an expert at provoking prolonged edging and ruined orgasms. It's incredibly frustrating to be brought to the edge of an orgasm over and over again without ever being allowed to actually shoot your load. And, Mistress Cecilia often caused me to whimper involuntarily when she brought me to the point of inevitability with her hand, only to pull it away while my frustrated cock thrust wildly in the air spewing its cream into nothing at all. Still, I liked this better than when she made me ruin my own orgasm.

For quite a while, she tormented me with various chastity cages, including those with the little spikes inside that punish you for getting the least bit aroused. She seemed to love putting one of those on me, or having me put one on myself, and then provoking me to a painful erection by undressing in front of me and running her hands over her beautiful body. When the pain made my cock wilt, she'd often run her fingernails over my thighs or abdomen with the predictable consequence.

Despite the humiliation and pain, or maybe because of it, I kept coming back to Cecilia. Being completely subordinate--completely subjected to her will--was, perhaps inexplicably, a respite from my normal life. It was only when I was with Cecilia that I had no decisions to make, no responsibility resting on my shoulders.

I kept coming back when Mistress Cecilia took me in the direction of cock worship--or, more accurately,

fake

cock worship. She presented me with various realistic dildos and tasked me with "pleasuring" them, first with my hands and mouth and later with my ass.

This "pleasuring" of the fake cocks was often conjoined with one of the chastity devices. At first, one of the repeated scenarios involved my being caged and teased mercilessly to raise my level of frustration to a boiling point. Then, Mistress Cecilia had me get on my knees and stroke and suck a large dildo she'd stuck to a mirror.

As I worked on the dildo with my hands and mouth, Cecilia would release my cock from its confinement, which always resulted in my cock rising to full staff quickly. When she thought I was doing an admirable job "pleasuring" the dildo, she would sometimes actually stroke my cock, never to the point of an orgasm but it was still an incredibly pleasurable sensation. This was one of the very few scenarios where my mistress actually caressed my cock.

My servicing of the fake cocks didn't always result in release from my cock cage. Cecilia mixed things up to keep them unpredictable. Sometimes she kept me in my chastity device through many minutes of my sucking a dildo. I never knew what script would be followed. I guess that was another element of her Mistress Cecilia's control over me.

Sometimes, after I'd sucked a dildo for a good long time and been released from my cock cage, Cecilia would have me stand up and jack off onto the dildo, making sure to shoot my cum right on the shaft. Then I had to kneel back down and lick the cum off and suck the cock again, thanking it for giving me the cum.

When Cecilia thought I'd become proficient enough "pleasuring" a fake cock with my mouth--or maybe it was just when she became bored with that scenario--she decided it was time to develop my anal skills. This was a new level of humiliation and, at least at first, some pain.

I'd engaged in anal play when I masturbated. I think lots of guys have done that, too, though I suppose that many wouldn't confess to it. But I'd never gotten into putting really big things up my butt. Mistress Cecilia was committed to changing that. While the regimen of anal stretching that she set out for me was slightly painful at first, the real point was, as always, humiliation. I wasn't allowed (allowed?) to merely shove the increasingly large dildos up my ass. I needed "make love to them" and beg them to fuck me, often wearing a chastity device to underscore that there was really only one cock in the scenario, even if that one was a fake one.

A typical scene would involve me stripping in front of my mistress, putting a cock cage on my dick, and, then, lying on my back on the floor holding whatever dildo Cecilia decided was to be the "lucky" one that day. I had to kiss, lick, and caress the dildo. The kissing and caressing of the dildo was old hat by now. The new twist was that I needed to say how much I wanted to feel the hard cock in my ass and to beg to be fucked by it.

After I'd sucked the fake cock and pleaded with it to fuck me, I had to lube it up and press it into my ass. Mistress Cecilia made me spread my legs wide, like a woman inviting a man's cock to penetrate her deeply. The anal stimulation invariably provoked an erection, which was uncomfortable in a regular chastity device and painful in one of the spiked ones. Her point, though, was that my ass, not my cock, was to be the focus of attention.

Every once in a while during these sessions, not often though, she would release my cock from its confinement, allowing it to swell to full hardness. Sometimes when she did this, she would allow me to stroke my cock, a few times to completion. And, once, she even stroked my cock herself. Alas, when she did this, she ruined my orgasm, causing my cock to spasm uncontrollably in mid-air, shooting my sperm up to fall back on my abdomen.