18 comments/  86935 views/  61 favorites

I Have An Idea Ch. 01

By: tomtame



They were at the make or break point of their relationship. Would they stay together or would they split? He felt sick. Another failure. He wanted to blame her; he did blame her. She never said what she meant. She couldn't tell him what she wanted, needed, and he suspected it was because she, herself, did not know, but unfairly expected him to guess and get it right.

They'd agreed to take a week off from each other, to think. Her idea, obviously.

He couldn't stop thinking about her. Her smile, when she was happy, but she hadn't been happy lately. The wild auburn curls of her fly-away hair, though it had been subdued by scarves lately. Her milky skin, peppered with freckles across her nose, across her shoulders and arms, but so clean and perfect and white everywhere else. She was beautiful, he couldn't deny it, but she was also sad. She was putting on weight and using it as an excuse to cover up all her creamy skin. She was like a fading flower in a way, withering under the cold skies of their relationship.

They each worked full time. They each had to make time for each other, and lately they just hadn't.

He'd call her on Saturday and end it. Why postpone it any longer?

Instead, Saturday morning, awoken from a brutal hangover, his phone buzzed. She'd texted him.

***

'I have an idea.'

He blinked the sleep from his eyes, splashed cold water on his face, collapsed on the couch and fat fingered his response.

'For wht?'

When her reply didn't come right away, he repaired myself with some coffee and toast. He'd lost his appetite for the most part. How long would he let this thing between them shrivel and die before he put it out of its misery?

His phone vibrated on the counter. Another text.

'For us.'

He accidentally smeared butter on his phone as he replied.

'What idea?'

It took another minute or so. He crunched the last of his toast, brushing the crumbs from his hands until his phone vibrated again.

'Call me.'

He sagged in the chair. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

* * *

Her hair was loose again, wild and seductive. If she had gained weight since they'd been together, he'd gained more. She still had her perfect legs and perfect little white belly, it just had a little roll when she sat down that she hated. Her breasts weren't the taut perky things they'd once been, but he made do.

But there was something about her, a new life, a new spark in her eyes, and he could've sworn he saw a smirk on her lips. He saw a hint of fear, too, though. She wasn't certain about what she was doing.

There they sat. On the patio of their favorite restaurant. Ella and Jim. Jim and Ella. Failed lovers.

"We haven't been good lately," she said.

He nodded, sick to his stomach. "I know."

"Are we going to break up?" she asked. Her hands trembled as she spoke. She sniffled and he saw tears in her eyes.

"I don't know."

"Well," she swallowed, choked off her sentence and reached for the water, "before we do, I have an idea."

He nodded and sighed. "I know. You said."

She waited, looked idly away. "So . . . do you want to know what it is?"

He laughed and nodded. "I'm here, aren't I?"

She smiled. It lightened their moods. "Yes, you are. That's good, I guess. You know . . . makes me think there's still some hope."

He took a big long breath. "I hope there is, Ella. I really do, but I know you haven't been happy lately."

"Neither have you."

He made sure her green eyes were on him."Only because you've been so unhappy."

She blanched. "So, it's my fault."

He winced. "I didn't say that. I didn't mean that. Shit, I don't know, but I do know I want you to be happy. I just don't know how to make that happen."

She nodded, made a path through the condensation on the side of her glass with a finger. "I know, I know. Sorry."

They sat quietly and the moment seemed to stretch on forever.

"So," he tapped the table idly, "what's this big idea of yours?"

She sat back and crossed her arms. "I'm not sure. I mean . . . you're probably not gonna go for it."

He chuckled. "Well, I can't unless I know what it is."

"Okay," she said, and her eyes had that hopeful look again, "there's something we could try. I found this website."

"O-kay," he replied, "what thing? What website?"

"It's, um, called–" She licked her lips, dropped her eyes, whispered, "It's called 'Divine Tantra'."

He tried to replay her words, but they didn't make sense. He needed a dictionary. "Divine Tantra? Like a cult or something?"

She laughed. "No, but maybe a philosophy."

"Isn't tantra like a religion or yoga or something?"

"Well, it's a lot of breathing and chakras and all that, but that's not what this really is."

"Yeah," he frowned, "you know I'm not a big believer–"

"I know," she said quickly. "It's not like that. I thought you could read the website and tell me what you thought."

He thought about it. They were just postponing the end, but he didn't want it to end just yet. "Okay." How long would he let this go on?

"Promise me," she said, and made sure his eyes met hers. "Promise me you'll keep an open mind."

He smiled and lied. "I promise."

* * *

His phone buzzed. He expected a text, but she was calling. He smiled. She hadn't really been calling him recently. He thought, in a way, they'd both been avoiding each other in order to delay the breakup. It was easier to be too busy to talk right now than it was to finally fight it out.

"Hey." He smiled. It really was nice; she seemed interested in him again.

"Hey." She could hear his smile. It was almost too good to be true. "Did you look at the site?"

He collapsed on to the couch. "Yep. Last night. I couldn't read it on his phone, so I looked it up on the computer."

"Oh, did I send it to your phone? I thought–"

"Well, email, but I can only look at that email address on my phone."

"I can never keep all your email addresses straight."

He chuckled. "That's okay."

"So . . . what did you think?"

He was reluctant to tell her what he really thought. "Well . . . it was interesting."

"Wasn't it? I know it sounded a little strange, but it's all about refocusing love and attention on each other. You know, increasing the anticipation and the intimacy."

"Hmm, yeah."

"You didn't like it?" He could already hear the suspicion and disappointment in her voice.

"No, I didn't say that. I mean, it does sound good, us being close like that again. I'm up for that, but–"

"But what?" More suspicion. The disappointment was making her voice heavy and broken like an old smoker.

"Well between all the fancy concepts and idea, there seems to be a whole lot of me not having orgasms basically."

There was a pause, a long one. "Well, maybe less of them. And the ones you have would be with me."

"Yes, and only with you or didn't I read that right?"

He was no chronic masturbator, no porn addict, but he was a typical guy, and asking a typical guy to flat out not touch himself . . . ever . . . was a biological impossibility. Guys have needs.

"Yes," she finally said with a heartbroken tone. "I suppose that's a real tragedy for you."

He felt her utter sadness in the pit of his stomach. "I don't want to lose you. I'd do anything for us to stay together–"

"Well, not anything."

"Anything within reason."

"And us directing our sexual pleasure at each other is so amazingly unreasonable?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then what are you saying?"

He thought about it: what was he saying? He was saying, 'I don't want to do this, but I will if you make me feel obligated.' That's not something she wanted to hear, and he couldn't actually say that, but then he didn't have to; she already knew.

He thought about it some more, the silence between them deafening.

"Fuck it." The words left his lips before he could stop them.

"What does that mean?" The anger was creeping into her voice.

"It means . . . it means. . . . Ella, it means that I'm tired of losing people. I love you. I know we haven't been getting along. I know you haven't been happy. I want you to be happy. I don't know how to make that happen. So . . . fuck it. Whatever this is that you want to try, fuck it. I'll do it."

Another long silence. "You're doing it because I'm making you do it?"

He was about ready to crawl in a hole somewhere and stay there. "I'm doing it because I want you to be happy. And there is no 'but'. I'll do anything. So, I'm ready to do it, whatever it is."

"It might not be a bad thing you know. You're making it sound like the end of the world."

He laughed. "Well, maybe the world you and he are living in right now needs to end so they can build a new one."

She giggled. He would never get enough of that; the sound of her happiness. "Okay. I'll be honest; I didn't think you'd even try it. Thank you."

"So," he gulped nervously, "what do he have to do?"

"I have a plan," she said, and in the tone of her voice was the biggest grin he could imagine.

* * *

He had seven days. It was Sunday. He was not to touch myself for seven days. No masturbation, no orgasms. he was free to look at porn or fantasize about anything he wanted, but he was not to touch himself. That was rule number one.

Rule number two was that he had to be honest. If he fell off the wagon, got himself off, even if he masturbated but didn't cum, he was to tell her the truth.

Rule number three was for her. She was not to get mad if he fell off the wagon. But his seven day period would start all over again until he completed it.

Rule number four was that he was to call her during the week and ask her out for Saturday. It was to be a formal date. "Formal" meant he was to treat it like a first date.

Rule number five was that she could ask for daily updates, and he was to give them as promptly as possible.

Five rules. That was it. Pretty simple. He wasn't sure if it was something she'd come up with on her own or read about somewhere. He hadn't seen her "plan" on the Divine Tantra site anywhere. Maybe she'd contacted someone. Maybe they were giving her ideas, a map for getting their relationship back on track. 

He knew he could do it. He'd quit smoking by myself. No patches. No therapy. Just him and a whole lot of willpower. If he stumbled and had a drag, he started over. He didn't let it get him down.

Would this be any different? It was just him and his willy. How hard could it be? No pun intended.

On the first day, he got an email from her. They wouldn't be seeing each other until Saturday and he hadn't formally asked her out yet. He was thinking about how to do that. He thought she'd want it to be special, but he wasn't sure how to make it special yet. Her email was pretty straightforward.

'Day one, having fun?'

He emailed back. 'Fine. No worries.'

It was true. He usually masturbated either in the mornings when he first got up or more often after work. It was stress relief, going through countless Tumblr images, blogs, porn videos. He didn't even always like the images or videos. There were nights where he couldn't find "anything good on", but he still got off.

On the second day, she texted him.

'Day two. How did you do?'

He smiled, and texted back. 'Good, a little antsy but good.'

The fact was he didn't feel much difference. He was starting to wonder if all this Divine Tantra business wasn't a bunch of malarkey. He did feel a little antsy and his balls felt a little . . . "tight", a little full, like he'd forgotten to empty them. Every once in awhile he would notice they felt a little warmer and they ached a little. Well, not ached exactly, not burned exactly, but he was feeling something.

'Day three. How we be?'

He laughed. He texted back. 'I miss you. When should I call about Saturday, forgot to say?'

She texted back. ':) anytime. Not my choice.'

He dialed her number. When he heard her voice, he felt a little thrill. He hadn't felt that since they'd first met. "So . . . Saturday?"

He heard the smile in her voice. "Hm? What about it?"

He grinned. She was playing a little game with him. A little game inside of a big one. "Are you busy?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'd have to check my calendar."

He laughed. "Okay, you do that. If you're not busy, I'd like to take you out."

"Yes?" He could practically feel her blush emanating through the phone. "Hm, where to?"

That struck him. He hadn't exactly planned it out. Time for some tap-dancing. "I can't tell you. Some place nice though."

"Well, I need to know what to wear though."

"Uh . . . well, not shorts or anything. Something nice, but it's not like formal or anything."

She giggled. "I'm intrigued. I suppose I could make time on Saturday."

He had to make plans. He was already thinking he needed to find a nice restaurant, some place they hadn't been, some place nice.

"So, um–" she asked, "how are things going?"

"Good," he told her.

"Have you been following all the rules?"

He chuckled. "Yes. I haven't broken any of them yet."

"Oh, don't say 'yet'. But I mean, you're not having any problems or anything?"

He didn't hear that smile in her voice anymore. She was concerned, about what he wasn't sure.

"Well," he admitted, grinning from ear to ear, "I did wake up with a raging hard on this morning."

She giggled. "Oh, really?"

"Yes," he laughed, enjoying the sound of her voice - it was penetrating him in a way he hadn't expected, in a way that it hadn't for a long time. "And all the way to work this morning. I was fine when I got to work, busy and all, but then all the way home. In fact, I'm glad you texted because I was tempted to sit down at the computer."

He could hear her moving the phone to the other ear. "To look up porn?"

"I never start looking up porn, but I always seem to end up there, so probably that's a yes."

"Is it too tough for you? You know, not looking at it?"

He thought about it. In his head, he knew it was a bad idea; it wouldn't be long before his hand was on his dick, but his body was being very sneaky and persuasive. "It's not tough exactly. It just sort of creeps up on me. There's a whole rationalization that goes along with it."

"Like what?" she wondered. She was genuinely interested and true to her word, she wasn't acting angry or petty or jealous.

"Like, 'well, I won't look up porn. I'll just do other things.' Then, 'oh, one picture couldn't hurt', then one video, then I'm in the middle of it and my hand is moving all by itself."

"It sounds like it's too tempting."

He grinned. "It is. Of course if I could see you right now, it wouldn't be. I could take out all his pent up need on your fragile, delicate, luscious body."

She laughed. He was starting to love the sound of her voice, more than he remembered. "I'm luscious? I don't think I've ever heard you use that word."

"You're not just luscious, you're . . . delicious, delectable."

His mind was filled with images of her soft, white thighs, her little belly. He wanted to lick circles around her navel. He imagined her in bed, everything white, soft and feminine about her revealed.

"Thank you, but we have a date on Saturday, don't we?"

He groaned. "I have to wait until then?"

"Yes," she laughed, "and until then you promised you'd be good."

"I did. I know. I'll try. It's starting to get a little harder now."

She got serious. "This is for us, you know?"

He nodded. "I know."

* * *

'Day four, want some more?'

He responded. 'See email.'

He'd emailed her long passages about he missed her, about his dreams of her. He was getting horny. There was something missing. A big whole where he used to touch himself and get himself off. The forbiddenness of his own cock was starting to work on him. He hadn't touched it except to take a piss and he missed it. He hadn't looked at porn because he didn't think he could manage it without breaking her rules. He was feeling antsy. He was feeling restless. He went to sleep thinking about her and certain pornographic images that haunted him. Images he thought he'd forgotten came rushing back into his head. Videos where the girl had moaned a certain way, had a certain expression, where she'd been utterly pleasured, used, overwhelmed by her partner's needs.

It hadn't been a week yet and he was starting to go a little crazy.

He went to bed with an erection and woke up the same way, rolling around in bed thinking about Ella.

He drove to work and felt his dick stiff in his pants. Thank god for work, for being busy. It took his mind off things. 

He stopped going home right away. Home was where the computer was, where the porn was, where it was only him and his dick and his dick was persona non grata at the moment. He wanted it. He wanted her. He didn't know what he wanted, but he was starting to need her, to need to see her, to need to hear her voice. They had a date on Saturday.

He went to the gym for the first time in months. He ran until he couldn't run anymore, tried to burn off his sexual energy. He found books, technical manuals he'd been meaning to read. He tried to get lost in them. It wasn't easy. In the middle of a passage, he'd lose all track of it and realized he'd been staring blankly at the page thinking about Ella's perfect round ass.

He used his phone to look for a restaurant. He was scared to turn on the computer. He looked at emails on his phone. The screen was too small to really do anything too naughty, but even then he caught himself on a site, looking at a pretty naked girl bent over a couch, her long lean legs slightly askew in a pose only a woman could manage.

The girls of advertising began to plague him. He avoided magazines. In the grocery checkout, he marveled at how beautiful the women on the glamor covers were with their perfect breasts in their perfect swimsuits, their perfect smiles, pretty eyes, blushing cheeks–

By Saturday, he realized he was more than a little crazy. 

When he made it to Ella's door, she opened it and hurried away to the bathroom. He just caught a glimpse of her red dress.

'Oh, god . . . not the little red dress.'

It was low cut. It was thigh high, loose and flowing around her legs, but tight on her hips. He groaned quietly. He couldn't stand if it she wore that dress. She was chatting with him while she put on her makeup. He wandered restlessly around her apartment, knowing if he saw her cleavage, he was a goner.

She presented herself before him like a pretty wrapped Christmas gift.

For a whole minute he just stood there staring at her, blushing, salivating. He felt like a wolf eyeing a deer. He wanted her. He wanted to do things to her, with her. He wanted to wrap her around him, to split her in two.

She looked at him, worried. "What? You don't like it? I thought you liked this dress."

He nodded, finally tearing his eyes away from her hips. He'd always been a breast man, but now her hips had him hypnotized. He took a deep breath and made eye contact. "You're killing me. You're too beautiful."

She blushed deeply.

* * *

It had been a week and he hadn't had an orgasm. He hadn't even touched his own cock. He was in a desperate state. He couldn't do anything wrong. He had to be on his best behavior. He had no snide comments, no sarcasm. He thought about everything he said, twice, before he said it. He couldn't let this night go by without getting between her legs.

She spoke about work. He was a sponge, soaking up every word in awe of every smile, every twinkle of her eye. Every facial expression was like the super bowl. He analyzed her, studied her. His focus was complete. Her and only her.

She told him he was acting unusually attentive. He blew it off, but she was right.

After dinner, they went for a stroll on the romantic river walk. When the path turned, where a lamplight flickered like a candle, he pulled her in close and kissed her and kept kissing her. He sank his teeth into her neck, filled himself up with her perfume, gorged himself on the smell of her hair. He wanted to fling himself deep into her until he was swallowed whole.


I Have An Idea Ch. 01



They made out for awhile, before she pulled away. They strolled some more, sometimes talking, sometimes quiet, but together.

"So," she whispered, "what do you think?"

He sighed, brushing her hair from her face, lost in her eyes. "About what?"

She rolled her eyes and laughed which made him laugh. "About this, all of this, what we've been doing."

He thought about it. "Well . . . it's driving me crazy. I want you so bad I can't stand it."

She blushed and pressed her arms into his chest, letting him wrap his arms around her as she cuddled ever closer. Her hair was below his nose. He closed his eyes, the smell of her making him lightheaded. "You're so attentive, so into me. It's been so long since I felt you really, truly wanted me. I've never felt like you really needed me."

He murmured. "I need you now."

"So," she continued reluctantly, "should keep going?"

He moaned and tightened his grip on her. "Yes, please."

"No," she giggled, "I mean our little plan."

He pulled back enough to see her face. "There's more."

She grinned. "It never ends."

He thought about it. Really thought about it. "I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up. I can't believe I've managed to do it for a whole week."

She frowned. "Oh."

"But as desperate as I am to have you, I know what you mean. I haven't felt like this about you since when we were first dating. Back then, everything was new. I didn't know you and I wanted to, and I would've done just about anything to get you. It feels a lot like that."

She blushed and snuggled closer. She was intoxicating. He was hard and he was pressed up against her and he knew she could feel it. "So, do we continue with the next step of the plan?"

"What's the next step?" he asked, kissing the top of her forehead, down to her nose, and finally catching her lips warm, wet, open and waiting.

She grinned and whispered as she kissed him. "You'll find out."

* * *

They made it to her apartment. He was a bundle of nerves. He kissed her at every available opportunity. His erection stiffened just walking up the stairs behind her, watching her ass sway before him, her small hand gliding up the railing. One part of him expected her to stop at any moment, catch his lurid stare and scowl. The other part assumed this was why stairs were invented.

Inside, they'd made it to the couch, but not the bed. He kissed every bare inch of skin, her face, neck, shoulders . . He even kissed from the top of her arm down to her fingers, biting the insides of her wrists, licking her palms lightly. He couldn't help it. She was the entree; she was dessert; she was everything he wanted in the world at the moment, and he wanted all of her.

He tried several times to move to the bedroom, but she resisted.

After a short break, bathroom and more wine, she eyed him from across the couch. It was a strange look. He hadn't seen it before.

"What?"

She sighed. "This is harder than I thought."

He blinked and smiled. "What is?"

"Following the plan."

His eyes drifted from her tussled hair, so messy and beautiful, down to the shapes of her breasts, barely covered by her low cut dress. "Bedroom now?" He'd regressed to a mono-syllabic caveman. He wanted to drag her by her hair to the bed and take her in every way possible. He ached. His pants were filled to the point of discomfort.

"That's not the plan," she said, smiling, sipping her wine.

"Oh?" he wondered, his eyes rapt by the sight of her sleek, shiny legs crossed at the knee. The underside of her thigh slipping under her dress made him want to cry with ecstasy.

She nodded. "Do you remember when you told me about how strip clubs worked?"

That got his attention. He made eye contact again. "What?"

"You remember, when you got a lap dance, what you told me."

"Um. . . ." he wasn't sure if he'd been rendered speechless or if he was being speechless on purpose.

She drew a long sip of wine, stood and set the glass on the coffee table. Sauntering towards him, face cast in shadow, eclipsed by the dim lamp, she said quietly, "You have to put your arms behind you while she grinds in your lap, and you're not allowed to touch her."

He realized suddenly that he'd stopped breathing. He looked up at her. "Wh-what?"

She grinned down at him. "I was thinking of giving you a lap dance, but you have to be good, just like in a strip club."

He gulped. He was shocked, in total disbelief. "Uh . . . okay." If he'd been a mono-syllabic caveman before, she'd just sent him spiraling downwards into an atavistic stupor.

She sauntered closer, parting her knees to fit around his and pointing with one red nail at the back of the couch. "Put your arms up there." As he slid his arms up, she slid down into his lap, her dress rising, flowing around her thighs. She only had her panties on underneath; that knowledge made him whimper with desire.

She wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck and began to slowly grind herself against him. his dick began to twitch in his pants. He couldn't stand it. He had to have her. He still wasn't breathing. His eyes were hungry for every part of her; the movement of her breasts beneath the thin dress; the lithe way her belly stretched and swelled with each sway of her hips. He could smell her, her perfume, her hair, and for a moment, just a moment, he thought he caught a whiff of her arousal, her heat, her wet panties.

He groaned in miserable delight.

Her voice was low and soft, nearly toneless. "You know the rules. If you move your arms, the dance is over."

She leaned over and kissed his neck, rising to slip her breasts across his face. His hands balled into fists. They released, his fingernails digging into the couch. They balled into fists again. They gripped the couch. "In fact," she continued, "if you're a bad boy, then the evening is over."

He lifted his face, stretched for her, strained for her, hoping for her lips. She descended just long enough to let him taste her mouth. He could smell her makeup, could taste her lipstick and her breath, wine-flavored. "Over?" he asked.

She nodded, smiling. "Yes. Over. If you're bad, then it's time for you to leave."

"Jesus, Ella. Why are you doing this to me?"

Her eyes flashed with concern. "You don't like it?"

He blinked. "I–I'm in heaven . . . and in hell."

She sat heavily in his lap, her fingers winding around his neck, her nails softly scraping his skin. "Do you want to keep going?"

He nodded heavily.

Her eyelids lowered with her smile. "I meant with the plan."

"Wh-what plan?"

She giggled. "There's more. More rules for next week."

"Like what?"

She licked her lips, making him envious of her tongue. "Mostly it's the same. You can't touch yourself, but you get to see me on Wednesday this time. If you ask properly, I can come over and spend the night, but you still have to be a good boy. You still don't get to have any orgasms."

He whined like a needy child. "Please, Ella. I can't stand this."

"Will you be good?" she asked.

He nodded. "Anything."

She checked his eyes. "You say that now–"

He risked a long, deep kiss, aware suddenly of how the thrill of her lips rushed through him like an electric current. His dick was in pain, too hard, too constricted, too desperate for release, too desperate for her. "I promise. Just . . . please let me cum tonight."

She smiled. 

* * *

'How's it going?'

Ella sipped her tea and typed back. 'So far, so good.'

'Has he figured it out yet?'

She smiled. 'No. I don't think so. I think he knows something is up.'

'But not what?'

'Yes.'

There was a moment or two where she thought Jim would certainly revolt, where he'd throw his hands in the air and give up in disgust, but he hadn't. "So far, so good" was right. She couldn't believe it, but he seemed to be following the program. If he'd lied or been deceitful, he was certainly a good actor. He was behaving in a way he hadn't since they'd first met.

'How about you?'

'I'm fine,' Ella typed.

'No. Hard part is coming up. Ready?'

She swallowed. That was a good question. The things she was supposed to do, the place where they were supposed to end up, she didn't know if she could really take things that far. It was a good plan, but she thought it would all come crashing down well before that. The only thing more frightening than that possibility was the possibility that somehow it all really would work exactly as they said.

She typed: 'Not sure I can do it.'

'I wasn't sure I could do it either.'

She tucked her legs under her, lifted up the laptop long enough to get a blanket over her legs and cuddled back into the couch. 'How did you get past it?'

'By watching him.'

'Watching him?'

'Yes. You'll see. :) '

She doubted, but she trusted.

* * *

'Day one, having fun?'

'Fine.' He'd had an amazing orgasm a day ago and that had helped considerably. He didn't need an orgasm today. He could do without. It wasn't just an amazing orgasm; it was an explosion, a release, a relief, a cascade of pleasure. They'd been one melted sexual beast, messy, wet and beautiful. It had been pure sex and he felt for a moment that he'd spurted everything that made him a man into her.

He'd never quite felt anything like it. All the teasing, holding back, leading up to the magic moment. If that's how it could feel, why wouldn't he sign up for more?

Day two. He thought about seeing her Wednesday. What did she have in mind. Jesus! He'd gotten a lap dance from her girlfriend! What had gotten into her?

Day three, how we be? We be antsy. It hadn't taken along. He was starting to feel that same sensation of being charged up, his balls a little heavier than normal, a little fuller, little moments where they burned or ached, reminding him of what she had him doing. 

When she arrived at the front door on Wednesday, he was waiting with two glasses of wine. He had no idea what she had planned, but he was eager to find out. She was not dressed in her work clothes. He noticed right away. She could've worn it to the office, but he thought it was a little too tight, a little too sexy. She had her skirt and heels on, but it was the shortest skirt he'd ever seen her wear, and it rippled with tension when she moved. She wore a button down shirt with the top half of buttons undone. She made him think of a secretary in heat.

When she smiled, he smiled. He took her all in, and she was something. She'd obviously spent a lot of time on herself. He complimented her, tried not to gush, but he liked to see her blush, like to see her claim it was nothing when they both knew it was something.

She'd never really dressed for him in this way before. It was a change, a major one. It reassured him. He wasn't the only one struggling to make things better. She was really trying to turn him on.

That's when he got his first clue.

He hadn't touched himself in three days; no orgasms, no porn, no anything , and she knew it. She was purposefully trying to get him excited.

She kissed him long and deep and wiped the lipstick from his mouth, smiling. "You smell nice."

He felt his cheeks burn a little. "I went and got that cologne you said you liked."

She squirmed her body into his arms, nuzzling his neck with her lips, whispering, "Mmm, I like it."

He reached for another kiss, but she slipped away, her heels clicking on the tiles.

He had the event catered, sort of. He'd picked up dinner, since he couldn't cook very well. Her favorites, including dessert. She chattered away about her week, and he spent every moment noticing the way her collarbone caught the light of the candle. Her green eyes twinkled some times. Other times, they flashed with conspiracy. He hung on every word, surprised. He must be horny. He'd never spent so much time listening to her detailed descriptions.

She was surprised, too. After she'd spent twenty minutes describing her friend Eva's outfit, complete with oversized belt and flowing white blouse, her side-zipped pants and her gorgeous heels, she glanced over at him and realized his eyes were on hers. Then, when he spoke, he didn't change the topic. He asked her why she liked Eva's fashion sense over her own. She was halfway into explaining how bold and sexy Eva could be and how she never had the eye for such things when she realized what he'd asked.

They stared at each other for a moment, before he burst out laughing, his face red. "That was kind of a gay thing for me to say."

She giggled. "I never knew you were so fashionable."

He laughed. "I'm not. I swear. I don't know what got into me."

He blinked, flinched slightly, then moaned.

Somewhere during the conversation she'd pushed off her heels. Her toes were between his legs under the table, flexing, squirming in his lap.

He went from zero to sixty in two seconds. His erection grew so hard, so fast that he had to reach below the table and adjust himself. He grew flushed. He looked at her with glazed eyes. "What's gotten into you?"

She grinned, sipping her wine. "It's nice knowing you can't do anything about it."

His eyes turned wolfish. "I can't?"

She nodded. "If you do, then I leave. Remember?"

He flexed his jaw. She could see the restraint in his eyes. "Would you really leave? If I got you going, got you all turned on?"

She blushed, but fought it, leaning forward and whispering. "Not in the past, I wouldn't have. But ever since the DT website, I've been learning things."

He swallowed, resisting the urge to grind his crotch against her toes. "What things?"

She sipped her wine again and feigned a bored expression. "Like sometimes it's better to be wanted than to be had."

He was just about to collapse forward onto the table, when she removed her foot.

It was a full second before he realized she'd moved to the couch. 

He followed her, almost running to sit next to her.

He sat close, turning her face for a kiss.

She gave him one, a good one, but only one, then put her hand on his chest, pushing him away.

He panted breathlessly. "Aw, c'mon."

She remembered her friend's advice, 'You have to be the strong one.'

She pursed her lips as if she were truly deep in thought. "Well," she grinned and swept her hair over her shoulder, "if you promise to be a good boy, there is something we can do."

He took a long, deep breath, his eyes fixed on her lips, watching them stretch and part and close. "What?"

"Assume the position," she giggled.

He laughed. "The strip club position?"

She nodded.

He was already shifting on the couch, taking the time to adjust his aching cock in his pants yet again. "Really?"

She continued to nod, but did not sit herself on top of him. Instead, parked herself beside him, leaning over him, enjoying his smell. She unbuttoned his pants, unzipped them, and stared deep into his eyes as she pulled his boxers down.

When her hand first wrapped around him, his eyelids fluttered, his head collapsed back on the couch and he groaned, both miserable and happy.

She remembered her instructions. 'Talk quietly the entire time. Keep your voice low and soft.'

She leaned close until she was eye to eye with him. His forehead furrowed. He looked like he was being tortured. He smiled pitifully and kissed her softly. She whispered, "Does that feel good?"

He nodded. 

She felt his cock twitch in her hand. It was fascinating. It was as if she could see the electric current run right up his rib cage, the rippling tension, all the way up to his face. He groaned and let his head fall back onto the couch.

She released his cock, whispering, "You're not going to cum."

His head rolled back and forth.

She smile and kissed his shoulder, repeating. "You're not allowed to cum tonight."

He panted and balled his hands into fists.

She wrapped her hand around his cock again and felt it tense and expand beneath her hand. It was turning deep shades of red and purple. "You remember that, right?"

His hands left the back of the couch and cradled her face, drawing her in for a kiss. "Please can't we just forget the game tonight?"

She kissed him softly and began to stroke him slowly. "Is that what you want?"

He nodded and kept nodding, pleading quietly, whining.

"You can cum tonight," she whispered, "if you really want to."

He groaned and shifted toward her, trying to roll himself over her. She gently, insistently pushed him back down.

She let go of his cock. "Hands."

He blinked. "What?"

She pointed, pulled away from him, moving to the end of the couch where she was not so easy to reach. "Your hands aren't where they belong."

His face twisted with misery. He draped his hands back over the couch and waited, breathing heavily. "But you're going to let me cum tonight?"

She smiled and nodded. "Of course, but Saturday is off."

His eyes flashed with concern. "Why?"

She placed her hand his cock and lifted it until it lay perfectly in the center of her palm. "Because Saturday is the day we have sex, like last Saturday, but if you've already cum tonight, then you don't need to see me until next Wednesday."

"Why–why can't we do both?"

She sighed. "Do you want to end the game?"

His eyes shifted nervously. "I don't know."

She began to stroke him slowly again, watching his eyelids flutter, his eyes glaze over with pleasure. "It's up to you. You can cum tonight in my hand–"

He twitched again and she released him, listening to him groan miserably. After a moment, she began again, giving him long strokes.

"–or I can go down on you on Saturday."

His eyes widened. "Really?"

She nodded, smiling, and began to stroke him faster. "Yes," she whispered, "really, but you can't have both."

It wasn't that she never went down on him, she just didn't do it often, and frankly, she hadn't done it in a long time. This would be a treat.

She gave his shoulder a nibble and began to seriously pump her hand up and down.

He tensed, felt himself getting close, tightening his buttocks, lifting himself off the couch.

"It's your choice," she whispered, giggling, watching his body make the decision for him. "You can have my hand now or my mouth later."

His hands whipped off the couch. He pushed her away, rolled on top of her, forced himself on her, began to hungrily bite her neck, nibbling at her chin, forcing his lips on hers. She knew she'd lost it. Whatever strength she had, had fled. He wanted her so bad and she wanted him to have her. She was ready. Let him strip her, rape her right here on the couch. To hell with the game.

Then he sat back and caught his breath, his hands still firmly squeezing her breasts.

To her shock, he blinked with all the seriousness of a surgeon making a life and death decision. "I . . . I want your mouth."

She blinked. "Then . . . Saturday."

He swallowed, collapsed in on himself, nearly whimpering. "Jesus . . . okay."

He tore himself away from her. He settled on the couch and rubbed his face.

She cuddled next to him, smiling.

She hadn't expected that.

For the rest of the evening, they were perfect snugglers. While they ate popcorn and watched a movie, she let her hand rest on his cock. She didn't stroke it, but occasionally gave it a little petting. It stayed nearly rock hard the entire time, and when it didn't, she'd give it a little squeeze or turn her face up to his and say "kiss", and then it would be twitching back to life again.

She was beginning to be a little more than amazed at how much control she had over it. Her entire life, she'd never felt she had any control when it came to sex. She'd always been penetrated, and being penetrated meant she was the receiver, which meant, he or "it" got to make the decisions. Now, while she forbid it to do what it wanted to do the most, she not only controlled how hard it was, but she felt it was controlling him.




I Have An Idea Ch. 01



He rubbed her shoulders gently for nearly an hour, stroked her arm, kissed her head repeatedly. When she started to get up to get some water to wash down the salty popcorn, he leapt from the couch and insisted on getting it for her.

Divine Tantra had turned her boyfriend into a considerate gentleman.

But how would he react to the next part?



I Have An Idea Ch. 02



Ella spent the night. Her soft, lithe body resting beside his, did nothing to help him rest. He listened to her snoring softly off and on throughout the night. He tried to sleep but his cock was stiff between his legs. He rolled around. He tossed. He turned. He worried about waking up Ella. If he did get up, he feared in twenty seconds flat he'd be at the computer, and one fourth of a second later, he'd be deep in porn with his hand on his cock, doing what it did best.

He wanted her on Saturday. He wanted her mouth. He could imagine it.

He finally risked leaving the bed anyway, closing the bedroom door, and retiring to his "workout" room. He stripped all the laundry from the treadmill and walked until he was too tired to keep moving. After a quick shower, he headed back to bed and noticed Ella had thrown off the covers, her arm draped over his empty spot. He gazed down at her arm and sighed. Slowly, carefully he lifted it and re-draped it over his belly as he slid in beneath it.

She murmured something unintelligible and snuggled in beside him.

He smiled to himself in the dark and kissed her on the top of the head, then closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come.

He laid there for another hour while his mind chatted about sex and her mouth on his cock, and her hand on his cock, and how much he wanted her. She was soft and laying next to him. He could have her, but he couldn't have her.

When he finally fell asleep it was with his erection at full mast, wondering where she was getting her ideas.

If Thursday was a bear, Friday was a total bitch. He left the computer off. He read, walked on the treadmill, tried to watch non-sexy movies, anything to keep the temptation at bay. After Wednesday, Ella had left him charged up. Blue balls, they called it, and they were for awhile; they ached. Then the aching faded, but somehow the fullness remained. More importantly, however, was the feelings outside of his pants. At work, he had tons of energy; he was charged up. On the drive to work, he thought about Ella's mouth on his cock, and he got the mother of all hard-ons.

He needed a good solid distraction.

He thought about it and was a little disgusted with himself. It had only been a week. Only a week and he was antsy and feeling a little lost.

On Saturday, he was on his best behavior. He wore his cologne, wore the sport coat she liked, cleaned himself up. They went out to see a band with her friends. They danced a little, drank a little, and he generally doted on her.

David was a loose acquaintance. He was dating one of Ella's friends. It was David who caught him in the bathroom and asked him if he was okay.

"Yeah, why?"

David asked in a hush. "I mean, you can tell me. You're not dying or something? Ella's not dying?"

"No. Why?"

"So, what's with the whipped routine?'

Jim felt his stomach boil, his blood rise. "Fuck you. I'm not whipped."

"Yeah, right. Every time she wants a drink. Every time she wants a dance. You fucking follow her around like a puppy. What's going on, Man?"

He shook his head. "Look–" But what was he going to say? Was he going to tell him about the game? Was he going to tell him he wasn't allowed to cum or to have an orgasm? Was he going to tell him that he'd just had an orgasm a week ago that had blown his mind?

He told the truth and lied simultaneously. "We were going to break up. Me and Ella, and we decided to give it another shot. Start over."

David nodded. "Right, right. So, on your best behavior for awhile. I get it."

Jim grinned and nodded. "You got it." 

Then he wondered if David did get it. Maybe that's what he was doing. Maybe he was just going along with Ella's little game until she got tired of it. If she hadn't come up with the game, he would've done exactly what David had suggested. He didn't like the idea, but he knew he would have. He would have been a good boy until everything settled down, then returned to his old, selfish ways.

He wanted to punch himself in the gut.

Once Ella had had enough dancing, Jim escorted her back to the car. She gave his crotch a little pat. "How's everything?"

Jim smiled, but it was weak. "Fine."

When they got home, Ella asked him what was wrong.

He didn't want to say, but somehow it poured out of him. "I'm a lousy guy, Ella. I always have been. You deserve better. I love you, but I'm a selfish fuck."

She put her arms around him, told him to stop, but he held her at arm's length. "No. It's true. You know it's true. I'm not a good guy. I play at being a good guy, being all nice and supportive, but I'm not. I only want things for myself. I don't really put out any energy for you."

She sat heavily on the couch and reached for a tissue. "You're not as bad as you think."

He nodded, utterly depressed. "I'm not as good as you wish."

They wallowed in the silence of the apartment for awhile, then Ella smiled. "Well, I do know one thing."

He was practically pouting. "What's that?"

"For the last two weeks, I've totally come first."

He stared at her.

She stared back. "Haven't I?"

He thought about it. "We were going to break up. Maybe I'm just doing this until you feel secure again."

She laughed. "You're just doing this because you're horny as hell."

It was contagious. He chuckled, which in no short order became a full out belly roll. "You have no fucking idea!"

She motioned him toward her. He collapsed onto the couch and sighed. "Feel better?" she asked.

He smiled, but his eyes were serious. "I'm an asshole, Ella. Why are you with me?"

She reached over and began to rub his crotch. "We're making a fresh start."

He kissed her, and made it count.

She smiled and helped him out of his pants. "Do you want my mouth down there?"

He closed his eyes and moaned as if just the idea were too sweet to stand. "God, yes."

She knelt between his legs and placed her warm mouth on him, feeling it grow in her hands, feeling it harden. The color changed; the tip leaked almost right away. He wasn't just turned on; he was bursting at the seams. She remember her encouragement. She had to be strong. She had to be prepared for his reaction.

She drew him into her mouth until he shivered and sighed, feeling his cock growing even more. "Do you want me?" she whispered.

He moaned, wrapped his hand in her hair, but let it go, remembering she hated when he did that. "God, yes."

She rubbed the underside of his leaking cock on the flat of her tongue and looked up at him. "Would you rather fuck me?"

His eyes popped open. He froze. "Yes."

She swallowed his cock and gave him a long series of warm, wet strokes then paused and eyed him again. "If you want to fuck me, you can."

His leg began to shake uncontrollably. "N-now?"

She gave his cock a long lick and gazed up at him again. "No, not now, but Wednesday."

He blinked. "Wh-what?"

She wrapped her hand around his wet cock and began to stroke it gently. "It's up to you. It's your choice. You can cum in my mouth or–" She grinned and undid the buttons on her blouse. "–or you can cum inside me."

He groaned miserably. "What the hell?"

"What?" she blinked. "What's wrong?"

She was prepared. She knew it was a possibility.

He scowled at her. "You can't keep doing this to me, Ella!"

She shrugged and let go of his cock. "It's up to you. I gave you a choice."

"Yeah, but–but–" He sighed and leaned forward and kissed her on the top of the head. "I'm going to explode if this keeps up. What if I do something bad? If you keep driving me this way . . . what if–"

She turned her face up to kiss him. "It's all part of the plan."

He sagged back on the couch, eyeing his cock, hard and leaking and at attention. "What's the next part?"

She crawled up on the couch beside him. "I know you think this is all some sort of weird punishment, but it's not."

He noticed her hand was on his cock again. He couldn't think clearly, and at the moment, he didn't want to. "It feels like it."

"You just complained about being selfish, but ever since we started this, you've been anything but selfish."

"But . . . it's artificial. It's not the real me. It's the me that needs to fuck you so bad he'll be a totally–"

"Sweet, loving, caring boyfriend?" she provided.

He groaned. "You know what I mean."

"Is it normal when I'm on the pill and I feel different? That's artificial. I get weepy because of it; I gained weight because of it, but as I recall, you loved how girly I was. You said I was all soft and submissive the whole time."

He frowned. "That's different."

"It's not," she told him and slowly slid her hand up and down his cock, kissing him on the cheek.

He turned to her with glazed eyes. "What happens when we stop this? I'm the same guy I was before."

She smiled. "I told you, it's all part of the plan."

He shook his head. "It has to end some time."

She gave him a few quick strokes, until he was sitting up and moaning loudly. She'd gotten him close. Even she was surprised. When she whipped her hand away, he lunged forward, groaning. 

"You have a choice to make," she said.

He looked at her as if he wanted to both kill her and fuck her or maybe just fuck her to death. 

"Okay, okay."

She was utterly shocked when he made his decision. Her friend had been right. She couldn't wait to IM her. The plan was completely working.

* * *

Maybe her friend was a fortune teller or a psychic. Maybe she read tea leaves or chicken bones. However, she did it, she predicted what was to come. Ella had messaged her about what Jim had decided. Twice, he'd foregone an orgasm right then and there, for something better . . her. Twice, he'd proven, much to her shock, that he was capable of delayed gratification. This was going to work. The plan was going to do amazing things for them, and just like her friend said.

She felt different, too, felt herself changing. It wasn't just teasing him and driving him up the wall with desire; it wasn't just walking around all day knowing he was out there craving her. It was something more.

She felt a strange, new and wonderful sense of confidence. She'd always felt she was confident, but in some ways she thought maybe she was just pretending, hoping it would become real. Now, she had moments where she felt like a goddess. She'd read books like that, "Bringing Out the Goddess Within", and she enjoyed them and tried to follow their advice, but it always came back to men. Men ruled the world. Men had the cocks and somehow that meant men got to say what happened in the relationship.

She knew that wasn't completely true. She got to say who she dated and how long she dated them. She could say "no" to sex when she wasn't in the mood, but she always felt guilty, felt obligated. In all of her relationships, she felt like she was the one doing the pleasing and they were the ones setting the standards.

When her friend messaged her back an hour later, it was not the encouraging response she'd expected.

'Just be prepared for when he breaks.'

She sat in mute wonder for a few minutes, before replying. 'What do you mean?'

'You've wound him up very tight. If he breaks, you have to be prepared for that.'

'He wouldn't though, would he?'

'The rules weren't just for him, remember? You promised if he fell off the wagon, you wouldn't get angry.'

But . . she was getting angry just thinking about it. He'd waited twice for her, why would he mess it all up now?

'If you get angry,' her friend warned, 'he won't want to play the game anymore.'

She fumed a little. 'Okay, so I don't get angry. Can I at least be disappointed?'

'Lol Of course. That's the whole point. If and when he breaks, and they usually do at some point, sometimes even as a test, he loses his "see you" privilege. He has to wait another week, but there are things he can do to earn "good boy points". We can go into those. You'll need to start spelling them out.'

She raised her eyebrows at that. She laughed. 'Oh, "good boy points"? I like the sound of that.'

'Remember, no negotiations are to take place unless you have your hand on his cock.'

She blushed. She had her own set of rules to follow that he didn't know about, and that was number one. 'Can I ask you something?'

'Of course. That's what I'm here for.'

'Sooner or later he's going to figure it out. Isn't he going to get upset?'

'He might, and you should be prepared for that as well, but by that time he'll find he's pretty well conditioned. It won't be much of a choice. You'll have become a habit he can't and maybe is unwilling to break.'

Conditioned? Did she just say they were conditioning him? What a strange concept. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

She'd sent him her usual text earlier: 'Day one, having fun?'

He replied. 'Not day one. Day seven.'

She smiled. He was right, of course. She'd forgotten he hadn't actually cum. Odd that she'd thought they were starting over.

She texted back. 'Day seven, in heaven?'

It took him forever to reply, which should've told her something. 'Yes, a little too much.'

She texted him again: 'Oh?'

After awhile, she got an alert for an email. He'd switched. That should've told her something, too. She read what he wrote.

'Sorry, yes, got home Sunday and ended up on the computer. Couldn't help myself.'

She felt her cheeks flush. Not angry though. She'd promised she would get angry. She took a couple of deep breaths and wrote back. 'Aww. :( Did you get off? And you were doing so well.'

'No, but I got close. I mean, twitching and everything. Got REALLY close. Really wanted to, but didn't want to screw up Wednesday. Not sure if I can make it.'

She hadn't expected that. What kind of consequences did that bring? There was no time for her to message her friend, and no guarantee she'd be on. 'Hmm, can you make it till Tuesday?'

His response was quick. 'Yes!'

She smiled, then he sent her another email. 'You're not mad?'

She replied: 'Not mad. Not even disappointed. You're trying so hard. That means something to me. You're REALLY trying. Things will get easier.'

She'd been promised that things would get easier; she wasn't sure if she believed that anymore than he did.

* * *



On Tuesday, he was tender, apologetic. He was feeling rough. She could see that. He was needy, almost too attentive. She felt like she was a lamb and he was a wolf. His looks had that expression, that intensity. "I want to eat you."

It was a little frightening, but a little thrilling, too.

She also felt something else. She felt that goddess-like feeling again. He was all man, all power, all libido and he could've grabbed her and stripped her and taken her anytime he wanted, and she could've fought tooth and nail, but she probably wouldn't have for very long. But he didn't do those things (even if a part of her wanted him to); he was restrained. Somehow, her friend had helped engineer a dam. He was on his best behavior again, tending to her every need.

She didn't dress in lingerie. He hadn't earned that. She had jeans and a blouse; though a very nice blouse, and both a little tight fitting. His eyes roamed over her every chance they got.

He swallowed nervously, almost with guilt. "So, uh, what's the plan for tonight?"

He was being coy. What he was really asking was, "can we please finally have sex?"

She kissed him and patted his cheek. "You've been awfully good."

He helped her out of her coat, hung it up like she liked rather than just dropping it on the chair by the door.

She walked into the living room and added, "For the most part."

Blushing, he presented himself to her, eyes down. "Look, I'm sorry about that. It just happened."

She smiled and rubbed her thumb across his lips. "Oh, I know. Things happen. It was bound to happen, and still you didn't get off. That's very impressive."

He moaned, his eyelids fluttering. She felt it in her bones, the Goddess. Just from her touch, he was experience bliss. She was taken aback by it, more than a little. She tried not to let it show.

He shook his head, sat next to her on the couch, very close. "It . . . wasn't easy. I swear. It just snuck up on me."

Her smile was tender, understanding. "I know. But . . . there are consequences."

He groaned miserably, bowed his head, wrapped his arms around her and cuddled up next to her. "What are you going to do to me now?"

She kissed the top of his head. "Nothing you won't enjoy."

When he raised his head, showed her his eyes, they were filled with need. "I'll do anything."

It was enough to make her raise her eyebrows. She giggled. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

He grinned from ear to ear. "You're enjoying this."

She gave him a sideways look. "You're not?"

He nodded, eyes down, collecting his thoughts, searching. "I am . . . I just–I'm not sure where it's leading."

"Well," she said softly, and cuddled against him, "I know it's been a kind of torture, but the last three weeks have been really nice."

He nodded, eyes twinkling. "They have. You've been happy. I'm glad you've been happy. I want you to be happy."

She gazed deep into his eyes, whispering, "I want you to be happy, too."

He swallowed, unable to hold her gaze for very long. "I think . . . I think I've been pretty happy the last couple of weeks. I've certainly gotten a lot of things done at home."

"Oh?"

"Well," he admitted, "it's trying to keep myself busy, so I won't–you know. . . ."

"Good," she nodded. "Then you won't mind the consequences."

He shot her a look. "Uh oh."

She giggled and pointed to the back of the couch, pretending to be commanding. "Lap dance position."

He didn't just get into position; he snapped to it as if she were a barking Sargent. She was shocked at how quickly he leapt up, repositioned himself on the couch and threw his arms up on the back.

'You're conditioning him.' The thought cycled through her head. 'Jesus, is that what I'm doing? Does he know? What if he figures it out?'

She pushed the thought aside and snuggled up next to him, releasing his straining his cock from his pants, remembering her instructions. 'Talk low and soft. You never have to demand anything, just suggest. If he's in the right frame of mind, he'll do anything you ask of him.'

* * *

'You feel guilty?'

Ella typed as fast as she could. 'How can I not feel guilty?'

'We all felt guilty when we first started.'

She was seriously considering ending the little game, convinced it was going to ruin their relationship. 'Okay, well, with good reason?'

'You're feeling guilty because you're controlling him and he doesn't know it? Because he trusts you and you're abusing that trust?'

She felt a tremble in her hands as she typed. She was already sniffling, holding back tears. 'Yes.'

'I understand. We all felt that way at first.'

'At first?'

'Let me ask you. Does he really not know you're manipulating him? Is he that stupid?'

She frowned. 'He's not stupid, no.'

'And he could stop at anytime? He could just say that he didn't want to play anymore?'

'Yes, I suppose. He's afraid I'm going to end the relationship if he does though.'

'Is he enjoying himself?'

She wiped away the tears and felt the grin on her face. He was enjoying himself or seemed to be. He whined and moaned and groaned and complained, but he was in heaven the second she walked in the room. She could see it in his eyes. It was almost like . . . adoration, worship. 'Yes, but I think we both keep thinking how long can we keep this up?'

'It gets easier. It does. I promise. For both of you. After awhile, you won't have to do so much. Just a little touch here or there, a little chat here or there and he'll be floating and you'll be so in love with the attention that you'll wonder how you did with out.'

That was already true. It was addictive. The attention he gave her was complete. She felt like a bright burning star in a dark sky. Wherever she went, she could feel his focus on her, his attention. He couldn't get enough of her. His desire for her had deepened, broadened. He no longer seemed to just want what was on her chest and between her legs; their kisses had become electric. He moaned during them, actually moaned aloud. He gave her foot massages, leg massages, rubbed her shoulders. She would glance over at him and see his eyes glazed over with pleasure just staring at her skin, watching his own thumbs run over it, studying the shape of her. He noticed what she was wearing, noticed how she wore her hair . . . every single time. She couldn't change a single detail without him catching it and commenting on it.




I Have An Idea Ch. 02



Once, she'd gone with a slightly darker lipstick, almost by accident. Her supposedly clear lip gloss had more tint to it than she'd realized. He'd practically shivered when he saw it. No, not "practically". He had shivered, his eyes zeroed in on her lips. He had commented how dark they were, how kissable.

He was worshiping her like a goddess and she was blossoming under the attention. It excited her, put a thrill in her chest and in the pit of her stomach. It warmed her, made her feel so loved, so wanted, so needed. It was hard to not respond to that type of attentive devotion.

When she texted him or called him during the day, he didn't take two hours to answer. He answered right away. No longer was she left in a vacuum, wondering if he'd gotten her text, if he was simply too busy to respond.

She worried though that it was too much. Too much intensity. Was there any way that they could keep that up for any length of time?

On the couch, with his arms in "lap dance position" (she still giggled at that), she hadn't even stroked him, just rested her hand on his cock, and she'd already felt it twitch. She informed him yet again that he'd broken the rules.

He apologized, made promises, asked what he could do to make it up to her. He whined, told her he couldn't stand it anymore, that he needed to cum. He would do anything, he said, if she just let him cum.

She was nervous. She wasn't sure she could pull it off. Her instructions had been clear, detailed. She'd read them over a dozen times, each time thinking, "This can't possibly work." She'd never heard anything like it before.

'Ejaculation and orgasm,' her friend had instructed her, 'are separate mechanisms. They may seem inextricably intertwined, but they are not.'

She was very careful. She watched him, his reaction, his expression, the tension and release of his body, the way his cock twitched, the tightness of his balls, listened to his moans, listened to his breathing. She waited for him to tense, for his expression to get that intensity, waited for him to hold his breath.

She stroked him with her hand, up and down, slipping her fingers under the sensitive spot of his head, hitting his button, then staying away from it, stroking only his shaft, giving him gentle squeezes at the base of his cock, talking to him softly. "Be a good boy and tell me before you cum. Will you be a good boy for me?"

He nodded heavily, exhaling the word "yes".

She stroked him, up and down, her hand rubbing wet and slick around his head, marveling at how stiff his cock was. It was rock hard, stretching, straining.

He held his breath. His body tensed. His balls had drawn up mercilessly tight against his body. His expression turned taut.

She let go of his cock, let it dangle, watched as it twitched on its own.

He whined softly, as if he'd been hurt, "No, no, no, no. . . ."

Without touching him, she whispered in his ear, "Is this what you do when you're looking up porn? Touch yourself when you know you're not supposed to? Wrap your hand around it?"

He nodded and nodded, his eyes slitting open, full of pleasure, reaching for her lips.

It was an amazing kiss, so intense, so needy. He moaned from the sensation of her slick lips, the tack of her lipstick, the smell of her makeup, the taste of her tongue.

She felt it, how much it pleased him, how it drove him crazy with desire.

She stroked him again, slowly, playing with him, building the tension to that moment when he couldn't hold back any longer.

True to his word, he warned her, becoming unintelligible, his words turning into short, caveman grunts. " . . . gonna . . gonna–"

She let go and watched as he writhed and groaned on the couch, squirming as if he were being tortured, but moaning with ecstasy, whimpering, "Oh God . . . please–"

When his cock stopped twitching, she stroked it again, slowly, from bottom to tip. It had grown again, gotten bigger, tighter. Every time she thought he was as hard as he could get, he surprised her. Every time he went into his "I'm gonna cum" dance, she let go and let him dangle and twitch.

She again felt the power that came with being a goddess; the control she had over his cock amazed her. She'd always had the ability to control it, but never had. Why hadn't she? All these years of feeling ruled by the desire of men had shamed her, made her feel she had no control over her own desires, her own pleasures. The kind of pleasure she wanted and needed had always come second to the kind of pleasure their cocks wanted and needed. She hadn't realized it. She, herself, had been conditioned.

Now, she was turning it around. She brought him to the absolute crest of pleasure, but wouldn't let him go. She decided when she touched him and when she didn't. She had him begging. She had him in the palm of her hand . . literally.

Then, the funniest thing happened, just as her friend had described. She had him on the edge again, tensing, whimpering, begging, his cock twitching and reaching for sensation, searching for her hand, for the pleasure that only it could bring. It began to dribble cum, then stream. It leaked out, oozed out, overflowed and ran down the underside of his shaft. She watched it with amazement, watched him watching it with shock and confusion.

She asked him if he'd cum.

He blinked and shook his head. "No . . I–"

"You're cumming," she accused, unable to believe it. Her friend had been right. Once again, her advice had been right.

"I'm not . . I'm. . . ." He swallowed and watched the stream of cum end.

"Did you have an orgasm?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No, it just spilled over, I guess. That's never happened before."

She smiled and patted his cheek. "That's okay."

His face twisted with need. "No, but I didn't cum. I'm not done."

She kissed him softly. "Darling, you did cum. We both watched it."

"But I–but I didn't have an orgasm though!"

She laughed. She'd meant to laugh with tenderness and sympathy, but for some reason it sounded cruel. "Oh, but you said you wanted to cum. You didn't say you wanted an orgasm. You don't get to orgasm until Wednesday. That was the plan, remember? Oh, but then you broke the rules, so Wednesday probably isn't going to happen now either."

He kissed her repeatedly, begging. "No, I can–I can still feel it. I need to cum. That wasn't right. It came out, but I didn't get off! Please–"

She giggled and wrapped her hand around his cock. She didn't move it, not even an inch, but it was enough to get his attention. "I suppose, if you were a very good boy, and you earned enough good boy points, that we could give you a proper orgasm tomorrow."

He barely had enough breath to get out a response. "H-how?"

She shrugged, feeling the grin on her face, giggling helplessly. "I don't know. I guess it's up to you to figure out how to make up for your rule-breaking."

His eyes shifted; his thoughts racing. "Um, dinner and something special, a gift, a–"

"Oh, Sweetheart, I appreciate the thought, and the dinners are wonderful, but that's a lot of eating out. I don't want you spending all your money on me, and I can't keep eating like that."

"So," he tried again, in a panic, "a gift or something? I mean, you know, anything."

"You can't just buy me something. This isn't about bribery or getting paid off. What kind of girl do you think I am?"

He thought for a moment, his gaze fixed on the head of his cock, peeking out above her hand. It was pink and purple and in absolute need. Finally, the thought popped into his head. "Your car needs an inspection. This month. By the end of the month."

She raised and eyebrow. "Oh . . . I hate getting my car inspected. All that waiting, and there's nothing to do, and the people are all, you know . . . . I'm never sure what they're talking about."

He reached for her lips, whispering, "I'll do it for you. Let me take care of it."

She kissed him and sighed. "That would be nice, I suppose."

He kissed her again. "And I can take of your dryer door, too, so you don't have to keep a basket up against the door to keep it running."

She kissed him softly, smiling. "I keep meaning to get that fixed, but I hate calling repairmen and they charge so much."

He lost himself in her beautiful green eyes. "Then let me do it for you."

She smiled and blushed. "You don't have to."

"But I want to."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and touched noses with him. "You really don't have to. I know we're playing our little game, but–"

"I want to, Ella. Game or no game. It would make you happy, right?"

She thought about it and nodded. "I suppose."

"And," he breathed, "tomorrow . . you'll–I'll . . I can see you again?"

She smiled so big her eyes twinkled. "If you like."



I Have An Idea Ch. 03



He met her at her office shortly before lunch and asked for her keys. She gave him an uncharacteristically dumbfounded expression. "Huh?"

He whined a little. "Just give them, okay?"

When she dug through her purse and handed them over, he handed over the keys to his Jaguar. He gazed down at them in her hand and turned pale. "Be . . . be careful. I'll be right back."

She never drove his Jaguar; she was never allowed to even sit behind the driver's seat. She was surprised he allowed her in the passenger seat, and even then it was no drinks, no food, no dirt, no fingerprints.

She was actually scared to drive it, knowing how precious it was to him, but he had given her the keys, so taking her friend to lunch in it was a thrill and a half. When they got back, he was waiting. She expected a lecture or at the very least of interrogation, but he just kissed her and returned her car keys. "You're all inspected."

She smiled and thanked him and before she could say another word, he was gone.

She stood there with her thoughts in a whirl. Had he just given up his lunch hour to get her car inspected?

When she arrived home after work, she was exhausted. It had been a long day. He was there, in the guest parking spot, grinning.

She got out and smiled at him and he pulled bags from his car. "I got supper for you."

She laughed. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, and it's not bad either. I went to that vegetarian place you like."

She had to admit, the attention, the pampering was addictive. All this, just because he hadn't had an orgasm in a few days?

They ate dinner and he did the dishes. She spread herself out on the couch and thought about where they were. She had an urge to go text her friend and tell her she was right about the change in behavior, and wrong about the inevitable temper tantrum. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

He slipped under her legs and began to massage her feet. It was heaven. She moaned. She sighed. She smiled and went all warm and melty on him. "Thank you so much, Jim."

He leaned over and kissed her. "It's my pleasure."

He kissed her again, and again, and deepened the kiss. He panted, "I want you so bad."

She blushed and nodded. "I want you, too . . . but I'm sorry . . . I'm still just so tired from work."

Concern flowed over his face. "But . . . it's Wednesday."

She nodded, sharing his concern. "I know, and you've been so good."

His eyes dropped. "It's because I didn't get your dryer fixed?"

She hadn't even thought about it. Honestly, in her eyes, everything he'd done had been enough, getting her car inspected, pampering with dinner and the foot massage. "No, really."

He interrupted her. "I ran all around after work looking for that little clip for the door, but no one had it or would sell it to me. I finally had to order it off the internet, but it's going to take a week to come in."

She smiled. "Well, that's okay. I just--"

"Don't I even get a little credit?" He was practically pouting.

She nodded and patted his cheek, then thought about the advice of her friend. The cock, the cock, the cock controls the man. She sat up, snuggled next to him and placed her hand over the crotch of his pants.

He stiffened, his breath suddenly ragged.

She whispered in his ear. "You've been a good boy today."

He turned and kissed her forehead, binging like a starved man on her buffet of scents, her perfume, her hair, her skin, her makeup. "Thank you. I'm trying."

She patted the hard lump in his pants, drummed her fingers. "So, I'll leave it to you. I love everything you've done, and I promised you Wednesday, but you did break the rules, and then you tried to make up for them, which you did, even if my dryer isn't quite fixed yet. If you absolutely need to do this tonight, then okay. If you feel you deserve it, then okay."

He was quiet for a long time, his breath warm and flowing down her face. "You really are tired?"

She turned her face up to his. "I really am exhausted. I'm ready to fall right into bed."

He nodded. "Okay."

She checked his eyes, seeing the disappointment. "Honey, are you sure?"

He smiled. "It's not that I don't want to. I need to, but I'm not as desperate as I was before."

She shook her head gently. "No?"

His eyes dropped as he considered his feelings. "I mean, I need an orgasm in the worst way, but that thing you did last night, you know, cumming without, um, orgasming, sort of . . . relieved some of the pressure I think. It's a weird kind of emotional need now. It feels a lot less like pressure built up and not so much like a physical need."

"You have an emotional need?" she giggled. It always seemed to her that he worked hard to have nothing to do with emotions whatsoever.

He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. I do need it. It's weird. I'm like split right down the middle. Half of me wants to just have you, needs to have you, but the other half . . . wants to make you happy."

She reached for his lips and moaned softly when they met, soft and warm and tender. "I'm very happy tonight."

She couldn't be sure, but she thought she was his throat bob. Was he getting emotional? He whispered back. "I'm glad."

Her head went all dizzy. She practically swooned when the thought struck her. 'He just gave up what he wanted most in the world right now . . . to make me happy.'

* * *

On Thursday afternoon, he met her at her door with takeout. She smiled and patted his cheek and thanked him. He hadn't just brought dinner for them, he'd brought her a low-calorie meal. He'd gone healthy. Even for his own meal. 

"But don't they have those wings you love so much?"

He nodded, setting the bags on the kitchen counter while she closed the door and greeted the cat. "Yeah, but I didn't want to get all loaded down tonight. It's so heavy, you know."

Of course, she realized, he was expecting sex. He'd willingly sacrificed his own pleasure the night before. Again, she had a sense of obligation which she'd been promised she wouldn't have anymore. Before she could second guess this whole Divine Tantra business, she remembered what her mentor had said, 'It's more work at the beginning, like dog training or potty training, but if you're patient, you'll never have that obligated feeling again.'

She wondered when 'never' would start.

He lit candles, put on soft music and transferred all the contents of the Styrofoam to plates. If she hadn't known better, she could easily have believed he'd cooked them both a wonderful meal. He wasn't much of a cook though, but it was a nice fantasy.

He was his normal, attentive self. Well, his new normal, attentive self. She was amazed at how quickly his new behavior had become "normal" to her. It was starting to feel almost a little routine for him to dote on her, to tend to her every need, to jump up from a chair in order to attend to her needs, refill her water glass, bring her more soy sauce. She barely even had to ask.

Afterwards, tired from work, they retired from the couch. He kissed her and kept kissing her. He could barely contain himself. He whispered desperate, needy things into her ear, how bad he needed her, wanted her, how good she smelled, how beautiful she was. They moved to the bedroom, shedding their clothes.

He didn't last long.

It was nice, but short. He apologized and they laughed a little.

He offered to take care of her, but she was already feeling sleepy.

He leapt from the bed, the second he realized she was okay, and parked himself before the TV. As she nodded off, she thought she heard him in the kitchen again. How can he be hungry again?

She was an open book to her friend, texting all the details.

'So,' her friend texted back, 'you see how he changes once he's had an orgasm?'

He'd been gone early in the morning, and he hadn't left her a message or called. She'd resisted calling him or texting him. She sighed with disappointment. 'So . . .' she asked her friend. 'The only way for him to be a good boyfriend is for him never to get off again?'

Her friend sent her a smiley face, followed by, 'He's only going a week at a time without one. Once you extend that time, you'll see that his drops don't last as long. Even on this one, it only takes a day or so for him to re-charge. After he's conditioned to depend on you for his orgasm, his drops will become almost non-existent. He's still getting it, remember? You're still training him. It takes time.'

She didn't have the chance for more time.

Things went swimingly for the next two days. While he didn't call or text her at all Friday, he was back on Saturday, attentive, thoughtful, adoring her. It was very addictive; it was so easy to get used to being treated with such high regard. In all her years of dating boys, she'd only received that kind of attention at the beginning of her relationships, the courtship phase. Within months, the boys always seemed to change; she always became second in their lives. She didn't mind, because she knew they had their own lives, but as hard as she always worked to please them, she never saw her efforts reciprocated. She had realized long ago, that men were just like that, and that she would only disappointed if she expected anything else.

Now, for the first time, she had glimpsed the possibility that they could be like that. It was both hopeful and horrible. She felt like she'd wasted so much time accepting and expecting less. Still, this "program" seemed so . . . dramatic. Could she really go along with it all?

They renewed their "game", and Jim was once again hanging on her every word, being sweet and romantic, but everything came to a screaming halt a week later. He was properly "charged" up by now, having not touched himself, having had no orgasms and she was preparing to extend his time, but she didn't get the chance.

He stopped responding to her calls, stopped responding to her texts. She felt that old sense of desperation. She tried to resist the urge to nag him, to text him repeatedly with messages like "Are you okay?" and "Where are you?" and "I'm worried about you." It was difficult, like fighting a demon inside her that was dedicated to making her sound and feel desperate and needy. She knew from experience that those kinds of messages drove men away. 

When he finally called, he was cold and noncommital. She asked if there was anything wrong and he told her there wasn't, but then followed up with, "I just need some space. You know . . . for awhile."

A cold pang of sorrow splashed through her.

Her friend had a different take, sending her text that said, 'It's a tantrum. He's fallen off the wagon.'

She shook her head in complete disagreement. 'No, he would've just told me. He knows he can. It's worse than that.'

'Don't panic. He was feeling out of control and he got himself off. I promise you. Rather than tell you, he needed to take his control back for awhile. You have to be patient and let him have it. You can't force anything. Forcing it will make it worse.'

She thought about it, felt tears in her eyes. 'So, then, we're right back where we started?'

Another smiley face. 'For awhile. If he's a better boyfriend, then you don't have anything to worry about. If he's not, then he'll either come back to the game again, because of how it makes things better or he won't.'

She felt the anxious dread nestle in the pit of her stomach. 'And if he doesn't want to continue the game again, what then?'

There was a pause that spoke volumes. 'It's up to you then. You either stay with him and make the best of a bad situation or you break up.'

She sighed. 'And if we break up?'

Yet another smiley face. 'Then you have learned something really important, which is you don't have to settle. You can expect more and you know how to get it.'

She felt like anything but smiling.

Another text appeared. 'I've done a dozen of these and I can honestly tell you, so far only one has led to a break-up. All the others ended up going back to some version of the game, some more modified than others.'

'Thanks,' she replied, not feeling much better. Leave it to her to be that negative percentile.

'And the guy that didn't work, was not exactly a winner. He lied and cheated on the plan constantly. From what you told me, Jim has been honest.'

As far as she knew, he had, but who could know for sure.

She let it all drop, didn't mention the game, and Jim, as predicted, returned to his old self. He didn't call, didn't text, hardly communicated except to see her on the weekend. He was better than his old self, but not by much. She could see that he tried a little harder, but just tended to fall back on his old habits.

***

It took almost a week of her sad sighs and weak smiles before he brought it up in the car on the way to a movie.

Sounding heartbroken, he said, "We're not working again, are we?"

She shrugged. "We're okay, I guess. I mean, it's better than it was. Don't you think?"

He shook his head. "Maybe." After a long silence, he added, "but you're not happy again."

She let the quiet sounds of the car answer for her. Familiar thoughts ran through her mind: maybe it wasn't him; maybe she expected too much, was too critical, was never satisfied; maybe she wanted to change him and should love him for who he was instead of who he could be.

"What if--" he interrupted her thoughts. "What if we started that little game of yours up again?"

She froze, staring at him. "Um . . . I don't know. Is that something you'd want to do?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. It seemed like when we were doing that--it seemed like you were really happy. I mean, you just gushed all the time, you know? When you saw me, you just smiled, a big happy smile, a big beautiful smile. I miss that."

She put her hand on his leg. "But what about you? I mean, what about your happiness?"

He glanced at her with a big, wolfish grin. "Honestly, I was pretty happy, too. I mean, I was miserable. I wanted to get off all the time, but it was a kind of good misery, like an exciting misery, and it's weird, but I felt like I was doing something, you know, for you."

She knew what her lines were; she'd been well instructed, well rehearsed. She didn't know if she could pull it off though.

"What happened?" she asked, before she embarked on the mission agenda her friend had given her.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we were going along with the game, and then suddenly you stopped it, but I mean, we didn't talk about it or anything. It was like you were mad at me."

He shook his head, his shoulders sagging. "I . . . got myself off."

She waited, but that was the extent of his explanation. "That's it?"

"No, I mean, yes, but . . . I don't know. I just felt like I totally blew it. I went home. I was stressed and I just said, 'fuck it' and sat down and looked at a bunch of porn and got myself off, and then I just felt bad. I felt, just, empty and stupid."

"But, we said you could be honest about it. I mean, did you--"

"I felt ashamed, Ella. That I couldn't control it. All my life, I've always told myself that it was just masturbation. It was just something I did because I wanted to do it, not because I had to. I mean, I quit smoking for God's sake, and I did it without the patch, without anything. I just did it. But this, this was just like I couldn't stop."

"Jim," she smiled and leaned into him, "you told me that you fell off the wagon with smoking, too."

"I know, but I didn't disappoint anyone when I did. It was just me." He turned and gave her a sad expression. "I disappointed you, and it . . . it just broke my heart."

"It didn't break mine though."

He blinked, giving her a befuddled expression before turning his eyes back to the road. "It didn't?"

She laughed. "No, I expected you to fall off the wagon. I had this little punishment all planned. Jesus, Jim, it's a basic guy need. You're trying to resist something really basic, you know? Besides, it's not a failure really; it's a chance for me to tease you even worse the next time."

He laughed softly. "I never thought of it that way." After a moment, he added, "Your teasing drives me crazy."

After another moment, he added with sincere admiration, "How do you know all this?"

She smiled to herself and shrugged for him. "Girls know things."

* * *

He started to get attentive again, started to offer to do things for her, and more importantly, to follow through on those things, and some times to do things for her without even asking. They'd only talked about starting up the game again, but there had been no final decision. She learned, however, that the decision was made for her. By him.

He told her he hadn't touched himself in three days. He beamed, obviously proud of himself. Her friend gave her some advice.

'He's looking for a way to control the game.'

She thought about that. 'Are you sure? Maybe he's just eager.'

'No, trust me. He wants to play the game, but he wants to do it on his terms. He didn't wait for you to start; he started himself.'

'Well,' she messaged back, 'is that so bad?'

'Not terrible, no. But if he's in control, he can stop it whenever he feels like, just as he did last time. Remember what I told you.'

She did. Invariably, she questioned her mentor's advice in her own mind, yet every thing she'd said had been proven true, again and again. It was becoming obvious that her friend knew more about men, and in a way, Jim, than she did. That upset her a little. Why didn't she know these things?

Jim was at her apartment, doing the dishes with a big beaming smile, obviously proud of himself. She sat before the table and asked him if they could talk. 

His smile faltered. "Uh oh.'

She laughed. "It's not bad, I just want to talk about the game."

He sat beside her, obviously expecting the worst. "More rules."

She grinned. "Not rules . . . um, conditions."

He raised his eyebrows. "What kind of conditions?"

She remembered her advice. 'Speak low and soft, almost a whisper. It's a seduction, lulling him, arousing him.'

"It's about how we play our little . . . game."

As she leaned toward him, her eyes soft and inviting, he couldn't help leaning towards her, the perfume of her hair filling him with desire. "Okay."

"Last time, you just quit in the middle of it."

He withdrew slightly. "Yeah . . . I know. I said I was sorry."

She placed her hand in his lap, gave his leg a little squeeze. "You did, I know, but if you can quit anytime you want, it's not much fun."

He shrugged, his eyes falling, looking like a pouting six year old. "Well, I didn't mean to."

She smiled. "I know you didn't, but it got me thinking, maybe we need to have a definite start and stop date."

He blinked, stared at her. "Okay. I guess. Is it really that big of a problem?"

She sighed. "Well, it's like if we went to play tennis, and the second I won a point, you just threw down your racket and quit. It's not fun to play with someone who does that."

He nodded, smiling. "Okay, okay. I won't do it again. I promise."

"But that's why I'm giving you an out."

His eyes had dropped to her lips. He nodded, caressing her face with his gaze, moving up until he'd made eye contact again. "An out?"

"Sure. We agree that for one month, we play our little game and you can't quit. No matter what . . but at the end of the month, we can take a break. Then we can decide if we want to play again or, you know, talk about what worked, what didn't, and so on. See?"

He thought about it and nodded. "That's . . . pretty good actually."

'Pretty good actually,' like she had so many bad ideas and he was surprised she'd finally come up with something good. She let it pass.

"But," she continued, "we both have to agree to it, and you have to follow my rules."

He grinned and gave her a quick, soft kiss. "Meaning, no touching, constant updates, lots of teasing and so on?"




I Have An Idea Ch. 03



She smiled and let hand wander to his crotch, her other hand wrapping around the back of his neck. She whispered and tapped his zipper to emphasize her words."Meaning for the next thirty days, I can make up whatever rules I want, whenever I want, and you have to follow every . . . single . . . one."

* * *

'Good, but--' her friend texted her, '--you still let him choose the start date. The month period should've started when you said, and not when he said.'

'Well,' Ella messaged back, 'I didn't want to be a bitch or anything.'

She got a smiley face for that. 'By the end of this, I think you'll find that he wants you to be more of a bitch than you'd ever guess.'

That could not be true. Why would any man want his lover to be a bitch?

Her mentor messaged her. 'You're on your way now. Now is the time to do what we discussed, and remember your motto, be conscious of your contact.'

Ella shook her head. She couldn't wrap her head around it, but she had to admit, everything was working. Not in a million years would she have guessed she'd be planning such a manipulative game. It went against everything she'd been taught as a girl growing up.

Every girl growing up learned two things: don't be a bitch and don't be a slut.

She had the strange idea she was breaking both cardinal rules.

She was "conscious of her contact". She resisted the urge to snuggle and cuddle up against him, to hold his hand, to kiss him, and started planning the moments he got "rewarded". When he said something nice, maybe he got a touch on the hand or arm. When she caught him doing the dishes, she'd press her body against his arm and let her hand settle on the crotch of his pants, giving him a little pat. Some times she just gave his bottom a pat as she passed. When he opened the door for her, she gave him a special smile and said thank you. To get a kiss he had to be a "good boy" all day. And every few days, she'd sit him down, reach into his pants and have a "discussion". Her voice would be low and teasing, full of sly smiles and soft suggestion.

She made sure she spritzed a little perfume on herself before she cuddled next to him on the couch. Gazing into his eyes, fresh lip gloss, her hand wrapped firmly around his hard cock, she asked, "Have you been a good boy?"

His cheeks flushed. He swallowed. "Y-yes . . I think so. Haven't I?"

She nodded and grinned. "Hmm, for the most part."

"Wh-what can I do?" he asked, sounding on edge and desperate.

"Have you touched yourself?"

He sighed heavily. "No . . not much . . Wednesday . . a little."

"I see. So you've been naughty." She gave his cock a long gentle stroke, making each one lighter than the last, until her fingers were like feathers on his sensitive skin.

He groaned miserably. " . . . didn't mean to--"

"But you did, and I thought you'd been so good." She gave him a cute pout. "I was so looking forward to giving you a little squirt."

His face twisted with need. He reached for her lips, but she only gave him the quickest of kisses. He breathed heavily. "Please. . . ."

She slid her fingers lightly up the underside of his cock. He was in his stripper position, hands curling into fists, uncurling, nails scratching the back of the couch.

"I'll do anything," he pleased.

She gave him a few quick strokes, then a few more, until he began to writhe on the couch. She gave him three, then stopped, then four, then stopped, keeping pace with his moans. To get a little pleasure was almost worse than none at all.

"But, I don't want anything. I want you to be good. See? As long as you give yourself pleasure, you rob me of the pleasure of giving it to you."

He nodded, nodded some more, and kept nodding, his moans getting ragged.

She continued, watching him squirm, listening to his erratic breathing, and realized she was really starting to enjoy this. She didn't know what had changed, but torturing him was starting to turn her on in a big way. "Don't you want me to give you pleasure?"

He nodded, gasping, "Yes."

She leaned close and whispered in his ear, stroking his cock a little faster. "Don't you want all of your pleasure to come from me?"

He nodded, his breathing strained, his face twisted with need. "Yes."

She let go of his cock long enough to tap his nose. "Don't you want to focus all your pleasure on me?"

He nodded; he couldn't stop nodding. "Yes, please."

She giggled and slid her hand down his chest, resting it at the base of his cock. It twitched once. She whispered softer. "Say it."

He turned his head to nuzzle against her neck, kissing her where he knew she loved it the most. It elicited a long moan from her, which made him moan even louder. "I . . want to focus all of my pleasure on you."

She smiled and felt her body temperature rise. "Mmmm, all of your pleasure should come from me then?"

He panted. "Yes . . all--all of my pleasure should come from you. You're the only thing in life that should give me pleasure."

She let her hand settle softly around his cock. It was hot in her hand. She could feel his pulse through it. "And my pleasure should come first?"

"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, your pleasure comes first. Your pleasure is the only thing that matters." He nibbled on her neck, noticing how her body shuddered. She leaned away slightly and he followed, losing his grip on the back of the couch.

"Hands," she reminded.

He blinked, surprised, confused, the word "Huh?" on his lips, then he realized his mistake. He snapped back into position, but reached for her again. She gently pushed him back, smiling, blushing.

"My, my, you're getting a little too hot."

"Oh, God, please, Ella!"

She pouted and ran her finger around his lips, giving his chin a little tap. "You don't get to cum. Remember? You touched yourself on Wednesday."

He collapsed in on himself, his head lolling backwards. "I . . I don't think I can stand it though. It's been two weeks."

She grinned and swung her legs up in his lap. She'd stripped down to her panties. His eyes such longing. He longed to touch her legs, so soft, so smooth, so female. "More like a week and a half," she corrected. "But that's still a record for you, huh?"

His breathing was strained. He nodded. "I can't stand it, Ella."

"Well, I suppose we could do that thing we did before."

He looked at her. "What thing?"

She giggled and wiggled her toes, watching as his gaze shifted. She felt so heady, almost lightheaded. How perfectly seduced he was; just the smallest motion of her body made him moan and squirm with desire. "That thing where we let you cum without an orgasm."

He closed his eyes, his face wrenched with agony. "Oh, God . . okay anything."

"Oh, not today," she laughed. "I was thinking Saturday."

He turned to her with a solemn expression, his eyes wolfish with hunger. "I can't make it to Saturday."

She hopped up from the couch and headed into the kitchen. "Don't move. I've got just the thing."

He tried to relax, but couldn't. Instead, he stared down at his cock, so hard, so needy. He squirmed, feeling antsy and overwhelmed. He heard the crush of something frozen and looked up to see Ella standing before him, smiling, holding a bag of frozen peas.

"Let's cool you down a little, shall we?"

He groaned, nearly in tears and gave her his saddest nod.

* * *

She hadn't meant for it to happen; it had just kind of gotten out of control. He kept offering things and she kept accepting, dangling the most desirable carrot in the world.

It was getting out of hand. She should stop it, before he got wise, got angry, before he'd had enough and stopped it himself.

Being a slut, dressing like a slut, she'd learned as a little girl, stokes the fire in men, enrages them, turns them into demons, devils and rapists.

Being a bitch did the same.

Was it the breaking of these two taboos that so turned her on or was it him?

He cleaned her apartment, swept, mopped, vacuumed. He cleaned the mirrors, did the windows, took her cars in for repairs, cooked, did the dishes, lit candles and incense. He drew her baths with rose petals, laundered the sheets and made her bed.

By the end of the thirty days, he was acting more like a servant than a boyfriend. He cuddled, snuggled, talked to her deep into the night, gazed into her eyes as if he were a lovesick teenager.

God help her, she loved it. She was addicted to it.

By the end of the thirty days, she was floating on a cloud.

He hadn't had an orgasm. Not one. He'd learned in the last few weeks not to touch himself, not to tempt himself. Porn had stopped calling his name.

Porn, which had so beguiled him in the past, exhausted him, left him with nothing left for her.

The pivotal moment had come late in the night. . . .

Her cell vibrated on the night table. Sleepy, still half in dream, she slapped at it and noticed it was 11:00 P.M.

"Hello?" She sounded like the Cookie Monster, her voice gruff and irritated.

"Hey. You're . . . sleeping. Of course you're sleeping. Shit. I'm sorry." He sounded wide awake.

"Jim? Is everything okay?" She sat up in bed, turned on the lamp.

"Yes, sorry." There was a long silence.

"What's going on?"

"I'm . . . I'm having a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"I was going to pay bills, but I started looking at Tumblr."

Tumblr. Pictures. Lots of them. She blinked and wiped her burning eyes. Barely aware of what she was saying, she asked, "Did you cum?"

Later she would realize how much the game had taken over their lives. "No," he said, but he sounded uncertain, "not yet."

Again, the advice of her mentor returned. 'He's going to fail. When he does, you can't get mad. That's one of the few rules you have to follow. Don't. Get. Mad. Here's what you do instead.'

She laid back down and spoke to him in dulcet tones. "Are you looking at pictures, Jim?"

She heard him swallow, a loud, noisy clack of the throat. "Yes."

"What kind of pictures, Jim?"

He breathed heavily into the phone. "Really good pictures."

She laughed. "I mean, naked pictures?"

He breathed again. "Yes."

'Remember, it's not his failure; it's your opportunity.' She hadn't been entirely sure what that meant when her friend had first said it, but as she learned of the step-by-step plan, it all became clear.

"Describe them to me, Baby."

He sounded surprised, suspicious, confused, caught off guard. "They . . . I mean . . . it's not just one. It's an endless stream of beautiful. . . ." He was afraid to confess anything further.

She grinned and whispered, remembering the plan. Soft, sexy, sweet, adopt the voice that is the combination of a nurturing mother and a sex phone operator. "Beautiful girls, Jim?"

He was panting. "Yes."

"Beautiful . . . naked girls, Jim?"

He moaned. "Yes."

'Opportunity?' she'd texted her mentor. 'How is it an opportunity?'

That had earned her another smiley face. 'It's when he's most vulnerable.'

She gave him a sexy little moan, a little hum of pleasure. "Is there one you like? One that stands out?"

He confessed. "Yes."

"Describe it."

"It's . . . a girl with red hair. Dyed red hair, you know, too bright to be real. She's walking down a hall, away from me."

"Oh, I see. Is she completely naked? No heels? No sexy clothes?"

"No," he continued, sounding as if were in some kind of trance, "no clothes, just her and her perfect ass."

"Describe her ass, Baby. Tell me what it looks like. Tell me what turns you on so much about it."

"It's just . . . perfect. So soft and round and smooth, and she's holding her hair up and you can see just a little of her tit and the back of her neck and the muscles of her back and those little dimples in the small of her back, right above her perfect ass."

She snuggled in the covers, rolled around until her nightshirt had rolled up uncomfortably. Rather than pull it down, she found herself slipping out of it. She almost didn't notice her hand resting on her belly, right above the band of her panties. "Mmm," she whispered, "what if it wasn't her, hmm? What if it was me? What if it were me walking down the hall, naked, holding my hair up?"

He moaned quietly. "God yes."

She was truly surprised. In a strange way, she'd always subconsciously assumed he looked at porn because the women were so much more perfect and beautiful than she. She half expected him to resist the idea, but her friend had been right. 'Re-focus his desires on you.'

"What would you do if it were me in that hall? Teasing you, walking way, playing with my hair?"

His breathing became rhythmic. She realized it was keeping time with his hand. "I'd . . . chase you down. Get you. Get my hands on you, wrap my arms around you, get my hands on your tits, bite your neck, get you all wet, hot and fuckable."

Her hand was in her panties, exploring. She kept thinking about the phrase he used; it ran through her head again and again like a perverse mantra: wet, hot and fuckable.

"Mmm," she replied, her finger finding something wet and warm, seeking out her most pleasurable of spots, "what happens when you've caught me, when you've got me where you want me, when I'm all wet, hot and fuckable. What then, Baby?"

'Re-focus his desires on you.' It wasn't just working; it was almost as if it couldn't not work. What she'd once doubted was so clearly a recipe for success, she wondered why she'd ever hesitated.

"I'd . . . get you over the couch. I'd bend you over, get my cock between your legs. I'd get it inside you. I'd fuck you and keep fucking you."

She could hear the unmistakable thap of his hand in the background. "Mmm, bent over the couch, all wet, hot and fuckable, and you've got yourself all hard, and you're fucking me. I like that."

He uttered something unintelligible and it panicked her for a moment.

"Fucking me is sooo good, Baby . . . but we do have rules, don't we?"

The phone went dead silent for nearly half a minute. "Oh, God, no, please, Ella."

"Mmhm. What are the rules, Baby?"

He groaned. "No touching myself. No cumming without your permission."

"So?"

He panted, an uneasy pant, the pant of a tiger pacing back and forth in his cage. "So, I called you like you wanted, because I was tempted."

"You did. That was a good boy."

"So," he whined, "don't I get some credit for that?"

'Whatever you do,' her friend had insisted, 'do NOT let him cum. He will tell you he wants it, needs it. He'll say anything, do anything if only you'll just let him, but afterwards, he'll hate you for it, for not being strong enough to resist him. Stay strong.'

'Are you sure?' she'd insisted right back. 'If he really wants to--'

'Stay strong.'

'He's going to hate me for telling him no.'

'He won't. Trust me.'

'But . . how do I tell him no??'

Smiley face. 'Use your power, girl! Be strong!'

"Let me get this straight," she asked him, putting her friend's theory to the ultimate test. "You looked a bunch of porn and started fucking your hand, and you want credit for that?"

He swallowed, loud and blatant. "But I called you. You promised you wouldn't get mad. You said--"

"I'm not mad, Baby. I promise. I love you. I love that when you were tempted you called me right away and let me know, and haven't I been nice for this whole phone call?"

"Yes."

"I didn't fuss at you. I went with it. I let you imagine fucking me over a couch, getting me all wet, hot and fuckable."

He gave her a little whimper. "Yes. Thank you."

"So, here's what you're going to do for me, Baby. Are you listening?"

"Yes, Ella."

She paused. His voice. It sounded so strange, so . . . obedient, so submissive. Her hand thrashed in her panties. Was this really turning her on that much? Almost without realizing it, the crescendo descended upon her with all the force of a hurricane. She bit her lip, squealed into the phone and was overwhelmed by the crashing orgasm.

He waited quietly, patiently, and when she was done, he asked softly, "Did . . . did you just cum?"

She laughed. "Ohh, that was a good one! God!"

"You came?"

She giggled harder. "Mmm, yes."

"But," he whined, "that's not fair."

She cuddled up with the pillow and basked in the tiny little convulsions still rolling through her, polishing her from the inside out. "Baby," she whispered, "there's no rules against me having an orgasm, remember?"

"I know, but--"

"You've given me plenty"

"Yes, but--"

"And my pleasure comes first, remember?"

Sounding hopeless, forlorn, he replied, "Yes."

"Mm, so would you like to know what your punishment is?"

"Yes." It was a barely audible whisper.

"You're going to shut down your computer and you're not going to start it up again. Not once. You've lost your PC privileges for the week. Then you're going to get that bag of frozen peas and cool yourself off."

After a moment, he whispered with the tone of a shamed 5 year old, "Okay."

"We'll discuss it on Saturday, after our date. Your thirty days are almost up."

That seemed to pick up his spirits a little. "I can't wait."

She smiled and yawned. "I know you can't, Baby."

After a short silence, he said, "Ella?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

She shook her head. The world had turned upside down. No, the world had been upside down all along, but it took her friend from the DT site to open her eyes. "I love you, too, Baby. Oh, and Baby?"

"Yes, Ella." There was that tone again; the way he spoke her name.

"Next time, get tempted earlier in the evening, will you? I love playing with you, but I have to get up in a few hours."

She could hear his smile. "Yes, Ma'am."

It was a joke.

Right?



I Have An Idea Ch. 04



It was the strangest thing. She'd never considered herself a girl with particularly high libido, but in the last few weeks she felt . . . almost like a guy. She'd be at work, in traffic, in line at the grocery store and her mind would drift to Jim. Jim, holding back, thinking of her. Jim, putting her groceries away before she could handle a single bag. Jim, waiting for the slightest nod of approval from her, the slightest touch, the slightest smell of her. Jim, with bulging pants and desperate eyes.

Two days ago, he'd confessed he'd gone into her bathroom, found her perfume and stroked himself thinking of her. This from the man who jerked off to porn daily.

She pondered that while she maneuvered the car onto the highway. She'd followed her friend's advice and so far it had worked amazingly well. She was the girl in his mind when he touched himself. She had become his porn.

She made it home alive; her mind had been distracted by him. She'd been on automatic the entire way. When she saw his car in her guest parking spot, she felt a little thrill. She began to smile; she couldn't help it. She couldn't wait to see him. The expression that spread over his face when he saw her was priceless; adoring, happy, excited.

She'd teased him once. "You're like a happy little puppy, aren't you?"

To her surprise, he'd agreed.

He was out the door and walking toward her. He must have been waiting at the window for her car. "Anything to carry in?"

She shook her head. "Just me."

He wrapped his arms around her and buried his nose in her hair. "I get to carry you in?"

She giggled like a teenager. "I'll break your back."

He grabbed her by the hips and pressed his lips into hers. "You couldn't be more perfect."

Her cheeks burned with an embarrassed smile. She started to move past him, but she couldn't help herself. She pressed her lips into his, wettened it, let herself go hot, feeling the heat of their mouths intermingle. When she finally pulled away, she felt that familiar tension, needing release, that internal melting sensation. "Let's--" she breathed, "--let's get inside."

They hurried, ran-walked to the door. He grabbed at her and grabbed at her again, every few feet, letting her go and catching her, a cat playing with a mouse, pressing his erection into her ass, sinking his teeth into her shoulder, kissing the back of her neck until she shivered, nibbling behind her ear.

They were hot and naked in no time. She flung herself onto the bed and pulled him on top of her. He hesitated, looking concerned.

She blinked. "What's wrong?"

He blinked. "Do you want to--are we--are we going to?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck, lifted herself up to his taste his mouth again. "Mmm, I certainly hope so."

He gently unwrapped her arms. "But--but I'm so close. Only a few more days."

Her jaw dropped with shock. She laughed. "Jim . . . are you serious?"

He was turning pale. "I have . . uh . . rules, remember?"

She blinked and grinned. "It's just a game."

He stood and stared down at her. "Don't say that."

She let her mouth hang open further. "Sweetheart, this was all about bringing us closer together, not keeping us apart."

He reached out and laid his hand aside her cheek, traced the shape of her lips with his thumb. "I've never felt closer to you."

She shook her head. "But--but I want . . . you know?"

"I only have three days left. If I blow it now--"

She laughed, her cheeks beet red. "Is that what you're talking about?"

He frowned. "Of course."

She knelt on the side of the bed, wrapped her arms around his neck again and kissed him, hot, deep and sweet. "Oh, Honey . . . you're not going to cum."

He blinked. "Wh-what? But I thought you wanted--"

"Of course I do! I get to cum, remember?"

"But, Ella," his frowned deepened, "there's no way I can do that and not cum."

Ella smiled. Her friend had thought of everything, even this. "Yes you can. Trust me."

He wrapped his arms around her, buried his face into the soft span of skin between her shoulder and neck. "I won't even last a second. I'm telling you."

She moaned, guided his hand down to her belly, pushing it further until it got the hint. He slipped his hard man's hand down over her mound and pressed his fingers between her lips. She wasn't just wet; she was soaking. "Get the condoms, Baby."

He pulled the draw open, ripped open the package and rolled it on to his stiff sock. 

She sprawled back onto the bed and stretched, letting her skin go taut over her ribs, letting her tits bob upward, feeling empty and somehow incomplete, her eyes drifting from his collar bone down to his cock. He'd lost a lot of weight. She grinned.

She looked up at him, feeling the smolder of her eyes. "Ride me, Cowboy."

He laughed which made her laugh.

He couldn't wait to shut her up. He fell on top of her, jerked her thighs open, wide open, opened his mouth against her open mouth and bit her chin, sliding himself inside, deep.

She gasped.

Together, they began to rock back and forth in perfect synchronicity, him thrusting, her responding to his thrust. He watched her breasts shudder with each stroke.

He pulled out, his face red and covered with sweat.

She moaned, "No, don't stop."

He shook his head, his eyes down, looking ashamed. "I . . I can't."

"You can't?"

He could barely get the words out. "Too . . . Too close."

She grinned. "Get another condom."

His eyes blinked up. "What?"

"You always say you don't feel as much with them, right?"

He nodded. "Some, yes."

"So put one on."

"I've already got one on."

She laughed. "I know. Put another one on."

His eyes went wide. "Oh . . . right."

He went back to the night stand, ripped open another package and slipped another condom over the first, chuckling. "Doubled bagged for your protection."

She started to reply, but he was on her, in her, and he was thrusting.

She had a brief moment where she wondered what her friend would say. Was this right? Was it okay for him to do this to her? To be on top? Then she didn't care; the pleasure was coursing through her, building and releasing. She felt herself tensing again; he changed his rhythm. She could've cursed him, but then she was lost in the new rhythm again, the new pleasure, the new surging, the new thrusting.

He stretched her like a gymnast, tossing her to the side, thrusting into her, changing the angle, desperate to get that sensation, that feeling of fucking. He got all the motion, some of the heat, but barely any of the tingling friction. He thrust harder, faster, threw her back into position, flung her legs over his shoulders, drove himself into her until she flooded and moaned.

He glanced up at her for a second, but drove himself deeper into her, desperately seeking something, anything, just a little friction. Her fresh wetness had robbed him of even that. He thought about ripping off one condom, but he'd been down that road. He'd cum if he did and he only had three days left to go. It was a matter of pride now. Besides, if he was good, maybe she'd edge him, drain him, let him cum without an orgasm. God, he needed an orgasm.

He chewed on her breasts until she said "ow" then softened is mouth around her nipples, sucking them inside his hot mouth, pulling on them. She was all wet and open, barely anything left to fuck, just a hot wet opening, like fucking a jacuzzi.

He shoved himself deep inside and fucked her that way, hoping her inferno would penetrate the layers of latex sealing his needy cock away. He pulled out and tried grinding his cock down against the ridge of her opening, then tried to get some heat through the latex again, feeling something hard and indistinct deep inside her.

She flooded again and gasped, her hands clutching at his arms.

Finally, after a long futile search, he ran out of breath.

They were covered in sweat and she was glowing, her cheeks pink, her skin slick, her eyes glazed over.

She smiled softly. "Done already?"

He shook his head, aware of the spatter of sweat he sprinkled over her beautiful breasts. "I can't--can't get any feeling."

"None at all?"

He shook his head again, ducked down to lick the salty perspiration off her belly. He wanted to devour her whole, split her open and consume her. "Just . . . a hint. Enough to drive me crazy."

She giggled. "Take'em off."

He blinked, his eyes worried. "What are you going to do?"

She raised her eyebrows.

He pulled the condoms from his swollen cock. She rolled him over, straddled him and let her fingers play with his erection. His face twisted and strained, his body tense. "Please, don't."

She crawled over him, her breasts just touching his chest, her hair tickling his shoulders. "I want to feel you inside me."

He shook his head. "No, I won't be able--"

"Quiet." She held his cock in her hands and lowered herself onto him, inhaling deep as it filled her, moaning. "God, that feels good."

He swung his arms up, mimicking his couch position, hands clutching at the sheet, pulling the fitted corner loose, exposing the bare mattress. "It's too good, Ella. I can't handle it."

She pulled her body and up and slipped him deep inside of herself. "How many strokes do you think before you lose it?"

He shook his head, his body trembling. "I . . . I don't know."

"How many, Jim?"

He thrashed on the bed. "I don't know."

She reached out and grabbed his chin, feeling so full of pleasure and power she almost felt she could cum again. It wouldn't take much. "How many?"

He blinked, his gaze frozen by her penetrating stare. "F-five."

She smiled and thrust herself down on top of him. "One."

She did it again. "Two."

Again. "Three."

He tensed, arched his back. "No! Please--"

She remembered her mentor's advice. She'd had plenty of practice over the last few weeks during their draining sessions. She was getting good at it.

"Tell me something, Baby."

"Wh-what?"

"Um," she grinned, "let's start easy. When's my birthday?"

He blinked. "Wh-what?"

"My birthday. What day? Don't tell me you don't remember!" She gave herself another stroke, sitting down on him, penetrating herself with his cock while he trembled, her thighs burning. Distracting him from the fact that she was fucking him was delicious. His cluelessness was more exciting than she could ever have expected.

He blinked, stammered. "J-July eighth."

She patted his cheek and thrust down onto him again. His eyelids began to waver again. "What about our anniversay?"

"O-our anniversay?"

She nodded, sucking on her bottom lip, fucking herself on his hard cock, feeling the heat in her build, the tension, the clutching fist somewhere inside her, waiting to explode and release.

"August."

"August when, Baby?"

"Twenty-third."

She gave his cheek a pat. "Good boy."

He closed his eyes and began to arch his back again.

She interrupted his pleasure yet again, broke his concentration. "What about our other anniversary?"

"Our--what?"

She fucked herself nice and slow, sat down flat until he was deep inside her and began to slowly buck her pelvis back and forth, feeling his hardness fill her, levering it back and forth deep inside. "The anniversary of when we met."

"Oh . . . shit."

She grinned. "You don't remember?"

He shook his head. "It was a month earlier. Your . . friend introduced us."

"July, Baby." She had it now, the electricity was on, the current flowing nicely. She bucked her hips and felt his cock banging inside her, hitting just the right way, her clit grinding against his pelvic bone.

"Yeah, July."

"Do you remember what I was--"

It shot through her, exploding at first between her legs, then flowing like magma up into her belly, her nipples twitching, her spine sending spasms up to the back of her neck and shoulders. She flooded again, feeling extra squishy. She finished her sentence, nearly breathless. "--wearing."

His eyes shifted uncomfortably in his head.

She collapsed on top of him. "That was a lot more than five strokes."

She felt his body tense beneath her. She slipped off him and snuggled up under his arm, throwing her leg over his, turning them into a cuddly pretzel.

He looked down at her with shock. "How did you do that?"

She turned her face up and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "I didn't. You did. I just distracted you so you could keep your promise."

His mind began to reel.

* * *

He lasted less than a minute. She didn't mind. All the waiting, all the whining, all the attention she received was truly enough to last a lifetime, even though it wouldn't. She was a little sad that the game was over, but her friend just gave her smiley faces and wouldn't answer her questions. Simple questions like, 'Okay, so what now?'

Smiley face.

Ella didn't know what it meant, except that it was her mentor's way of saying, 'You'll find out.'

When she'd texted her friend and told her of Jim's reaction to having sex with her, there had only been one simple reply. 'He's hooked.'

She wasn't sure how she felt about that. It was the kind of thing gold diggers said, the kind of things manipulative women did to get their man, their husband or someone else's. She was not really a manipulative woman. Although, if she'd been taught anything in the last 30 days, it was that she could be. She could be as manipulative as any of the worst women on Earth. She could be and it was starting to seem like Jim wanted her to be.

He collapsed beside her, breathless, his mess on her belly. He turned to her and kissed her softly. She smiled at him. "Was it worth the wait?"

He laughed and fell back onto his pillow, draping his arm over his face. "You have no idea."

She reached down and gave his limp penis a little wag, then pointed to the mess on her belly. "I have some idea, I think."

He kissed her shoulder. "Sorry about that. Want me to clean it off for you?"

She shook her head, blushing. "I need to go pee anyway."

She spent a few minutes in the bathroom taking care of business, straightened her wild tangle of auburn hair as much as she could and returned to the bed, humming with delight as she slid in next to his warm body.

"So, that's it," she sighed. "Your 30 days are up."

He nodded. "I guess so."

She attuned her ears to the sound of his voice. Did he sound sad or happy?

He grinned, his eyes twinkling. "You know . . . I gotta admit. I had this real fear that you wouldn't let me cum anyway."

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

His grin broadened. He blushed. "Yes. It was a bizarre thing I know."

"But that wouldn't have been fair. I had to keep my promise."

He played with her hair, sweeping it from her face, letting his gaze rove over her exposed curves. "I know, but I concocted a whole way for you to get around that . . . in my fantasy, I mean."

She laughed. "What way was that?"

He blanched a little. "I don't know. It's . . . stupid, you know?"

She pretended to pout. "Pretty please?"

He chuckled, but his eyes went soft, his gaze suddenly becoming intense. "I can't resist you. Not even a little."

She blushed and smiled. "Good. Now tell me."

He squirmed a little. "Jesus, Ella, when you bark at me like that--"

She gazed up at him apologetically. "I'm sorry."

He stared at her. "No . . . I mean, when you bark at me like that . . uh . . . it's sort of a turn on."

She blinked. "You're kidding."

He laughed, his face beet red. "I know. What a weirdo, right? But it's true. I don't know what happened, but every now then just . . . whenever, you wouldn't ask, you'd just kind of tell me something and I'd just get this big kick out of it."

"What kind of kick?" She rolled to her side, watching his eyes study the way her breasts rose and fell. She propped her head up with her arm and traced circles in the thin line of hair leading from his chest to his belly.

He shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know. Just . . . like a thrill. I mean, I'm not usually like that, but I think because I wanted to cum so bad, it was just . . . maybe it was just the attention or that you were doing what you wanted with me. Weird, I know."

"No, not weird."

He gazed deep into her eyes. "Really?"

She smiled. "Very sexy. Um, a surprise. I kept catching myself doing that and feeling bad about it. I didn't mean to do it, but every now and then I would realize my tone got kind of--"

"Stern?" he provided, smiling with hungry eyes.

She blushed. "I was going to say harsh."

He shook his head. "It didn't feel harsh. It felt--" He took a deep breath. "--really exciting."

She giggled. It was weird. He was weird, but if he was, than so was she, because she knew what he meant. There would be a moment when she barked an order at him, much harsher than she intended, a moment where she held her breath, then felt the same thrill when he obeyed her. It was something about his height, his manliness, his strength. He could pick her up with one arm, overpower her with little effort, but somehow when she spoke, he fell under her spell.

She wagged her finger at him, trying to be harsh and stern, but failing because of the giggles. "Tell me your fantasy. Now! Or else!"

He grinned. "Or else what?"

She broke into a blushing laugh. "I don't know. I haven't thought of anything yet."

He kissed her, snuggled close and whispered in her ear. "My fantasy was that we would get up to that magic moment and you would tell me you'd changed your mind, that I couldn't cum after all. And when I complained that it wasn't fair, you'd tell me that for thirty days I'd promised to follow any rules you had set. And I would say I had. And then you would say that you'd decided your next rule was that thirty days wasn't enough. That you were extending it another thirty days and if I didn't like it, you'd make sure I never came again."

She looked at him wide-eyed. "That's so mean though!"

He laughed. "I know, I know."

She snuggled closer, rolled to her other side, away from, feeling him turn with her, his hairy man-arms wrapping around her. She brought up his hands and cuddled with them, squirming her ass back into him, marveling at the feeling of something growing harder behind her.

"God," he panted, "I want you again."

She smiled and closed her eyes. "Maybe you can last a little longer this time."

He gave her a gentle squeeze and nibbled on her neck. "Longer than thirty days?"

She twisted around to get a look at his eyes. "What do you mean?"

He smiled, his eyes focused on her lips, his cock poking between her ass cheeks, slipping between her thighs. "Let's go again."

She swallowed. "Go where?"

He kissed her hard. "Another thirty days."

She thought about it and slurped his tongue into her mouth, pausing just long enough to catch her breath. "No."

He froze, his body tensing next to her soft, relaxed figure. "No?"

"Not thirty. This time . . . let's make it sixty."

Her heart thudded in her chest. Her stomach rolled and turned the same way it did when she was at the top of a roller coaster. She was beyond excited. She was almost nervous with fear and arousal.

He swallowed deeply, his throat clacking, his mouth dry. His gaze grew intense. "Okay."

She smiled. "Enjoy tonight. Enjoy me, because it's going to be your last cum for a long, long time."

He sighed with anxious pleasure and did just that.

* * *

Her friend, her mentor was not forthcoming. 'He's not quite ready yet.'

'Ready for what?'

'These things should be approached gently and in stages.'

'For me or him?'

She didn't know why she continued to doubt her. She'd been right every step of the way, but still she wondered if this was the kind of relationship she wanted with Jim. Was this the type of person she wanted to be? Was it the type of person Jim wanted to be?

She distrusted her arousal. She distrusted his. She distrusted how good it felt.




I Have An Idea Ch. 04



At the moment, after a few weeks of teasing and not cumming, of draining without any real orgasm, Jim was not exactly in his right mind. Was this the way it would be from now on? Her manipulating him until he was desperate with need and willing to do anything, offering anything just for a smile and a kiss?

There had been new rules. No begging. No whining. No asking for sex. They were on her schedule, whatever she decided that was. No disagreements or arguments. He could state his case once and once only, and have one follow up question or remark, but it couldn't be sarcastic, angry or pouty in tone. There would be weekly discussions at the time of her choosing, but usually on Sunday. During these discussions, he could speak freely: What was working for them? What wasn't? What did he like? What did she like? What didn't they?

Only now their discussions didn't take place with her hand on his cock. They took place with them cuddled on the couch, with her legs in his lap and him giving her a foot massage. He was getting better and better at it. His internet history (another new rule: he was not to clear the cache or cookies and she could look whenever she pleased) revealed he'd been watching YouTube videos on foot massages and reading instructional sites.

During the discussions, his eyes were glued to her beautiful feet. He always commented on the color of her nail polish, always exhibited flushed cheeks, tented pants, and always found himself confessing terrifyingly deep thoughts to her, including some deep fantasies he'd always attempted to keep secret. He didn't know why it happened, but for some reason these things just seemed to spill out of him.

She wasn't allowed, she'd been told by her mentor, to get upset by his fantasies or to be turned off by them. She had to be open and accepting. She didn't have to fulfill the ones she didn't like, but she should make an effort to incorporate some of his ideas into her daily routine, her teasing of his cock, her text messages, emails and phone calls. The more she did so, her friend promised, the more Jim would fall under her spell.

He was firmly under her spell already, even though she wasn't sure that was she wanted.

Once, when getting into his car, she'd made a casual remark about the window shield being a little dirty. The next thing she knew, he was whipping into a gas station for a car wash. She hadn't meant anything by it; it was just an observation, but she noted the entire time he'd been squirming, his face flushed. After the giant foamy brushes had finished, he'd turned to her and asked, "Is that better, Ella?"

It hadn't been angry; it had been pure arousal.

She called him a good boy in jest, but he moaned in earnest, moaned like he did when she was teasing his cock.

For the rest of the day, she'd had a lump in the pit of her belly, a wound up tension, like a ball of wire wrapped tightly around something wet, slippery and hot. She was turned on. Not just turned on, but on fire. They'd spent the entire day together feeling that way.

What was next on the agenda? Her friend wouldn't say, which of course only made her more curious.

She thought about that day, when he'd been turned on by washing his car for her, when she'd been turned on by how quickly he'd jumped to obey her, even though she hadn't intended it.

She perused her memory of it, what had happened later, savoring it.

She caught him in the living room that night, only moments after having arrived home. She called his name, and he turned. She motioned him toward her with a crooked finger.

She could feel the heat between them, the electricity. It was almost too intense, almost overwhelming.

Gently, she placed her hand on his shoulder, and pressed. He acquiesced almost at once, lowering himself to his knees. She placed her hand on his head then, bringing it toward herself.

He knelt there, breathing raggedly, staring at her skirt, inhaling, hoping to catch a whiff of her natural perfume.

Her whisper was all it took, soft and commanding. "Go on."

He didn't just go down on her; he threw himself into her. He was all tongue and lips, mouth sucking at her clit, lips swimming over her swollen lips, teeth on her thighs.

He was on his knees, worshiping.

She came quickly and stumbled back weak-kneed.

He caught her, lowered her to the couch, pampered her.

They barely exchanged a word, only what was necessary.

That was the night their relationship changed. A real change. A significant change.

That was the night she told him to fetch her a blanket only to hear him reply, without humor this time, "Yes, Ma'am."

She almost missed it. It felt . . . natural.

She asked him if he wanted to cum and he replied, "No, Ma'am."

"Why not?"

"Because I'd rather get you off."

What was next? She had to know. She messaged her friend, but the next level, the next step was not forthcoming. 'Not yet.'

'When?' she'd replied.

'You'll know.'

And she did.

* * *

She thought about it and thought about it again. She fantasized about it on the way to work, at work, on the way home, whenever she had a quiet moment.

All that power. All that muscle. He was taller than her, stronger than her, broader than her. His hand could wrap around her small wrist with his finger overlapping his thumb. If he wanted to pick her up, it was easy. All that ego. All that stubbornness. At her command. Moving under her direction. His desire captured by her, awaiting her whim for its release.

It caught in her chest like a furious fluttering butterfly. She couldn't get rid of it. She could put her hand on his shoulder and he would wordlessly sink to his knees and worship her.

Her sheerest whim ("The window is a bit dirty") had him scrambling to please her.

Should she be worried abut this?

Would she take things too far? Even that question in her mind told her how far they'd come. Would "she" take things too far? Not, would "he" let things go too far?'

She wanted to bring it up in their discussion, but she didn't get the chance.

She hadn't been counting the days, but he had. He beamed with pride, couldn't wait to call her attention to it. Except for their "draining" sessions, when she brought him close enough for the cum to leak out in a frustrating warm dribble, but not close enough for him to have an orgasm (she'd gotten relatively good at that, she thought), he hadn't had an orgasm in 31 days.

He'd beaten his old record, he said.

She hadn't been aware that had been a record.

On his knees, gazing up into her eyes, with all of the solemnity of a preacher on Judgment Day, he said, "I was thinking we should, uh, move in together."

She blinked, and blinked again. "What?"

His eyes flashed with concern. "It seems like it's time, you know. We've been getting along so well, I thought."

She nodded, her eyes gazing down upon him. "We have."

He swallowed and separated himself from her, removing his hands from her legs, but not quite daring to stand. After a torturous silence, he asked, "So?"

"So . . . I'd like to think about it."

He froze, his eyes wide. "You want to think about it?"

"Yes."

He studied her face, the words dropping like lead weights from his lips. "Fine. Let me know."

It was the most unpleasant evening they'd had since their little game had begun. She tried cuddling with him on the couch, and while he didn't push her away, his body had never truly relaxed. He was cuddling out of obligation, not desire.

She got the hint.

They watched TV and went to bed, he on his side, she on hers.

It was surprising how quickly their closeness could disappear. She was more than a little heartbroken. She was angry; she felt she'd disappointed him. She argued with herself. He'd caught her off guard. It wasn't that she didn't want to move in with him; she just worried that he would regret it later. She worried that with all those orgasm chemicals in his brain, unreleased, maybe he wasn't quite in his right mind.

Her friend, as always, had words of encouragement. 'Do you love him?'

Of course she loved him. She'd been in love with him for over a year, but never more passionately than in the last few months. 'Yes, and I know he loves me.'

'Then, what's the problem?'

'The problem is he isn't exactly himself right now.'

A confused, eye rolling smiley appeared. 'How so?'

Was she serious? 'Well, because he hasn't had an orgasm for a month. He's not thinking clearly.'

'Hmm.'

Ella was a little irritated. 'What does hmmm mean?'

'It means, I think that he is in his right mind. You aren't.'

She was ready to throw her laptop at the wall. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean, that you keep suggesting that he's in some kind of trance, under your spell, and that some day he'll return to normal. What if this is normal?'

'But,' she typed slowly, her nails hammering the keys, 'it's not.'

'You're suggesting that if he doesn't have an orgasm every day, which made him and you unhappy, that he's not in his normal frame of mind.'

Ella's frustration waned slightly. 'Well, something like that.'

'Well, I'm not an anthropologist, but I'm guessing back in the days before we all had TVs and air conditioning and computers, we were busy surviving, farming, working in factories. I have a feeling men were far more stressed and exhausted back then, and I doubt they had the time or energy to sit in their comfy office chairs and touch themselves all day.'

Damn it all if she wasn't making sense. She could feel her opinion turning and wasn't she wanted it to be turned. 'Maybe.'

'It's only been the last century or so that men have had all this leisure time, all this free time to visit strip bars, to have porn at their fingertips 24/7. Not to mention the effect of all the advertising and how everything is completely sexual all the time. For all the effect that those pictures of perfect, airbrushed female bodies have on us, they have an equal effect on men.'

She thought about it, but couldn't quite commit. 'You're trying to convince me what we're doing is normal.'

'No, Sweetheart. I'm telling you that Jim jerking off every day to porn that is always available to him at any time day or night is NOT normal. I'm suggesting that if you ask him, he'll choose the life you have now over the life you had a few months ago. He's HAPPY. And so are you.'

'So,' she typed back, her nails barely making contact with the keys, 'you're saying I should move in with him?'

'I'm saying that it's your choice. If you love him and you want to move in with him, you should. If you have really good reasons not to, then you shouldn't. It has to be your decision. But you're missing a critical point.'

'What's that?'

'Punishment.'

She felt her eyes reading the word again and again. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean, he wanted something, didn't get it and turned into a pouty baby. You can't let that pass. He needs to be punished and you need to be the one to do it. It's time for him to learn how to handle this type of thing, what to do, what to say, what not to do and say. And, honestly, it's time for you to woman up and accept that you are the one in charge of him and your relationship.'

She removed the laptop from her lap and sat up. She stared at the wall, but it offered no advice. She stood and paced for a moment, her mind in a whirr. Carrying the laptop to the breakfast bar, she settled into a chair and renewed her conversation, ignoring the 'Hello?' message.

'How?' she asked, and her friend sent her a smirking smiley face and explained everything.

* * *

She set her briefcase down on the dinner table and smelled hot oil and vegetables. He was cooking for her every evening, despite never having been asked. She pondered that little puzzle; he was obviously still mad at her, but still serving her. Had it become such a habit that he didn't even think about it anymore?

He turned and gave her a fleeting smile, his eyes dropping quickly. "Hey."

"Hi," she said. "Smells good."

"It's done when you're ready."

She removed her suit coat and draped it over the back of the bar chair. "Can we talk first please?"

He stiffened, refusing to meet her gaze. "What about?"

"Not here," she ordered. "In the living room please."

She heard him ask, "What for--" but she'd already left the room.

When he turned the corner, he saw her sitting on the couch, legs crossed at the knee, hands in her lap. She had sexy legs, and she was still wearing her heels. Usually she took them off at the door.

He approached her and lowered himself to his usual "discussion" position, beside her on the couch. She snapped her fingers at him. "No, no, on the floor please."

He frowned. "You want me to sit on the floor?"

"You can kneel if you prefer, but you're taller than me, so even when you sit beside me my neck gets tired from having to look up at you."

He blinked and frowned. It wasn't that he hadn't knelt for her before; he'd spent quite a lot of time kneeling with his face buried between her thighs. It was the fact this didn't feel like a sexual situation. It felt like something entirely different.

He reluctantly lowered himself to a kneeling position and watched as she dangled her heel from her toes.

"Would you mind?" she asked with a sweet tone.

He removed her shoe and set it on the floor.

She smiled and lifted her other foot to him. His eyes flashed with concern, but he removed her other shoe and set it next to the first. He was looking uncomfortable.

"So," she whispered, "you're angry with me?"

He put his hands on his hips, trying to look casual, but it didn't work, so he sat back on the floor and leaned back. "No. I'm fine."

"But . . you're upset?"

He shrugged. "Not really."

"Because, you've been acting that way. This is because you asked me to move in with you, right?"

He shrugged again, sat up. "Hey, if you don't want to, you don't want to."

She crossed her legs and remembered the advice of her mentor. "So, last chance. Do you want to talk about this?"

He gazed up at her and sighed. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Okay," she nodded. "If you don't want to talk, then you can listen. So, no talking at all from now on. Do you understand?"

His eyes hardened. "Sure. Fine. Talk."

She placed her stockinged foot on his thigh and watched his eyes flit down to study it. "You've really hurt my feelings the last couple of days."

His head bobbed up. "I've hurt your--"

She placed her finger over her lips. "Shush. I gave you a chance, remember?"

He turned red and simmered, motioning for her to continue.

"Yes, Jim. Everything was going so well. I loved that you asked me to move in with you, and I know--" She corrected herself, remembering yet more advice from her friend from the DT website. "I suspect that you're upset with me because I didn't jump right into your arms the second you asked. But . . . that was because the first thought that hit my head was, 'Is he going to regret this?''"

He placed a hand on the couch. "This is silly, Ella. Can't I sit on the couch? I mean . . . it's hard to talk to you this way."

"You don't have to talk to me, Jim. In fact, we agreed you had your chance and you're supposed to be listening, and I don't see how sitting on the couch could help you listen any better. You're not doing such a great job of listening on your--"

She stopped herself, and took a breath. Friend's advice, 'Don't get mad. NEVER get mad. There are other ways.'

"Please, just listen for a few minutes. I was afraid that you were all crazy with hormones because you haven't cum for over a month, and that you were asking me to move in with you because of that, and that as soon as we took our break, you'd come to your senses and realize you'd made a mistake. So, I wanted to think about it. That's why I asked you for some time."

He rubbed his forehead. "I didn't know."

"No," she agreed, "you didn't." She rubbed his thigh with her foot and tried to give him a smile. "And you didn't exactly give me a chance to explain."

He nodded. "I guess . . . I got . . . I don't know, hurt, I guess, when you didn't seem excited by it. I'd been thinking about it for a week, and I thought you'd like it."

"Do you think I couldn't see that? If you'd only given me a chance to explain, we could've talked about this three days ago."

He nodded. "Yeah, I know. I'm an idiot again. I'm always an idiot."

She raised her foot to touch her toes to his chin. His head bobbed up again. "No, but you made a mistake, and now you have to be punished."

He blinked. "What do you mean, 'punished'?"

"I mean," she replied, and started to lower her foot only to have it caught by his hands, "for the next three days, you are not to touch me. Not a kiss, not a hug, nothing."

He blinked and swallowed. "I . . . uh . . . is this part of the game?"

She smiled and blushed. "Sort of, but I think we know our little game is becoming something more."

"So," his eyes shifted nervously in his head, "I can't touch you for three days."

"Yes, Sweetheart. For the next three days, not only can you not touch yourself, but you can't touch me. And if you do, even by accident, then we add another day to the sentence."

He rubbed her foot, pressing his thumbs under her arch where he'd learned she loved it the most. "Starting tomorrow."

He grinned.

"And it's not just for three days."

His grin faltered. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, unless you can tell me what you did wrong and what you should've done and apologize at the end of the three days, you earn another day, and another until you figure it out."

He smiled and gave her big toe a small kiss. "I'm sorry, Ella. I'm an idiot. I wasn't trying to hurt you--"

"Stop," she commanded, surprised by her own tone. "Not now. In three days, once you've had time to think about it, and I don't ever want to hear you call yourself an idiot again. Is that clear?"

She felt a little bad. Her tone, her demeanor was so mean. She felt more like a drill Sargent than a girlfriend, but her head began to swim when she noticed the expression on his face. He kissed her toe again with his eyes closed and softly whispered, "Yes, Ma'am."

* * *

Walking beside her, sleeping beside her, being around her became torturous. The little gestures that were so automatic between lovers were now forbidden and utterly conscious. He separated himself from her while grocery shopping, used the cart as a buffer. He grew concerned when she insisted on driving everywhere; driving his own car made it easier to keep his hands busy. Riding beside her, he tended to keep his arms crossed, almost as if hugging himself for comfort.

He called her after work and suggested going home, instead of coming over.

"No," she refuted, "I want you with me."

"No, seriously, Ella. I'm exhausted."

"Then you can relax here."

Her friend had warned her of such an attempt. 'Keep him as close to you as possible. He'll look for excuses to stay away from you to make his punishment easier. Don't let him get away with it.'

She found herself having to be insistent, found her tone becoming unintentionally harsh. She never purposefully used such tones, but they seemed to spill out of her more and more. It didn't help that he responded the way he did, shivering with pleasure, blushing furiously, addressing her as "Ma'am".

He brushed past her arm once at the department store and exploded with apologies, drawing the stares of the other shoppers. He didn't seem to notice. He was too busy squirming. It was his last day and being so near her, smelling her perfume, seeing her legs, her bare shoulders, her neck, her small hands was too much. He felt like he was sporting a permanent erection, and that it was always pointed at her like a magic erotic compass.

"It's okay," she grinned.

"No, seriously," he turned pale. "I'm very sorry. It was an accident. I didn't realize you were right behind me when I turned. I thought--"




I Have An Idea Ch. 04



"It's okay," she repeated, her eyes shifting to notice the furtive gazes of the people around them. "It was just my sleeve. We didn't really make contact."

He nodded, looking like he'd just been saved from a fate worse than death.

She sent him off to look at pants and went back to browsing shoes. Two minutes after he left a woman approached her and asked her why he'd gotten so upset. Ella broke out in an embarrassed smile. "Oh, it's this little exercise we're doing to help with our relationship."

"Oh?" the woman asked. "What's the exercise?"

Ella's smile broadened. "We're not supposed to touch each other for three days. He's having a little bit of a hard time with it."

The woman closed in, whispering. "And he went for that?"

"Well," Ella started to reply "yes, of course," but she thought about it. Why had he gone for it? "I can touch him, but he can't touch me. It's supposed to make him more appreciative of our togetherness."

It was a fib, but she wasn't sure how else to describe it. There were words in the dim shadows of her mind, but the terms seemed unnatural. They seemed hard and unshapely to her tongue.

"I hope you don't mind me asking," the woman whispered, sidling up close enough for their arms to touch. "But why did he get so upset?"

Ella blinked, tried to rein in her blush, her involuntary smile. "If he does, he gets another day added to--" She almost said, "--his sentence," but then she would have to explain that as well. "--another day added to the time."

The woman grinned eagerly and let her eyes drift off toward the direction she'd last seen her husband. "How delicious. I could never get my husband to go along with that."

At the checkout line, his new slacks draped over his hands, slacks she'd picked out for him, he remained so far back from her that the other shoppers kept asking him if he was in line.

She turned and frowned, feeling her tone go accidentally stern again. "Jim. What are you doing?"

"I . . uh--" He glanced around him at the other curious shoppers.

She pointed at the floor beside her. "Come here. We're next."

He felt himself jerk forward, feeling small and ashamed. His erection was showing and he had to discreetly shift it to a more comfortable position. Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice. He resisted calling her Ma'am, but the word had been perched on his lips.

They checked out, made it to the parking lot, and he asked her if she was going to add another day to his sentence. He unlocked her car door and dropped her keys into her waiting palm, careful not to let their hands touch. She didn't like carrying them around because it was frustrating to search for them in her purse all the time.

"I don't know. Should I?" she wondered.

"It really was an accident."

"I know, Sweetheart. No foul, I suppose."

They got in the car and he laid the shopping bag across his lap and tucked his hands underneath. "I . . . I wanted to tell you I thought about the other day, about me getting so upset about when I asked you to move in with me."

"Not now, Jim."

"Yes, Ma'am." Now the word slid effortlessly out of his lips. "I just wanted to explain something."

She almost let her curiosity get the better of her. She almost asked what he was talking about, but instead, she buttoned her lip and let the silence answer for her.

When she said, "Not now", she meant it.

She recalled her conversation with her mentor: 'It's all about consistency. It's not just about him learning self control; it's also about you learning self control. You will have to learn a LOT of self control. The better you learn it and apply it, the better the results, the better his behavior.'

She shook her head, and typed her reaction. 'I feel like you're telling me how to train my dog.'

She got a smirking smiley face for that. 'You don't have kids, do you?'

'No.'

'I hate to break it to you, but training children and husbands is very similar to training dogs, except dogs learn faster.'

She laughed at that. 'I don't know though. This is Jim.'

'So the first step is what?'

Ella answered, feeling as if she were being asked to pass a pop quiz. 'Tell him what he did wrong and how it made me feel.'

'Yes, and the second step to a good punishment is. . . ."

'Tell him what he should've done instead.'

'Good!' her friend messaged. 'Men like to win. They are very goal oriented. If you show him how to do better next time, he'll most likely learn very well. Okay, third step.'

'Apply the punishment and make sure I stick to my guns.'

'Exactly!' Her friend gave her another smiley face. 'He'll look for a loophole. Even if he finds one, you make sure he understands that it would violate the spirit of the punishment. He'll ask for the punishment to end early or possibly hint at it because's he been good, time off for good behavior. It absolutely, positively must run its course. After a couple of times, he'll have learned his lesson and he won't bother you with such requests anymore. This is why it's so crucial to be so exacting in these early stages. A lot of good prep work in the beginning makes things so much easier later.'

'Well,' she typed, 'at least I'm not having to do some weird thing like spank him or something.'

Her friend sent her a 'LOL', then added, 'Actually, some day you might. You'd be surprised at where you might end up, but for now, since he's all ramped up from two months of no orgasms, he might actually consider that something exciting. A true punishment should never involve him getting aroused. The one thing he wants most of all right now is you, your attention, your touch, the feel of your fingers on him, your approval, so that's the one thing he's deprived himself of. And did you see what I did there? It's not you punishing him; it's him punishing himself when he doesn't behave in a way that pleases you.'

Ella shook her head. The more she learned, the more right her friend proved herself, the more her plan worked on Jim, the more she realized she didn't know anything about the one man in her life she'd come to love more than any other.

When his sentence had been served, he presented himself to her like an eager puppy. "So, is my punishment over yet?"

She noted the excitement in his voice, the blushing smile on his face. "Almost."

"I'm truly sorry, Ella--"

"Not yet," she said, cutting him off. His mouth snapped shut. He waited patiently.

She walked to the couch and crooked her finger at him. He hurried over with a spring in his step. At the last minute, almost without thinking she pointed at the floor.

She went lightheaded when he dropped to his knees before her, head bowed, looking every bit like a worshiping subject. "Okay." Her voice wavered. There was an energy inside her rolling at full boil. She was almost trembling with it. It was like an electric current running between them, connecting them, invisible but incredibly powerful. She felt there were certain things she could say that would send the current into overdrive. She felt almost instinctively that a certain inflection of her voice would push certain buttons, his button, her button, their collective sexual overdrive button. She wanted to press those buttons. It was beginning to excite her in a way that nothing else in life had. "Begin."

"Yes, Ma'am," he whispered softly. "I wanted to apologize for hurting you, but I also wanted to explain."

"I did give you the chance before," she interrupted. She expected an argument. His head bobbed up slightly, then lowered again.

"Yes, Ma'am. You did."

He knelt silently for a moment.

She crossed her legs at the knee and watched as his eyes were drawn helplessly to her foot. She could feel his desire. He was practically salivating at the sight of her black heel, bouncing before him. The last three days of not being able to touch her in any way had thrown his desire into a peak that had threatened to overwhelm him. It had arose to a level that was indescribable. He had never wanted her or anything in his life the way he wanted her right now, but it wasn't even a physical desire. He wanted . . . no . . . he needed her approval, her pleasure. He craved that soft tone of acceptance from her, and the more harsh she was with him, the less he got it, the more powerful and sought after it became.

"Go on," she ordered, and her order was like magic, electrifying them both with desire. She felt so powerful; she felt she could tell him to do almost anything and he would. This man who stood a foot taller than her, who could've pinned her down effortlessly and had his way with her, was hanging on her every word, obedient to her every whim. He was giving her everything she wanted, not out of obligation, but because he wanted nothing more than for her to be pleased. It was almost ridiculously erotic.

"I got hurt. When you didn't say right away that you wanted to live with me, I thought I'd fucked up. I thought you didn't love me."

"But I do love you," she whispered.

His eyes flashed up and caught hers. She couldn't be certain, but if she hadn't known better, she might have thought those were tears in his eyes. "I love you, too, Ella. I freaked out, and I'm sorry."

She tapped her chin, bounced the pointy toe of her shoe before him, enjoying the way his eyes bounced with it. "Hmm, okay, but what could you have done instead?"

He swallowed, shook his head. "Not been an idiot."

She opened her mouth, but didn't get a word out before he caught himself.

"I know, I know! I'm not an idiot. I should've just told you how it made me feel. I should've just said that I was, y'know, hurt, and I thought you'd be happy and we should've talked about it and everything probably would've been okay if I had."

"Probably?" she asked and felt him cave before her.

"It all would've been okay. And I'll remember that next time. I won't let it happen again."

She sat silently, studying him. Peculiar new feelings were coursing through her, accompanied by peculiar new thoughts. She would have to talk to her friend about it, but for now, she had business with her little Jim. "Good boy, but you're not done yet. Are you?"

He lifted his head and met her gaze and the sparks flew between them. "I'm very, very sorry, Ella. I truly am, from the bottom of my heart."

She smiled and watched the blood rush into his cheeks. "I forgive you, Baby."

His eyes dropped, fell to her foot, bouncing before him, and he licked his lips, raising his hands to get a hold on it. She pulled it away at the last second, enjoying how his eyes flitted back up with confusion.

"Uh uh uh," she admonished playfully. "You still haven't thanked me for teaching you this valuable lesson."

She wondered why she was drawing this out. If anything, she probably owed him an apology for not explaining how she felt at the time, though she'd been advised to the contrary. No, the reason she was letting this moment of contrition stretch on was very simple: it was delicious and it was making her bones quiver with intense pleasure, the pleasure of a woman ever slowly, ever so seductively, wrapping a man around her finger.

His sincerity was profound. "Ella, thank you for helping me to be a better guy. You deserve so much better than me, and I truly want you to be happy and I'm truly sorry I made you unhappy. Thank you for showing me how to do that in the future."

She smiled and blushed. "You're welcome, Sweetheart."

She was about to push her heel toward him, when he spoke again. "There was something else though."

She paused, thinking to herself, 'Oh, Jim, Darling, please don't blow it now. I need you inside me like you wouldn't believe!'

"Go on."

He licked his lips, considered his words carefully. "The last week or so, maybe the last two weeks, something happened."

She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, enjoying the scent of his cologne, and she couldn't be sure, but she thought she got a little whiff of his sweat mixed with it. It made her hungry for him. "What?"

His eyes met hers. She nearly recoiled from them. There was something in them she hadn't seen before. She was afraid to even consider what it might mean. "Peace. This profound . . . peace came over me. It was . . . I was just completely and totally content. I'm not sure exactly when, but maybe when we were talking on the phone that Sunday. I remember calling you hoping for phone sex, then about half way into the conversation I realized I probably wasn't going to get it. Then, I realized I didn't care."

He laughed aloud at some private joke. "You were chattering away about your friend, Cindy, and I . . . I felt this amazing feeling of total happiness. It really was like being drunk, almost, or stoned. I figured it would go away, but it didn't. For the last two weeks, as horny as I've been, as badly as I've wanted you, this other thing overshadowed everything else. I just . . . I just wanted you to be happy. I wanted to please you, not with my dick, but just. . . . I don't know. I'm not sure I can describe it. I was on that high when I asked you to move in with me. I guess I sort of crashed, but it was still there. I mean, I was hurt and upset, but I still found myself thinking about you all day. I still raced here after work to take out the trash and get dinner ready for you. All I want to do is to do things for you and. . . ."

His head bowed; he hugged himself; he shuddered slightly, his face beet red, and what he whispered, she realized at once, was a game changer.

"Ella," he admitted quietly, "all I can think about is doing everything you tell me to do. I want--" He paused to swallow and catch his breath. "I want to obey you."

She blinked and stared at him for a long time, wondering to herself, 'What does this mean?', but it was a question to which she already had the answer.

* * *

With absolute certainty, she messaged her friend. 'He's ready.'

Her friend messaged back. 'Yes? Why do you say that?'

Ella explained about Jim's apology and all that he'd said.

Her friend sent her a smiley face. 'He certainly is ready, but are you?'

'I have one question,' Ella typed. 'Where does this end?'

There was a long pause. 'I'll be honest. I don't know. You'll know. For me it came to a gradual plateau. It never stopped, but we came to a point where we were both happy with the arrangement. But that was me. Each relationship is different. I think it will do the same for you though. But beware, men are very focused creatures. You may have to be the one to apply the brakes. Don't let him badger you into giving him anything more than you're comfortable with.'

Ella thought about it. Would Jim really want to go further than her? And what was the definition of "further"? She had glimpses of where this could all end up, kinky, whipping him in some leather Dominatrix outfit, but she was extremely uncomfortable with those images.

'What's the next step?' she asked in a hurry, because she didn't want to think about it anymore.

She got a smiley face and an explanation.

* * *

Their Sunday discussions became less . . . equal.

Jim used to sit with her on the couch and rub her feet while they talked about what was working and what wasn't, but now without her even suggesting it, he presented himself on his knees before her. She had an urge to motion him up beside her, but a hot flush coursed through her. He was on his knees. He was obedient and under her control and on his knees before her. She couldn't believe how much that excited her.

Her throat clinched up. She felt nervous, tense, so incredibly turned on she almost couldn't stand it. "I'd . . . like some wine. Would--"

He was on his feet, hurrying to the kitchen. She heard him banging around, heard the pop of the cork, heard the clink of a glass and in a flash he was back before her, handing her a glass of wine. She looked at it, then up at him. "Didn't you want any?"

He blushed and laughed. "I, uh, y'know, it didn't even occur to me."

He stood, waiting. She sipped and watched him curiously, wondering what he was waiting for. Finally, he said, "I'm sorry. Did you want me to ask permission?"

She blinked and giggled. "No. That's okay. Let's just talk. You can have a glass later if you'd like."

He smiled and nodded and dropped to his knees. "Or if you want me to have one."

She crossed her legs at the knee and pushed her foot toward him. He kissed it and began to rub it tenderly. The way he looked down at it . . . it was almost as if he wanted to make love to her foot, such reverence, such lust. "So, did you have anything you wanted to bring up?"

He swallowed and shook his head. "I'd like a day or two at home next week. I haven't taken good care of my house. I've been having to stop there and bring clothes over here and do laundry over here. Not that I mind, but it would be nice to have one or two days where I could get things done at home."

She pretended to think about, to consider it. "I'll give you one day next week. Wednesday. And that might change, depending on how I feel."

He blinked, smiled, blushed and whispered softly, "Yes, Ma'am. Thank you."

She felt the tension in her body driving her crazy with arousal. "Anything else?"

He shook his head. "No, Ma'am."

He began to focus on her toes, the red polish, his fingers rolling around the joints, his eyes darting up to see if he was having an effect. He wanted to kiss her toes, but resisted. He wanted so much more than just her foot.

"Well," Ella told him, "I have a question."

His eyes met hers. "Okay."

"Have you been good? Have you been touching yourself?" She was curious to see if her friend was right, that men truly did have their own way of defining things of this nature.

He shook his head, blanched a little. "No, of course not. That would ruin everything. Jesus, I've wanted to, but I've been good."

She considered his response, crossed her arms, tapped her chin with her finger. "Hmm, what about in the shower?"

His face tightened slightly. "Well . . . just to clean myself though."

"I see. So you do touch yourself in the shower, to clean yourself?"

He blinked. "Well, yes, Ella, I have to clean it."

"And," she continued, still wondering if her friend was going to be right yet again, "and do you ever take a little more time than necessary . . . to 'clean' yourself?"

His jaw dropped slightly. "Well . . . I don't know. I mean, I'm just soaping it up and--"

"Giving it a stroke or two?"

His face turned beet red. "I don't . . . I never mean to stroke it exactly--"

"Or ten?" she continued, noticing that harsh tone sneak back into her voice.

"I'm just cleaning it though. I'm not jerking off." She couldn't tell if he was ashamed or angry.

"It's okay, Sweetheart, and I'm sure there are other times where maybe you hand lingers a little too long. Maybe you feel the lump in your pants and give it a little squeeze?"

He knelt with his head bowed, utterly silent.

"I see."

Softly, he whispered, "I'm sorry, Ella. I didn't think of it like that. I really have tried. You have no idea how hard it is."

She giggled at that, noticing his tenting pants. "I have some idea."

He glanced up and laughed. "Yeah. Really!"

She leaned forward and caressed his cheek. "It just means we might have to resort to other means the next time we play.

He blinked. His eyes went wide. "The next time?"

She smiled. "Well, yes, Sweetheart. Your sixty days is up on Saturday. I promised you a break."

"But--but I don't want a break. I want to continue. I mean, I want very much to cum on Saturday . . . with you . . . in you. Jesus, all over you. I can't stand it anymore. But--but--let's continue after that."

She put on her best patronizing smile. "Oh, Sweetheart, remember? It's not about what you want. It's about what pleases me."

He smiled the broadest smile he could manage. "Yes, and I was hoping that you'd want more of it, too."




I Have An Idea Ch. 05



His orgasm was like Christmas, long for the waiting and gone too quick. If it had been left to him, it would've been one long day of having her spread out as a buffet while he cuddled, nuzzled, fucked, teased and touched every part of her, rolling her over every hour to access a fresh tapestry of soft skin. But it hadn't been left to him. His "release day" was arranged by her. Not executed by her, but it was her plan he followed.

They would see a show, she explained, a play, a comedy show, but not a movie. Movies were too easy. It would be some type of event where they needed tickets at a proper theater and they got to dress up. There would be dinner, drinks and dancing. He chose where for the dinner and drinks, and he paid. She chose how long they danced.

She took it easy on him and didn't torture him too much.

That was followed by their stroll down the river walk, where he told her how special the place had become to him. Special? Jim had long since started behaving as a romantic, but this was a little different. The river walk, the spot around the bend where lamplight flickered, which had since been fixed much to his dismay, was where he had first felt an intense passion for her. It was the place where he realized that her "hands off" policy was driving him to want her like never before. He even called it the spot where he fell in love with being in love with her.

She glowed the entire time. She couldn't stop smiling. She couldn't stop hanging on to his arm. She gave him every kissed he reached for and offered more. At the end of the evening, she offered her body to him, and he devoured her, the first time quickly, barely making it more than a minute, but after a short recovery, he took her again and again until he couldn't take her anymore, until she was so droopy-eyed that he felt guilty asking for another go.

He spent the rest of the week free of rules. He didn't have to stay with her at her apartment. He could touch himself as much as he liked. He indulged. Some. He indulged on Monday night. It was hollow. The pornography was still there, still titillating, and he had no problem making it work, but it wasn't her. She had somehow become so much more intense than anything he could dream up. She was what he wanted in his mind and in his heart.

He'd never before considered what his heart wanted when his hard-on made requests.

At the end of the week, he smiled at her, meeting her at the front door, dinner warm in the oven and renewed his offer of having her move in with him.

She blushed and replied, "Let me think about it."

His grin was an ear to ear presentation. "You do that. I'm clear headed. I jerked off twice this week." He grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her willingly into his embrace, burying his nose in her hair and kissing the top of her soft head, feeling her melt against him. "I know what I want, and it's you."

"Maybe you're not clear enough though. It's only been a few days."

He peeled her off of himself and gazed deep into her eyes. "You can keep making excuses, but I know how I feel and you won't convince me I feel any other way."

She frowned, shook her head. "Maybe you just want it because you're still thinking about the game."

"I want it because I love you."

She shook her head again. "But if this is all about our little game--"

"I think we both know it's more than a game, Ella."

"But this way you could play more, every day. This more than a game thing we're doing, I'm not sure where it's heading."

"I do."

Her head snapped up, her eyes flashing with concern. "You do?"

He nodded. "Yes. I've been looking it up online. There's all kinds of names for it, but the short answer is you take charge of the relationship, of me, and I behave like a good boy and give you everything you want and generally make you feel happy and loved and special, which you are. You are very special."

"But--" she tried.

"I want you to be happy, and you figured out a way for me to make that happen. I don't know how you figured it out, if it was that Divine Tantra site or what, but you being in control of me is exciting and intense and I love feeling like I'm some, uh, worshiping slave pampering his goddess."

Her blush deepened.

"Ella, you've wanted this. You've been working on it, and so have I. This is working. We're happy. The only time I'm usually happy in my relationships is in the first six months, then everything gets boring. I get boring, and selfish and lazy. I mean, for a guy, once you've got the girl, what's left? Your job is done. But with this I feel like every day is a new adventure. I mean, taking care of you even got a little routine, but I was truly happy doing things for you. In fact, it even excited me, turned me on. The other day I almost passed out because you dropped your wet towel on the floor in the bathroom and didn't say a word about it. You just expected that I would pick it up. It was like a mental orgasm. I was under your thumb, wrapped around your little pinky finger, doing what you wanted without you so much as asking or even having to order me. I was in heaven. I want more of that, but, um, I forget, this isn't about what I want. So, I'm asking: What do you want?"

It was a lovely speech.

He was earnest. She couldn't deny that. She was having doubts. Why? He was right. Things had been amazingly good between them, but going forward meant continuing to notice that she was changing and she wasn't sure she liked the changes. Going forward meant letting all the qualities that were usually reviled in women come to full blossom. Bossy. Bitchy. Mean. Using her feminine wiles, her sexuality to manipulate him to her own end.

Did she truly want to be that type of person?

When he hadn't an orgasm for a couple of weeks, he couldn't resist her or even tell her she was being too bossy, too mean. The harsher she was, the more he loved it. It would be up to her to keep a lid on that.

Would he become less than a man to her? He hadn't so far, but he had become somewhat childlike, always looking for her approval, always looking to please her. By the end, she wasn't doing much, she admitted. A smile here, a friendly little pat there. Her role consisted of her sitting on the couch and bouncing her heel in front of his face, watching him kneel, and giving him instructions in a soft tone that made him shiver with excitement.

On the other hand, she'd never been so turned on in her life. She'd gone from feeling that her libido was too low to thinking about sex every ten seconds. She was practically a man. 

Every ten seconds, Jim on his knees. Every ten seconds, smiling because he was texting her. Every ten seconds, Jim gazing up at her begging to serve her.

"Jim, I'll think about moving in with you, but for now, we'll continue the way we are."

"The way we are right now?" His face displayed concern.

She patted his face. "It's your choice, but if you choose to go back to our 'game', I'll be honest with you . . . there will be no end date."

He blushed. He went pale. He licked his lips.

She couldn't be sure, but she thought she felt his erection pressing into her.

"And," she continued, "there is the little matter of your frequent touching."

He nodded, head bowed. "Okay."

"I'll give you until Monday to decide, but if you decide yes, then we'll need to get measurements."

He swallowed. "Measurements?"

She nodded. "Can you guess what for?"

He nodded, his face tight, his lips white. "Yes."

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Is it . . . a chastity device?"

She smiled. He had been doing research. She patted his face and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "You're such a good boy."

* * *

Her anger came to a full boil. She was hurt. She resented him like Hell. She could only sit and silently fume. His eyes flashed with concern, and confusion. She sent him away, no touching, no talking. She had to think. Maybe she needed to contact her friend.

Jim had knelt before her, all smiles and swollen with pride, and informed her that he'd ordered the chastity device.

Almost at once, she had felt a flush of anger rush into her face. "You . . . what?"

"I ordered it! I spent the last week researching it online. You know . . . checking out reviews, what people said on the forums. Hell, I made a spreadsheet! I had to take some measurements, you know, each day to get an average so I knew what size and all that."

She blinked. "You . . . ordered it?"

He nodded with the broadest smile he could manage. "Yeah! And I put an expedite on it, so it should be here in a few days."

He could not have been more shocked when she sent him away, wordless, practically breathless.

For the rest of the day, she sat on her anger, let it steam inside her. She was short with him. She didn't ask, didn't order; she commanded. 

"Make me some tea."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Ordinarily, this would've excited him, but the anger in her eyes worried him.

He tried apologizing for whatever he'd done. She asked him if he knew what he was apologizing for. He didn't. "Go away."

He looked around. "Um . . . where?"

"I don't care. Make yourself busy. I shouldn't have to tell you every little thing."

He gulped and found something to do. He busied himself in the yard, pulling weeds, trimming branches, doing something physical and staying out of the house, out of her way, trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong.

In bed that night, he'd put his hand on her arm. Her body was cold and tense. She rolled away.

He'd had enough.

He got out of bed, walked around the end and knelt in front of her.

She was tempted to roll away from him, but instead, she watched him coolly and waited.

"Ella," he said softly, "I don't know what I did wrong. I know you're angry. I'd like to apologize, but I'd . . . I'd appreciate help figuring out what I did to piss you off."

She felt her cold exterior cracking almost immediately. Still, she resisted the urge to warm up to him again. "You can't even guess?"

He nodded and studied his fingers as they fiddled with each other. "I would guess that you don't like the fact that I ordered the chastity belt. Maybe, you didn't really want me to order one? It freaks you out? Maybe it was just something you were saying, but it was more of a fantasy for you and you didn't mean--"

"No, Jim," she interrupted. "It wasn't a fantasy. You ordered it without even consulting me."

He blinked. His throat bobbed. "Oh."

She stared at him, her tongue still, her lips still, her body still, her eyes boring into his.

His eyes darted down to her cleavage just peeking out from beneath the sheets, from beneath her camisole. "I . . . I thought you'd be happy. Honestly. I thought you told me to order it."

She propped herself up on her elbow. "When did I tell you to order it, Jim?"

He blinked rapidly. "Well, you didn't tell me exactly--"

"Oh?"

"No, but . . . you hardly every just come out and tell me to do anything. You always sort of hint at it. You mention something offhand, and I've been trying to be better at figuring out what you're trying to say. So, you know, if you hint at something or give me a little nudge, I'm trying to do better figuring out what it is you want."

She blanched. He had a point, and she knew it. In the past, they had arguments that were just the opposite of this. She would mention something, and he wouldn't do it, wouldn't get it, wouldn't even get so much as a hint about it, and she would be so hurt, so frustrated. He would explain that she hadn't "told" him what she wanted and he couldn't read her mind.

Here, he was struggling to do just that, to understand what she truly wanted, and she'd gotten mad at him for it.

Still, she could hear her friend whispering in her mind. 'It's okay to admit you've made a mistake, but that doesn't mean he still shouldn't be punished. It sounds cold and wrong, but he'll thank you for it.'

She shook her head and decided to put that theory to the test, even though she couldn't believe he would go for it.

"I see. That's understandable. I appreciate the effort, but now let me explain how you made me feel. You made me feel like this is all really just a game to you--"

He opened his mouth to object, but she flipped up a finger and said, "Hush. I'm talking."

He shrank, turned pale, and she noted his erection came to full mast. She was beginning to see the advantage of having him naked; he couldn't hide his arousal.

He'd already confessed that he loved it when she "hushed" him so sternly.

"You made me feel like it was just a game that you could quit anytime, where when you decided to make your own decisions or bend the rules, you could. It really hurt me that you made this decision without me. I resented you for taking that away from me."

"Ella," he whispered shyly, "it had been a week and you hadn't said anything more about it."

She stared at him in silence. He squirmed, swallowed, breathed shallow breaths and whispered, "Sorry."

"Go to the corner."

It surprised even her. She wasn't sure where it had come from, the decision to put him in the corner like a disobedient child, but it felt right.

His head snapped up, his eyes checking hers to see if she was serious, then after only a moment, he walked over to the counter and slouched miserably.

"Knees, please," she whispered, and got a thrill watching him obey instantaneously. "Hands behind you. I don't want to see any touching."

He knelt in the corner while she stared at the ceiling and thought.

He knelt. He knelt and he thought and became acutely aware of his erection, of his knees pressing into the carpet, of her presence in the bed behind him. He listened to each quiet shift of her body, the whisking of the sheets, the compression of the mattress.

After an eternity that was probably only a few minutes, she called to him. "Jim?"

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Are you ready to listen now?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good boy. Come here, please."

He stood and walked back over to her and dropped to his knees, so close his chest was touching the edge of the bed.

She smiled at him. "As I was saying, you hurt my feelings and you deprived yourself out of a special moment between us. I appreciate that you were trying to obey me, but I think the truth is that the idea of being put in a chastity belt turned you on so much, you got too eager and decided to just go do it, not because it was what I wanted, but because it was what you wanted, and you were impatient."

He bowed his head and nodded. "Shit. You're probably right. I'm sorry, Ella."

She placed her hand on his cheek and stroked his mouth with her thumb. "Thank you, but you can apologize after your punishment."

"May I speak for a moment?"

That struck her. He'd never asked for permission to talk before. It made her feel very powerful. It also made her realize how very submissive he was feeling. She swallowed and tried to keep her tone firm. "Go on."

"I have a solution to this. I did the research already, so what I could do is to present it to you. I could show you all the pros and cons of the different belts I looked at, show you the measurements and the graphs."

She giggled. "You made graphs?"

He was such a guy, such a logical, methodical guy.

He nodded, grinning. "I couldn't help myself. Anyway, I could show you the top three and let you pick. When the belt gets here, if it's not the one you picked, I can send it back and get the right one."

She thought about it, smiling. "I'd like that."

His smiled broadened. He turned and kissed her fingers softly. "I'm sorry, Ella. I really am. I let my eagerness get the better of me."

"That's sweet, but I already told you, you can apologize after your punishment."

He blinked. "What is--please tell me it's not another three days of not touching you."

She smiled. It was hard to resist the feelings of being desired and needed. With one comment, he'd made her feel so sexy and aroused. Still, it wasn't just about his self-control, it was also about hers.

"No, Baby. I don't think what you did was quite that bad and you explained it well and there was some truth in what you said. I'm learning to be a little more direct with you, and I love that you're working so hard to understand what I want. I think some corner time will be enough."

He grabbed her hand and pressed his lips into the center of her palm. "Okay."

She watched him shuffle back to the corner, smiling, her hand drifting helplessly between her legs, feeling her own arousal. Her soft, dry lips went wet within a second of her fingers touching them. They were already puffy and swollen, her clitoris peeking out and ready for play.

She moaned quietly and threw an order his way every now and then. "No talking. Think about me. Think about what you did."

"Yes, Ma'am."

He could hear her breathlessness, her ragged tone, her moans, the shifting of sheets. He'd never wanted to touch her and himself more than at that moment.

"When that little belt gets here, you're in for it. I'm going to lock you away."

He could imagine the click of the lock. He trembled, his cock actually leaking pre-cum it was so hard.

"I'm going to capture it, and from then on it's mine. No more touching. No more nothing. It's mine. I control it and it controls you and mmmmm--"

She rolled around the bed until she felt a small twinge of an orgasm and smiled. She worked on another one, a better one, even considered having his fingers or his mouth do the job, but she decided against it. Let him kneel and stew and want her. She wanted him to want her, to crave her.

She swirled her finger around her clit and felt that indefinable tension building. It was promising to be a good one, already making her toes curl. She slunk down in the bed and let her hand do what it wanted. She grabbed at her camisole, pushing the straps aside so she could grab onto her breast. She'd never liked rough breast play. They were far too sensitive for that, but now she twisted her own nipples, feeling a little touch of pain shoot through her, then she was flooding wet and almost wondering if she hadn't cum and not realized it. The tension was still there, making her thighs tremble. No, she had definitely not cum yet.

She gazed over at Jim in the dim light. He could hear her. He was listening to her every moan, every breath, short, ragged and quick. She felt her hand jerking in and out of herself, letting her wrist lean on her clit, giving it a good hard rub, and then the ecstasy was there, so close, cresting.

She bit her lip and willed it to come, slipper her fingers up to make direct contact with her clit, and pushing the button to set off the fireworks in her body. Her moan and gasp filled the room from one corner to the other. Jim was as still as a statute. 

She smiled and let the orgasm crash over her, lessening with each wave, but still so supremely pleasurable.

Then she was laying there in the quiet, listening to her own breathing, smiling softly.

A moment later, an timeless eternity later, she awoke with a start. It was pitch black in the room and she realized she'd fallen asleep. "J-Jim?"

He groaned. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Oh, God! Did I fall asleep?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"How--how long have you been kneeling there?" She could still make out his form in the corner. 

"I'm--I'm not sure. Maybe an hour?"

"Oh, shit! I'm so sorry, come here."

She rolled out of the bed and rushed to him. He groaned as he stood, his knees throbbing, the skin over his kneecap burning. He limped with her under his arm to the bed.

With tears in her voice, she whimpered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I--I thought about it, but you told me not to talk."

"Oh, Jim! Please forgive me!"

He groaned and collapsed on to the bed, smiling. "No, it's okay. I don't have bad knees or anything, besides I liked doing it for you. It was sort of like I was suffering for you, sticking it out as long as I could."




I Have An Idea Ch. 05



She cradled his face in her hands and kissed it softly from eye to eye to lips to nose to chin to ear and each cheek. "I'm so sorry. I'm so very sorry. Next time wake me up!"

"Please," Jim begged, "please don't apologize. It ruins it. I feel like I did something amazing for you. I feel like I was punished and that I did it. I did a good job and if you say you're sorry, it makes me feel like I did something wrong."

She withdrew, physically retreated a step and stared at him, studying his face. It flooded through her, the thought, the feeling, the overwhelming realization. He's mine. He belongs to me. He wants to belong to me. He's . . . he's my slave now. I've turned him into my slave.

She swallowed and tried not to let it dissolve her into a giant puddle of arousal, begging for him to ram his cock through every part of her.

Self-control.

She sighed and smiled and hugged him. He kissed her belly softly and moaned with pleasure, his hands finding her ass and gripping until they almost hurt.

He loves my ass. I bet I could control him with it, just the sight of it.

She blushed and pushed him away.

"Okay, are you feeling better?"

He nodded heavily.

"Good, because we're not quite finished here, are we?"

He gulped, his eyes flitting up to meet hers.

"You owe me an apology and a thank-you."

He nodded. "Yes, Ma'am.

It nearly killed her to watch him lower himself to his still throbbing knees, but she bit her tongue, feeling herself aroused beyond belief. He was suffering for her, because she said so.

It gave her ideas.

* * *

She sat stunned, feeling abandoned.

'What do you mean?'

Her friend, her mentor, her relationship savior-texted her back. 'I just don't have the experience to help you any further.'

'What kind of experience do you need?' Her friend, her savior had made the first contact. She had reached out to Ella, after noticing her comment on the Divine Tantra forum.

'You were asking about when does it stop? What's next? I told you everyone has their own stopping point. Well, my husband and I stopped about where you are now. I mean, we didn't stop, but it was like our plateau. We're happy with where things are, but the way you're describing things makes me think you want to take your relationship further. I just don't have that kind of experience, but I know someone who does, and I think she can help you.'

She crossed her arms and fumed. She was about ready to quit the whole site and conversation and everything. Except that she still felt she needed advice and didn't know where to get it. She'd done a little research and all the sites seemed to involve dressing up leather or latex and harassing her husband in degrading ways while beating the shit out of him. She could not fathom going down that road. 'I don't understand why you're just running away from me like this. You're the one that talked me into it all.'

There was a frowny face and a reply. 'I promise you I'm not running away. I'm not leaving you. We're friends. We'll always be friends. You've made me feel so wonderful because I've been able to help and it's gone so well. I'm so happy for you. I'll still be here, I just want to pass your name to someone who is even more experienced than me. In fact, she's the one who contacted me and saved my relationship. Please . . give her a chance. I promise. She will amaze you.'

Ella was uncertain, and more than a little hurt, but what could she do?

It only took a day before she got a text from her new mentor.

She wanted to not like her, but she was likeable. She wanted to disbelieve her, but she was so knowledgeable. They chatted like old friends for almost an hour, about the Divine Tantra site, about relationships, about men, about shower curtains, about children, about women, about their mutual friend. . . .

Begrudgingly, Ella had to admit she liked her new friend. She had a different voice, a different style, but it was obvious she knew what she was talking about, and she said things that made Ella's head spin.

Ella brought up her fears and concerns of what had happened when she accidentally left Jim kneeling while she fell asleep.

Her new friend was unsympathetic. 'He could not be happier with himself.'

Head spinning, Ella replied, 'But . . I hurt him.'

'Not in any serious way. You said there has been no lasting damage. It's taught you two valuable lessons. One, you need to be cautious about your treatment of him. Whenever he's in subspace like that, he may find it difficult to tell you he's being hurt.' 

Ella thought about the term, subspace. She knew what it meant even without having to ask, but it was still a clunky, foreign word in her brain.

'Two,' her new mentor continued, 'Jim has told you he likes pain. He wants to suffer for you.'

'I don't know that he is actually telling me wants pain. It was an accident. I screwed up.'

'You certainly did, but that is exactly what he is telling you. I would recommend setting up a regiment of weekly pain trials for him. It will let him suffer for you, bring him deeper into submission for you, and generally make him more pliable to your wishes.'

Ella's cheeks burned, her face felt hot and tight. 'Pain trials?' She wanted to ask what in the Hell her friend was talking about, but there was a division in her heart, an absolute contradiction of feelings. She was both repulsed and aroused by the idea of purposefully causing Jim to hurt.

'It can be anything. There are stress positions you can make him adopt. Those are easy and they require little effort on your behalf. You ask him to assume a position, let him feel how hard it is, how much it hurts, then you gently, sweetly ask him how long he thinks he can maintain it for you. Set a timer. Whatever he says, hold him to it, then when the time is done, tell him it would please you if he continued longer, but that he can stop now if he wants to. You'll be amazed. It always sends me into supreme Topspace when my little slave-hubby works so hard to please me far beyond the time he originally promised. Plus, it has toned up his body so nicely. Yum.'

Ella felt almost sick with desire. As exciting, as much as it made part of her tingle, it seemed so cruel, so wrong to subject Jim to such a thing. 'I see.'

'Or,' her friend continued, while Ella silently pleaded with her both to stop and continue, feeling overloaded, 'you can just reduce him to a little puddle of submission by giving him weekly spankings, good hard spankings, not light fun things, spankings that remind him of you for the next few days, every time he puts his pink bottom down on a chair. You'll be amazed at how well behaved he becomes. lol'

She truly did not know what to think about it all.

She truly did not know what to think of her new mentor.

She truly did not know what to think about her sopping panties as she thought, 'I could never do that,' which was followed by the though, 'But I want to.'

* * *

Jim had stopped sitting on the couch. Ella wondered if she had somehow ordered that. Was that what she wanted? Had he interpreted her intent that way? In some ways, Jim was getting so good at reading her, he was actually responding to things she didn't know she even wanted.

After a long thoughtful period, mostly while watching him fixing her purse with a rivet kit, on his knees in the living room, she realized how excited she was. He felt his place was beneath her, not beside her.

He knelt before the couch or he sat on the floor. Sometimes she would pat his head or stroke the hair on the back of his neck like a house pet. She would drape her legs over his shoulders and blush with fire in her cheeks when he sweetly turned his head and kissed the inside of her knee, pressing his nose into her skin and inhaling.

His fantasies, his behavior had become alarmingly submissive.

At her new mentor's request, she began to draw his fantasies from him. She'd always been interested, had always asked, but now she pressed, now she forced them from him, coerced them from him under extreme duress. After stroking him, bringing him to the edge of orgasm time after time after time, she had gazed him square in the eyes and compelled him to start talking. In his extreme agony and ecstasy, all of his little dreams, hopes, fears and desires had simply come spilling out of his lips.

He dreamed of being her slave. He dreamed of being locked in a collar with her holding the chain. He talked about pictures he'd found on the internet that spoke to him. He dreamed of being tied up and hurt by her, for her pleasure, for her amusement.

Her dreams were not quite so intense, but they were being fed by his fantasies. They were certainly more decadent than they'd ever been.

When he was on his knees, naked, hard, head bowed, cheeks flushed, she could feel the waves of submission flowing off of him, gathering and charging her. When he became still and quiet, he shuddered with every soft word she spoke.

Every time she thought she'd found his bottom, he seemed to go deeper for her. Every time she thought she'd attained the most control she could have over him, he gave her more. It was intoxicating and she was becoming a willing power-holic.

She ran her fingers through her hair and he shuddered. "Why do you call me 'Ma'am'?"

It took him a moment to gather his thoughts and the strength to speak them. "I . . . don't know what else to call you, Ma'am."

"Hmm," she smiled, sauntering around him, her legs and her heels so close to him that they penetrated his every waking thought, "Ma'am makes me feel like an old woman."

He knelt in utter silence.

She wondered aloud. "What would you like to call me?"

He shuddered.

She stopped before him, placed a finger under his chin and turned his face upward. The look in his eyes melted her. She wanted him in a way she had never wanted a man before. She wanted to consume him, to swallow him whole, to have him inside her, consuming her. She wanted him to belong to her. Utterly.

He blinked rapidly. "There are . . . sites that I've looked at. Forums and other places."

"Send them to me."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Tell me about them."

"They're not harsh like you said you don't like. There are a few forums with women, married and housewives and other women. I've been on there, talking about us. They have asked me if you would join, and I'd like you to, but on there, the men call the women . . . Mistress."

She took a firm hold of his chin and rubbed the tip of her nose with his for a moment. "You've been talking about me, about us?"

He nodded. "Good things, amazing things, but looking for advice, yes, Ma'am."

She gave him a stern look. "I most certainly will join, and I will read every comment you made and until I do, you are not to touch those sites, not a single . . . stroke." She ran her fingernail down the length of his nose, emphasizing her instruction. "I don't want you second-guessing yourself, changing your posts until I have had a chance to read them."

He nodded as much as her firm hand would allow, his eyes bright and sparkling. "Thank you."

"And about this Mistress business. We'll see. That sounds like a privilege to me. It sounds like something you have to earn. Perhaps, when I locked your cock away and take the key, perhaps that will be kind of like a collar for now."

His eyes glazed over with hope. "I'd . . . I'd love that . . Ma'am."

She raised one eyebrow and smiled when she saw him melt under her gaze. "I said . . . perhaps."

She sauntered away to the window and gazed out at the Sunset. She felt him behind her, like a rock of molten lava, the heat, the energy, the need, the lust filling the shrinking room.

"Jim," she whispered quietly, "what if . . . ." She could barely make her lips form around the words, but the buzzing energy of her power drove her to try. "What if . . . what if I wanted to hurt you?"

After a short silence, his barely audible reply came. "I . . . want that, too."

If it were possible to have an orgasm that was entirely situated in the brain, in the heart, in the seat of emotion, she had one then.

"I have ideas about that," she told him softly and he shuddered with pleasure.

* * *

She had long talks with her mentor. Her long talks led her to things she had not yet thought, to consider things she had not yet considered, and to have ideas. Lots of ideas.

She had made a decision. She had not told Jim about it. Not yet. She was sticking her foot in the water to see if it would scald her or soothe her.

Jim hated laundry. It was the one thing he found a way around, her laundry and his own. With her new mentor's guidance, she decided to try an experiment.

First, she teased him. She took him aside on a Sunday, after their discussion of how things were going, which was uneventful. They both were happy with where things where. He'd asked when he would be allowed to cum. She told him he would cum when she decided it, and not before, but that she didn't have a date in mind. Did he want a date? He did, but he didn't. At least it was something to look forward to. She chose to compromise. Some time in the next month, which could mean next week or not until the very last minute of the very last day of the month, he would be allowed to cum, on her terms only, and she could change that time or change her mind whenever she wished. He told her it had been five months so far, since he'd touched himself, since he'd had an orgasm.

They'd had a little ceremony to celebrate his chastity belt.

Dinner, candles, drinks, and him naked as they played with it, fitted it, adjusted it.

Then dangling the little brass lock, like a golden trinket, before his eyes, she stood before him grinning. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, flushed. "Yes, Ma'am."

She opened the lock and fiddled with it. "Are you sure you're sure?"

He groaned and nodded, his voice now a whisper. "Yes, Ma'am."

She felt a thrill when she inserted the lock into the little place on his little chastity belt. Before she closed it, she gave him a long, intimate look. "Last chance."

He groaned quietly, and shuddered. After a moment, he nodded.

Click.

They both heard it, both felt it, the thrill, the seal, the deal, the meaning.

She pushed his button (and her own). "Now . . . you're mine. You're little willy belongs to me." She tossed the tiny key across the room in the general vicinity of her purse. His eyes tracked it, was certain she'd never find it again.

It was such fun and she had stayed turned on the entire day. She half wanted to unlock him right then, right there, coat his cock with numbing cream, slap on the condom and have him please her. She chose not to, but enjoyed the lovely feelings of control which seemed to surge through her all the time now. It was no longer significant to feel that surge. She felt it all the time; it was becoming almost routine; and undercurrent of electricity. Less of a thrill, and more a warm, reassuring pulse.

How would she ever live without it?

For the first two weeks, he woke up off and on in the middle of the night, groaning, but never complaining. She would catch him coming back to bed. In the morning, he admitted to standing before the freezer with a bag of frozen peas pressed to his crotch. He smiled when he said it, but she worried a little.

Eventually, he stopped waking up. He knelt before her and she could see his head spinning, his chastity belt filling up, the pain in his eyes as his cock attempted unsuccessfully to grow. His cock had learned its lesson, he told her. It had learned not to grow aroused at night any more. It had learned to grow aroused only when she wanted it to.

Her heart thudded in her chest; her cheeks burned. She couldn't been more in heaven. He had pushed her buttons in a big way, and now she was going to return the favor.

She was going to treat him like a toy, something with which she could play.

Her little experiment started innocently enough.

She paraded around him in a shirt and panties. He was busy, scrubbing the toilet. She shook her head at that. He didn't mind scrubbing toilets, but he didn't want to put her clothes in the washer.

She heard the little telltale signs of his little cock in its little cage giving him a lot of strife. She tried not to let him see her grinning.

"Come here, please," she ordered and he dropped what he was doing and joined her in the living room.

She handed him her items, polish, ridge filler, file, clippers and so on. He held up his hands and she placed each in its place and told him to keep them where she placed them. He was on his knees, naked, waiting patiently. Sitting in her shirt and panties, she started with her left pinky, clipping, filing, pushing back the cuticles, using the cuticle cleaner, the cuticle cream, waiting between applications, sticking her toes under his chin. "Blow." She buffed, applied the ridge filler, stuck her toes up by his face. "Blow." She applied the color. Why was she straining her legs to lift her toes up so high? She placed them on the floor with her toes away from the carpet. "Blow." He fell to his hands and knees dried her toenails. She applied the glossy top coat. "Blow."

She sat back to marvel at her cute red toe nails. 

She left him kneeling with her items placed carefully in his raised hands sporting an erection.

She busied herself in the kitchen, putting on the kettle, choosing which tea she wanted to put in the tea ball, waiting for the water the boil while she leaned against a counter. After a long while, because a watched kettle never whistles, she turned off the fire and poured hot water into her cup, watching as the tea ball let out clouds of swirling brown.

She brought her cup of tea back to the couch and was pleased to see Jim still in position. She sipped and smiled at him. "Do you like the way I did my nails?"

His arms were trembling slightly, still holding up her items. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Do you like the color?"

He nodded, his hands lowered for a moment before he strained to lift them back into position. "Yes, Ma'am."

She pouted. "That's it? Just, 'yes, Ma'am'? No compliments?"

He smiled and blushed. "They're incredibly sexy, Ma'am."

His erection had drooped, much to her dismay.

She stood and turned to give him a close up of her bottom, and slipped her panties down.

She peeked at him, enjoying the lust in his eyes and his stiffening cock.

She smiled and brought her panties to his mouth, whispering softly, "Open."

His lips parted and he took her panties into his mouth, letting them drape, letting the soft material rub against his chin. He could smell her on them and it made him lightheaded.

She sat and wriggled her toes beneath his cock.

His eyes twisted with pleasure and he moaned quietly.

In a tone that was barely a tone, she spoke and he listened. "Do you like having my panties in your mouth?"

He nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Mmhmm, I thought you would. Can you smell me on them?"

His cheeks turned pink. "Yes, Ma'am."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really? What does it smell like?"

He moaned and smiled and blushed deeply. "It smells like . . . like you. It smells like heaven."

"Smells like me?"

He nodded.

"That's quite a compliment, smelling like heaven. Could you be more specific though? What exactly does it smell like?"

He swallowed. "It smells like . . . your. . . ." He was too embarrassed to say it.

She leaned forward, expectant, her raised eyebrow raising more. "Like my what?"

He pressed his lips together until they turned white. "Your . . . ."

"My special sexy place?" She giggled.

He breathed with relief. "Yes, Ma'am."

She tapped him on the nose with her finger. "Look at me."

His eyes snapped up and gazed deep into hers.

"I have a chore for you. Would you like that?"

He nodded. "Yes, very much, Ma'am."




I Have An Idea Ch. 05



She placed her finger under her chin and urged him forward, toward her, so he could feel the heat of her face, so their lips were close but not touching. "I want you to go through the hamper and pull out all of my dirty undies. You'll have to dig all through my dirty clothes. I have a whole week's worth. Make sure you get every one. Can you do that?"

He panted. He blushed. He moaned. "Oh . . . yes, Ma'am."

She smiled. "Good boy. Then you are to take them to the sink and run the hot water. Put some laundry soap in the sink and wash each one, one at a time, paying special attention to the gusset. Do you know what a gusset is?"

He shook his head. "The . . . the inside?"

She smiled and let her warm breath flow down over his lips. "The little panty liner that soaks up all of my sweat and juice, yes. Before you clean them, you will bring it to your nose and take a good long sniff, fill up your senses with it."

He shuddered uncontrollably. "Y-yes, Ma'am."

"Then clean them and hang them to dry. Be careful with them. I don't want any stains or rips. My panties are very special to me and they are about to become very special to you. Do you understand?"

He understood. He couldn't not understand.

* * *

He washed her panties, inhaling her scent on each one, registering the smell of her in his mind. Soon, he was washing her bras. Soon, he was arm deep in her laundry hamper. He sorted them into colors and whites, delicates and gentle cycle, following detailed instructions from her. The first times he stood before the washer, she'd watched him load each item, instructing him to smell each one, to press it to his nose and inhale. Did it smell like her? Like her body? Like her sweat? Like her perfume?

The first time he'd poured in the soap and the bleach and the softener, she instructed him to stop and wait while she came up behind him, pressed her body into his, reached around and stroked him tenderly. It was not purposeful stroking; it was not stroking that in any way led him to believe that this is the day she would let him cum. In fact, it was just the opposite. She made sure of it by whispering over his shoulder, chanting, "Good boy. Don't cum. Don't cum, Baby. Be a good boy and do your Mistress's laundry."

Her tone was always musical now, a song of restraint, of arousal, of instruction.

When he'd put her clothes into the drier the first time, she gave him the same treatment. Out of his chastity belt, her soft hands on his hard cock, chanting behind him. "Don't cum. Good boy."

The next two times he did laundry, he got the same treatment. It drove him wild with desire, with excitement.

But the next time he did her laundry, she kissed him softly on the lips and said, "You don't need me watching over you anymore. Do it right. Be a good boy."

He had an erection the entire time, the sweat and stink of her laundry driving him to heights of arousal.

'How is he doing?' her new mentor asked.

Ella sipped her coffee and tapped on the keyboard. 'Very well. He's gone from hating doing laundry to begging me to let him do it, lol.'

'So, the training is going well then?'

It was just that: training. She was training him, changing him, conditioning him with his own pleasure, with his own eagerness to please her. He knew it, too. He'd brought it up in their weekly chats. She'd been worried for a moment, but it turned out that his knowledge of her intention had only made the situation even more pleasurable for him.

"I know what you're doing, making me love doing your laundry . . . and I can't stop it. It's working. Just thinking of washing your panties gives me a hard on. The idea of shoving my hands deep into your hamper where the smell of your clothes almost overpower me and the fact that I know you made me love it . . . it's driving me crazy. It makes me feel helpless."

She petted him on the head, watching as he tipped the brush over her toenail and gave it a nice red lacquer. "I can make you do anything I want, just by calling you a good boy." She giggled and he blushed, but nodded, shuddering the entire time.

'Remember,' her new mentor warned, 'you still need to reinforce it from time to time. Every now and then, randomly if you can manage it, give him a little attention, a pat, a stroke, a "good boy", something to reinforce the pleasure in his mind when he serves you.'

Ella smiled as she felt Jim blowing cool airs across her toes, drying the top coat. She tapped away at her keyboard. 'I feel like . . . in a way . . . I feel like I'm brainwashing him.'

Her mentor messaged back. 'Oh, Sweety . . . that's EXACTLY what you're doing, and he knows it, and he can't get enough of it.'

She glanced down under the table and saw Jim's naked ass. She decided to test that theory. "Jim, Honey. My mentor from the Divine Tantra site says that you don't mind me brainwashing you into being my helpless slave. What do you say?"

She had never mentioned her mentors before. She wondered what he would say.

Jim's voice was a bit muffled by the table, but it choked with pleasure. "She's right, Ma'am."

She leaned over and looked at him beneath the table. He felt her gaze right away and looked up at her. "Up," she said softly and he beside her on his knees in a moment.

The distant sound of the clothes washer churning away struck them both in the silence.

She tapped his nose, then playfully ran her fingernail down the bridge of his nose, over the Cupid's bow of his lips, down over his lips until it rested on his chin. There were a million things she wanted to say to him, all ending with "thank you", but instead she said, "Did you do a good job on my toes?"

Breathlessly, he whispered, "Yes, Ma'am."

She reached down and gave his chastity belt a little tug. It said, "Mine" without her speaking a single word.

"Do you," she wondered and bit her lip, feeling shy, "do you want to call me Mistress?"

His eyes never wavered. "More than anything in the world."

She smiled and felt breathless, her heart thudding in her chest, her pulse like thunder in her ears. "Then," she whispered, "then you better be an extra good boy and do everything I tell you to do from now."

His nod was almost imperceptible. "Yes, Ma'am."

In the distance, the clothes washer buzzed. They smiled at each other.

He groaned as his cock grew uncomfortably in the tight chastity cage.

As Jim scrambled to finish her laundry, Ella typed a message to her new mentor. "Where does one go about buying a collar?"

She wasn't entirely sure how she would present it to him. Maybe she would make stand in the corner on his knees to earn it or maybe she would spank him unmercifully with a wooden spoon until he broke into a sweat and whimpered.

Then she felt a grin break on her face. She giggled helplessly.

She had an idea.



I Have An Idea Ch. 06



"Do you feel a little ridiculous?" Ella asked, smirking. She couldn't help herself. She was on a high. She had him. She had him right where she wanted him, and he knew it, and he loved it, almost as much as she did.

His chuckle was short lived. "I feel . . . more than ridiculous."

She raised an eyebrow. He couldn't see it; his head was bowed and he was trembling. "Explain." 

It was an order, and it thrilled them both. She hadn't gotten past the guilt of controlling him, but she was enjoying pushing his buttons now. She'd never felt in her life felt anything quite like it. It was an electric current that ran between them: she sent him a charge and he caved into shaky silent submission, which sent a charge back to her. His reaction, his utter submission, was like a mellow burst of lightning from the center of her gut out. Her nipples woke up. Her insides melted, and everything wet knew right where to drain.

"I feel humiliated."

She felt her throat bob. Worry overwhelmed her. Had she taken it too far? She gave a little tug on the leash and watched his cock bob, watch him scoot forward on his knees. The leash was attached to a small ring on his chastity device. She wondered how the little metal cage could withstand his swollen cock; his flesh pressed up against the bars, straining. It was penis prison for the very naughty. Every now and then she could see the whole package throb. Every now and then a long drip would leak from the tip and she could pretend to fuss at him for it. It was yet another button she'd discovered.

"Jim," she started to say, started to apologize, started to spring forward and remove the leash and free him from the cock cage, "maybe we should--"

He shivered. "I'm so . . . totally turned on . . . Mistress."

It exploded within her, from her belly, from her heart, in her brain, pure pleasure. It was like an orgasm, but without the physical convulsions of ecstasy. She was high on him again, on them, on what she was doing to him, on what he was allowing to happen, on what they both wanted to happen.

She whispered because her throat was too dry to work; every thing liquid in her was draining into her panties. She felt the matting of the cotton gusset pressing against her wet swollen lips, barely hidden beneath her short, leather skirt. "Good boy."

He shuddered with pleasure. He parted his lips to speak, but nothing came out.

He was just like her, too aroused to think straight. They were in tune like never before.

She swallowed and tried to get a hold of herself. "Turn--turn around now."

He shuffled on his knees until the leash grew taut. She grinned and gave him a little slack.

"Arms behind you."

He complied, and the fact that he complied made her face hot. It almost seemed involuntary, as if she were in direct control of his body, bypassing his thoughts. If you could've told her six months ago that they would be here doing this, she wouldn't have believed it. 

She wrapped rope around his wrists, trapping his arms behind him. They'd considered handcuffs, but Ella felt rope was more romantic. That made her giggle. It shouldn't make sense, but it did. Her friend, her mentor from the Divine Tantra site had sent her links, video instructions on the safety and "how to" of rope bondage. It was because of that website that they had come to this. They'd been on the brink of a break up; now, they couldn't get enough of each other. They'd suffered through awkward, resentful silences; now, they communicated without speaking, through longing gazes and shuddering bodies.

She tied off the knot, sank her hand into his hair and jerked his head back, resting her chin on his shoulder, smelling his sweat, inhaling his maleness. She whispered and felt his trembling start up again as if by her command. "Got'cha."

He stuttered. "Y-yes, Mistress."

She let him go, watched his head quickly snap forward again, back into position, bowed, all nice and worshipful. She sauntered around him, swinging the leash like a jump-rope. "So," she asked, her tone light and musical, "how are we feeling about it all?" 

It took him a few moments to collect his thoughts. "Are we--are we having a discussion?"

"Discussion" was Ella's term for when she asked him to be honest and confess what he liked and what he didn't. His likes far outweighed his dislikes, but he had a few of the latter, like asking for the inclusion of keywords for when she texted him at work, so he could let her know when he was free to talk.

She considered it. "Yes, Jim, we're having a discussion, because I'm about do something with you that could be very demeaning, so I'd like to gauge your reaction."

He bowed his head, shuddering at what demeaning thing she or her mentors from the Divine Tantra website had cooked up. "I'm feeling like you could push me much harder. I think you're afraid you'll push me too hard or that you'll hurt me, but I also know you said the other day that you felt responsible for making sure I was safe and happy and enjoying everything, because I might be feeling too submissive to tell you or make a good decision, so I respect that."

She understood very well what he was saying; it was what he'd been saying for awhile now. Desperate, hungry, filled to the brim with lust and utter devotion, he was saying, "I want more."

She jerked his leash and watched his little cock cage bob in response. His head popped up, his eyes catching hers. She grinned and leaned down, patting him on the top of his head. "Good boy, but it's not about what you want, is it?"

Through his eyes she could feel the connection, the longing, the erotic current. She felt like she was a big bad she-wolf that wanted to devour him whole. His eyelids blinked once in slow motion. "No, Mistress."

She could remain this way forever, looking deep into his eyes, getting lost, feeling the compulsive desire to go inside him, to penetrate him, overwhelm him, consume him from the inside out so he would be hers and only hers and forever hers, her property, her "thing", her worshipful object.

She undid the knot on his wrists, unraveled the rope and pointed to a spot beside her. "Hands and knees. Here."

He scrambled forward on all fours, feeling the cool air of the apartment on his naked backside.

She jerked the leash and he let out a soft, little yelp. "Face forward."

He turned, first the wrong way, getting the leash tangled in his arms, then the right way. He knelt, breathing heavily, leaning against her, enjoying the sensation of her silk stockings tickling the hair of his arms.

She looked down and whispered softly, "Didn't I say hands and knees?"

'You never have to yell or demand,' her mentor had told her through an online chat. 'You never have to nag or remind or feel like his mother. You can whisper the softest whisper and he will jump to obey you.'

He dropped to all fours and started to apologize, but she cut him off. "I'm sorry, Miss--"

"Hush. I don't want to hear another word out of you until we're done with your training."

That struck him. Training? What was she training him to do?

He felt her warm hand on his ass. It traveled up his backside and rested on his neck. He let his head sag forward, closing his eyes, enjoying her touch, wincing at the pinch of his cock cage as his erection strained. He risked asking a question. "Mistress, may I ask something?"

She played with the hair on the back of his neck and slipped her fingers up along his scalp, tussling his hair, combing it idly. "Yes, Baby."

"What training?"

She grinned. He was about to find out.

She had been given homework, books to study, techniques to hone. She was about to use them.

She gave him a gentle tug on his leash and softly commanded, "Heel."

His head went light; he realized at once what kind of training he was about to suffer.

She held his leash tight, and he felt in his cock, the metal cage jerking him forward. He had no choice but to follow her, but he had trouble finding her pace right away. He was either too quick or too slow. Either way caused discomfort as the leash tightened and jerked his cock cage.

She stopped at the end of the room, pulled his leash tight, forcing him to crawl around her. She counted silently to ten, let him relax a bit, then tugged his leash again. "Heel."

She walked him back toward the kitchen, feeling him trying to match her pace, drifting behind, getting ahead. She kept the leash just tight enough so that it grew tight when he failed to stay with her. She was doing well, though she felt a little silly, until her mind wandered, mused upon the fact that there was no veil covering this. Her intentions were well known now: she was conditioning him, pure and simple.

When she had first introduced him to the Divine Tantra theory, she hadn't told him he was being conditioned. Perhaps he'd figured it out. He was certainly no dummy. He could spot a woman's manipulations a mile away. Most men could. If he had known, he hadn't said anything. Though she hadn't said it directly, she had been offering him a choice: When you're in control, you don't want me. I'm an appendage, a possession, a toy that you've played with and lost interest in and it makes us both unhappy. Let me be in control now, and let's see what happens.

It took four times going to the end of the room and back before he succeeded. The first time he matched her pace, feeling the leash loose the entire way, he hurried around her and waited by her side, performing the perfect "heel". He chuckled at his own success, unable to help himself, daring to whisper, "That was a good one."

She had given him an order to be silent, and she knew she should enforce it, but she couldn't help herself. She patted his head, let her hand dangle beside his cheek, enjoying how he moaned and brushed against it. When she rewarded him with a "good boy", he practically fell over, trying to lean against her and get control of his shuddering. She giggled as he righted himself.

There was a reason he enjoyed her attention: it had been nearly six months since she'd allowed him an orgasm. 

But conditioning meant repetition. "Let's see if you can do it again."

He did.

Lots of repetition. Suddenly his success was fleeting; his goal had changed. He had managed to pace her with just the occasional "off" step, but now he wanted to keep the leash from growing even the slightest bit taut. He judged it by whether or not he let it touch his shoulder. If it grew taut between his legs, made contact with his belly, he knew he'd failed. He wanted it to dangle freely, and every time he took too large a step and felt the leather graze his skin, he silently cursed himself. 

The conditioning was working. He lost track of how many times they walked back and forth across her room, but he was no longer thinking about the leash, about her, about her pace; his body was doing all the work. He hurried around her and waited patiently for the next tug of his leash, then jumped forward, utterly conscious of the whisking sound of her black silky stockings, the creaking of her leather skirt, the quiet rustle of her blouse, overwhelmed by her beckoning perfume.

She began to refine and tweak his performance, and every time she did so, he had a moment of lightheaded euphoria. She gave his naked bottom a little swat when he was at "attention" and whispered the word, "up". He found himself straightening his posture, arching his back to get his ass up. She gave him a little tap on his shoulder and he found himself pulling his shoulders back. She flicked him on the top of his head and he found himself rising to meet her demand.

Then, just when he was starting to reach his goal, she changed things up. She remembered the lessons from her homework well: 'When your animal has begun to perform in the manner desired, introduce the next task, to keep its interest and focus.'

She gave his leash a little bounce and whispered, "Sit" with such a quiet and demanding tone, he hesitated. It took him a moment to register the surprise of how insistent her tone had become, how demanding and certain he would obey. She reached out, grabbed him by the collar and jerked his head down until he got the message, repeating her command, "Sit!"

He gulped as she positioned him. She pushed him back onto his knees so he was sitting on his heels, then gave his face a sharp stinging slap, repeating her command again, just as quiet as before. "Sit." It was classical conditioning: positive and negative reinforcement. 

She added it to the routine, commanding him to heel as she walked him to the other side of the room, having him follow her as she turned, then bouncing his leash with the "sit" command.

When he had the "sit" command nearly perfect, she added "beg". He thought they'd been practicing for at least an hour, but he couldn't be sure, because he never got within eyesight of a clock. Still, his knees were burning. His palms were raw from the carpet and his back and shoulders ached miserably. He kept thinking he'd complain; he'd tell her he needed a break, but for some reason he didn't. 

He thought back to the time she had him kneel in the corner as a punishment. She'd accidentally fallen asleep and he'd spent hours struggling silently, wondering if he should wake her up or simply join her in bed. He hadn't. He had remained in the corner while his knees burned and ached and throbbed. It was somehow a matter of pride. It was something he was doing for her.

After awhile, he realized almost with a start that she'd stopped giving him verbal commands. He was responding entirely to the movement of his leash. It was crazy, but it was true. In a matter of an hour or so, she'd successfully conditioned him like a house pet.

They hadn't spoken a word to each other, but he was feeling utterly at peace and in tune with her.

She sat on the couch and bounced his leash, watching with some amusement as he assumed the "sit" position.

She stared at him for a long while, before grinning and saying almost with a purr, "What do you think?"

He blinked, swallowed deeply and for a moment wondered if he could even speak anymore. "Not that this isn't really hot, you doing this to me, training me like a dog . . . but I was wondering if there was a reason, other than just turning me on?"

She uncrossed her legs and parted her knees. If he dropped his eyes, he would be able to see right up her skirt from his position. He kept his gaze on her face, resisting the temptation. He'd failed her once and had spent the week with a blistered bottom. 

"There is a reason, and it was a good idea. I can tell by the look in your eyes."

He nodded, blinked slowly, licked his dry lips. "May I ask the reason, Mistress?"

She reached out and ran her finger down the length of his nose, giving it a little tap when she was done. He dropped his eyes. "I'm told a man's worst obstacle to serving his Mistress is his ego. Do you agree with that?"

He grinned, not having to think about. "Yes, that or his pride."

She cupped his chin in her palm and giggled. "You don't have much pride kneeling there naked in a dog collar with your willy all trussed up. Do you?"

He blushed and laughed. "My pride has been severely compromised."

She leaned forward and took his face in her hands, gazing deep into his eyes. His eyelids wavered as he grew drunk on her perfume. "My friend from the DT site suggested obedience training to help you with your ego problem."

He grinned, learning toward her, silently begging for a kiss. "Obedience training or dog training?"

She applied her wet lips to the tip of his nose and draped her arms loosely around his neck. "Well, you are wearing a collar."

He chuckled. "I guess I'm lucky it's not a shock collar."

She grinned and leaned back. "That's interesting that you would suggest that."

His eyes widened; his jaw dropped. "I was--I was kidding."

Ella giggled. "My friend at the DT site is teaching me all about you, you know? I can just hear what she would say to that. She'd say, 'he will say he is kidding, but he is secretly wishing for it'."

They had both spent time on the Divine Tantra website. He posted questions and updates on the forum while she entered the private chat room and got ideas.

He placed his hand on his collar and remembered the night he'd received it. She'd remarked that it would've been better had they done it in front of all their friends, but she knew they wouldn't understand. She wasn't sure she understood, but she liked strapping it around his neck. He blushed like a school girl and acted like a school boy with a crush on the teacher. Later, she caught him staring at it in a mirror, running his finger over it as if trying to convince himself it was real.

"Well?" she prodded and gave his leash a quick tug.

Almost without thinking, he moved to his hands and knees.

She giggled. "Ready to heel?"

He blinked vacantly. "No, I--I thought you were going to stand."

She grinned. "That conditioning stuff works pretty well."

He laughed. "It wasn't that. I thought you were signaling me that we were going to practice some more."

She smiled and moved to the edge of the couch. "Mm-hm, if you say so." 

Ella stood and with a deftness that defied male logic, unzipped her skirt and let it drop to the floor. Jim breathed heavily as she kicked the skirt away and moved toward him, running her fingers through his hair, playing with his ear, touching the thick collar around his neck. With a quiet tone, she began talking to him. "Maybe you'd like a shock collar."

His stutter made her smile. "I don't--I didn't mean--"

She whispered and slowly pulled on his leash until it was nice and tight. "Then we could condition you to all sorts of things."

He made the effort to get to his feet as the leash pulled his cock cage upward, but she pressed him down with one hand on top of his head. "You said before," she continued as he began to whimper, "that you wanted to suffer for me. Do you remember?"

"Yes," he panted, "when you left me kneeling in the corner."

"You didn't want me to apologize."

He nodded. "Because it would've ruined it. I needed to do that for you."

She pulled harder on the leash, hearing his breath catch in his throat. His winced and peered up into her eyes. "Do you still want to suffer for me?"

He gazed up at her, long and hard. "More than anything in the world, Mistress." 

She pulled on his leash until she was sure he was about to cry for mercy, then released him. Hurting him wasn't a turn on. Seeing him in pain didn't make her hot. Knowing that he was enduring it because he wanted to please her, because he loved her, because he didn't want to disappoint her . . . that made her melt.

She released his leash and watched him sag, heard him sigh with relief. After a moment, she pulled him against her and cuddled, giggling as she listened to him inhaling the scent of her wet panties. He pressed his nose into them, threw his arms around her legs and nuzzled ever closer.

"I have concerns about all this," she finally admitted.

He nodded without ever removing his nose from her soft panties. "Me, too."



I Have An Idea Ch. 07



Ella texted her mentor. 'I can't get past the guilt.'

Her mentor texted back. 'Why are you feeling guilty?'

'Because I'm manipulating him, not letting him have any orgasms while I have more than ever. Because I'm hurting him and liking it. Because I'm afraid he's going to wake up one day and hate me for changing his life so much. He's not the same guy I--'

'Stop.'

Ella recoiled at the order. She sipped her wine and waited for her friend to continue. When she didn't, she typed, 'Am I supposed to be okay with this?'

She got a smiley face. 'He's ready. You're not.'

'What does that mean?'

'It means,' her friend explained, 'your boyfriend has made his peace with being controlled by you. You feel guilty because there's some part of you that worries what people will think, that it's not normal, that's it's weird and kinky and abnormal.'

She ran the flat of her finger around the rim of her glass, then typed back: 'Yes. That's true.'

'Then stop. If you don't like it, if you don't want to do it, don't. Just stop.'

Ella's heart sank. 'I can't.'

'Can't or don't want to?'

'I'm afraid we'll break up if we go back to the way we were.'

'Saved by kink, hm?'

Ella didn't want to laugh, but she did, then she felt guilty about that, too. 'I'm all messed up, aren't I?'

Her friend gave her a big LOL. 'I hate to break it to you, Sweety, but that's not so special. We're all messed up. Let me tell you a story.'

'Okay.' Ella relaxed back in her chair.

'I didn't have an orgasm until I was 22. 22!!! And I only had it because I was drunk and doing it with a guy that picked me up at a party and I was feeling like such a slut. But what made me have the orgasm was I was just drunk enough to really let go, and then I realized I loved feeling slutty. I wanted to feel slutty. I didn't want the reputation of being a slut, but I wanted to be the total slut that all boyfriends and husbands want their girls to be. We're the ones that get it all mixed up. We believe the hype that we're supposed to be virginal and innocent forever, that our sex is some gift. Gift means it's something we give away and never get back. We miss out on so much until we finally surrender to our desires with a good lover, then we kick ourselves for not having figured it out sooner.'

Ella typed: 'Lol, that's pretty messed up.'

'Once, when I was thirty and relaxing with my husband, he started pinching my nipples and playing rough with my breasts. I never was very sensitive in my breasts, but this started to turn me on. REALLY turn me on. The more he mangled my poor breasts, the hotter I got. It was crazy. I couldn't understand it. I probably spent a month wondering what was wrong with me, then I decided the only thing wrong with me was that I was 30 and still didn't know what turned me on. That . . . that was the true sin.'

'You're trying to make me feel okay with all of this?' Ella wondered.

'I'm trying to inform you that to be abnormal, you'd have to be different than everyone else, and even if you are abnormal, well, then that's who you are. The sooner you make peace with yourself, the sooner you can really enjoy your amazingly hot sex life.'

'Okay,' Ella replied. 'So, how do I get past the guilty feelings?'

'You want the secret?'

'Yes.'

'You're not going to like it.'

Ella was getting irritated. 'That's okay.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes!!'

'Okay,' her friend typed. 'Here it is. Ready?'

Ella laughed and cursed as she typed, 'YES!!'

'You just do.'

* * *

She drank wine. She thought about her friend feeling like a slut and liking the sensation. Good sex, it seemed, was all about letting go. Why was it so hard to let go? 

She put Jim in the corner, giggled at his forlorn expression. He asked quietly what he'd done wrong. She sipped her wine and smiled, replying, "Nothing, Baby. I just want you there."

He knelt in his spot, pressing his nose to the tape she'd stuck to the wall, arms behind him, one hand grabbing the other wrist, his naked butt all shiny and beautiful. She sipped her wine and let her eyes roam over his body, the thick neck, the broad shoulders, the muscles of his back, his white ass and strong thighs. "My man meat," she thought to herself and giggled. She sipped her wine and picked up the remote, cranking up the stereo, feeling her buzz taking hold, making her feel wild, making her feel like taking risks.

She was losing her inhibitions. On purpose. Tonight was the night she made peace with herself. She sipped her wine and sang to her favorite song, danced over to him, ran her fingers through his hair. She thought to herself, "Tonight, I'll do whatever I feel like. Tonight, I'll fuck him or make him fuck me. Tonight, I'll be a slut."

She slipped off her panties and placed them on his head, giggling. She snatched her panties up in a hurry and leaned over him, letting her silky chemise brush against his back, kissing his neck, feeling him shudder. He turned his head and she planted a kiss on his lips. She tasted like wine. She parted his lips with her own and found his tongue. Their tongues did the waltz in their mouths, slow and soft, the way she liked; she was leading. She'd never appreciated tongue kisses before, but perhaps that was because he considered it an Olympic sport. For the first time, she was kissing him and being kissed the way she wanted to be kissed. 

When she was done, she crumpled up her panties and pushed the wet wad into his mouth, then ran giggling to the bed, leaping into it.

"Now," she ordered, still giggling, "you be a good boy and stay right there while I play. Do you understand, Slave Boy?"

"Ym, Mmstrss."

She sipped her wine and opened her bedside drawer, seizing the little pink vibrator that she had fallen in love with back in college. She held it up before her and cranked it on full power, giggling at Jim, wondering what he must be thinking. 

Was it her imagination or was he groaning? His cock cage was filling up again, she was sure of it.

She laid back on the bed, nestled in, made a nest among the covers, propped her legs up and open, and spent a few minutes rubbing herself, warming up. She tried pinching her nipples, giving her breasts a little rough massage. Her friend was right; it DID feel good.

In another few minutes she had her little pink vibrator just above her clitoris, not daring enough to apply it directly, just teasing herself, but doing an amazing job of it. She wasn't just wet, she was flooding, soaking the bed. She glanced over at Jim, so stiff, so male, so obedient. She panted, "Don't you . . don't you wish this was . . you?"

His whisper was soft and desperate. "Yes."

She risked it, put the tip of the vibrator right on her clitoris, making circles. "But," she panted, "it's not, is it?"

His reply was equally desperate. "Nm, Mstrss."

She squirmed and moaned, probably a little louder than she needed to, because she felt like it, because she was making her peace with his pain, with his denial, with his need, and her own. "Why," she panted, "why are you . . . in that corner . . . instead of fucking me?"

He whimpered; she could hear it. "Becm, ym pt mm hm, Mmstrss."

He wanted her. Wanting her was becoming an every day hum in his body, no longer a special event, but a normal intense background. He forced his mind away from imagining her body, all limber and female, her smooth, soft skin stretched out before him. The metal cage around his cock controlled him, re-purposed his mind elsewhere, not on sex, not on her beautiful body, but anyplace that wouldn't arouse him. Pain had enormous power to change one's thoughts, he realized, even when it was a small nagging pinch.

His mind had found other places to go, places that startled him. He thought about her, her thoughts, her desires, what she needed, what she wanted. He thought about her happiness. Inevitably, because he was a man with male hormones and a man's needs, he couldn't stop his brain from turning back to serving her. That need had deepened in an alarming way over the last few months. 

Had she done that on purpose? Was he now being the man she wanted him to be? He had no complaints. It was hard to feel you were missing out on life when you came home and saw the smile and blush of love in her eyes. That filled him in a way nothing else in his life had and reinforced his deep, unabiding desire to give her whatever she wanted. It also reinforced his desire to do whatever she said, which was the more insidious and exciting of the two.

She laughed and watched his body sag. Even to her own ears, it sounded . . . unsympathetic. No, she decided, it sounded cruel. "Are you my good boy?"

Hopeful now. "Ym, Mstrss."

She felt herself twitch with pleasure, feeling a new wave of erotic tension building. She hummed, purred, caught her breath and ordered him. "Come here."

He scrambled, the metal of his cock cage biting into the flesh of his cock. It was instant erection when he saw her, laid back in bed, propped up by pillows, legs wide open. He moaned with pain and desire the moment he laid eyes on the gleaming moisture coating her swollen lips. The words, "I can't stand this" ran through his head. It was too much. She was too sexy.

He knelt and was ashamed of the very real whimper that left him. He could feel the tension on his face. There was pain in his eyes. The pain of his cock trapped and squeezed by metal and the pain of excruciating, unending desire. 

She removed the wad of panties from his mouth. "Yes?"

He nearly cried. "Please, Mistress."

She prolonged it until he was sure he would go mad, running her hands through his hair, combing it with her fingers, feeling lazy and drunk and sexy. How could she not feel like a supermodel when she saw that look his eyes? How could she not feel like a porn queen? A Goddess? It was the look of a man with utter sincerity. It was the look that said, "I will do anything you ask if you'll only let me touch you."

"What do you want, Slave Boy?" She grinned, let out a little giggle.

The thoughts ran through his head: I want to touch you; I want to fuck you; I want to devour you; I want to be devoured by you. So many choices. He opened his mouth and let the first words that popped into his mind come flowing out his lips. "I want to please you, Mistress."

She laid back and moaned. "But it's not about what you want, is it?"

The tension in his face increased. His heart was going to burst. He felt nauseous. The butterflies were churning. Yet, somehow it all added up to the agony of desire and arousal. It shouldn't feel good, the pain of need, but it did. "No, Mistress."

Her grin was lazy. The pleasure glazed her eyes and made him fall in love with her and her body again and again. "Fortunately, that's what I want, too."

Now he was Pavlov's dog, mouth salivating, fingers tingling, cock crying, a terrible mixture of wonderful pains and pleasures, waiting for her to give the "go" command. She hadn't touched him, hadn't spoken more than a few words, but he was utterly focused on her. She loomed as large as the world. She was all he could think about. He stared at her, tense and anxious, and waited with absolutely no patience, but no choice either.

She bit her lip and smiled and rolled over. Her ass made him weep with desire."Please, Mistress Ella!"

She tossed her long brown hair to the side and saw the priceless expression on his face. With a start, she realized she was hurting him, but she hadn't touched him. He was hurting solely from the need alone, the need to touch her. "Go get my purse."

His eyes brightened like a toddler tasting ice cream for the first time. Her purse was where she kept the key to his chastity device.

He scrambled and retrieved her bag, half thinking he should hold it with the straps through his teeth. She collected it, sat up and bed and rummaged through it. "I can never find anything in here." She grinned at him and watched a flush of heat spread out across his face. She stopped moving her hand, gave him a surprised expression, and giggled. "Oh! What is this?"

She dangled the key before him. He licked his lips.

She grinned. "Time to let out the monster."

It took them a few minutes. His cock was not cooperating. It was almost as if it didn't want to come out. When they finally managed it, she giggled. It popped up like a flag, nice and strong and happy.

She ran her fingers around his face, letting them slip beneath his jaw, down his neck, enjoying the thick tendons that connected to his collar bone. She let her fingers wander down over his chest, flicking a nipple and watching the reacion cascade down his body. She could do anything she wanted with him. He was her little Ken doll. She wondered why she hadn't though of that before. She had not been dressing him. She made up her mind that he would start wearing the kinds of clothes she wanted him to wear.

She sipped her wine and pulled him on to the bed. She had him sit on the edge, good posture, back straight, arms behind him, then she slipped to her knees.

He blinked with shock. "M-mistress?"

She gazed up at him and his heart began to thud. A heavy pulse began to run through him. Her eyes peering up at him, slightly drunk and full of mischief, she whispered, "I want to play with my toy."

Why did she have to call it a toy? He felt his mind rush to another place, a place where he could no longer think or reason, a place where he was one raw nerve being caressed with the softest silk. She was soft. He was hard. The contrast was maddening, yet she was in control, controlling his hard male her body with her soft one. It made no sense, but it was so clear and right.

She wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, wet her lips and applied the tip of his penis as if it were a bold new lipstick. She moaned and peered up at him again.

Jim was no longer there; he was gone, far, far away, overwhelmed by pleasure. 

She giggled to herself. She might actually breaking him with pleasure.

He didn't just moan; he gasped, and it was loud. It echoed off the ceiling, bounced back at them. He felt her mouth like a wet furnace envelop his cock. "OH . . . GOD!"

She began to stroke him and already the tip was glazed and leaking. A long drip left him and landed on her knee. "Does that feel good, Baby?" She knew the answer, but she liked asking it. She wanted to see if she'd driven him past the point of speech yet. 

When he finally pried his eyes open, he gazed down at her, seeing her face, so pretty, her eyes so big and beautiful, and all of a sudden a wave of tears began to trickle down his face. He nodded.

"I have an idea," she said.

He shook his head, the sensation of her hand on his pulsing cock too much for him stand.

"I thought of it when were training you." She drove her mouth onto his cock and withdrew it slowly, letting her lips caress its length. When she was done, she smacked her lips and started to stroke him wit her hand, whipping it away the moment she sensed his imminent orgasm. 

His cock twitched once, twice, then a third time to a lesser degree, then let out a long stream. She giggled and watched it as he thrashed his head back and forth, his body tense, his hips helplessly thrusting his cock out into the air between them.

He groaned with misery and delight.

When she was certain it was safe, she wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock again, marveling at how hot it had become. 

"Don't you want to know what it is?" she teased.

His lips parted, his jaw dropped, worked a little, but he couldn't manage a sound.

She gave his cock a long stroke with her wet hand. His cock was sloppy with cum and saliva. "I thought, why just train you so formally. You should be trained to show me your devotion whenever and wherever I want."

He nodded and kept nodding. She wasn't sure if he was still listening, but she continued anyway. She gave his cock another long, wet stroke with her mouth, watching for the telltale signs of an orgasm. "From now, Honey, no matter where we are, no matter when, when I snap my fingers, I'd like to see you on your knees."

He groaned. Wherever? Whenever? Did she mean . . . in public?

She kissed the tip of his cock, put her wet mouth just over the tip and peered up at him. His face was naked. He was so easy to read these days. She had never been sure what was on his mind before their little game. Now, she felt like she had the blueprints.

She stood and gave him a kiss. She tasted like his cum, which he would never have permitted before submitting to her. He didn't want to taste himself. Now, it was a new taboo, a new level of pleasure. Their tongues did another waltz with her leading the dance. He got the full flavor of himself in her mouth, getting a whiff of it on her breath. His heart and hard-on blossomed to a powerful euphoric mixture of love and lust.

"Do you understand, Jim?"

Without hesitation, he said that he did.



I Have An Idea Ch. 08



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."

She noted that his cock was drooping. It picked up when she re-appeared in the doorway holding the rope.

"I'm being punished now, Mistress?" He was part apology, part hope.

"Shush." She noted that his cock was at full mast again. She smiled as she wrapped the rope around his wrists and tied each one off to a bed post. When she'd made the final knot, she straddled him and felt the butterflies churning again in the pit of her stomach. It was another "got'cha" moment.

He was helpless. It made her swoon with pleasure. He'd laid there and let her make him helpless. She reached for the panties, held them up so they could both take a look at them. While he blanched, she felt a heat in her face that made her sweat with desire. Was she really going to do this?

"I just want to see if I have this straight," she told him. His eyes were focused on the pink panties hanging delicately from her fingers. "You don't mind being naked and wearing a dog collar with your willy all locked up and me training you like a dog, but you do mind a little pink cloth?"

His eyes dropped. She noted his cock was pointy again. "I . . . I don't know. I'm just not into the whole . . . dressing like a girl thing."

She nodded, put her finger to her lips, pretending to consider it all, to mull it over, feigning deep concentration. "Hmm, I see. You're too manly to wear a girl's panties, even if your Mistress orders it."

He shrugged as best as his trussed up body would allow. "I don't mean it like that, not like something bad."

Ella spread the pretty pink panties neatly out across his chest and patted it, smiling. "So, being a girl isn't a bad thing?"

He shook his head, the hint of a grin starting on his lips. "No, Mistress."

He knew what she was planning. She knew he knew. It was a silent communication, and the erotic current that had been running through them all afternoon was humming along nicely once again, increasing in intense increments.

She snapped her fingers. "Pay attention."

With a start, he realized his eyes had drifted down to his chest, where the panties lay. He met her eyes and nodded, blinking. "Yes, Mistress."

She grinned. That grin was going to kill him, he knew. He was developing a love / hate relationship with that grin.

She stretched her body out beside him, her face close to his, her leg draped over his, her head propped up by her arm while she grinned, her eyes twinkling. "I wasn't going to tell you this, but I had an adventure planned. Your punishment is that the adventure is cancelled, but your real punishment is that I'm going to tell you what you'll be missing."

She ran her hand over his chest, enjoying the bumps of his muscles, of his rib cage, enjoying the broadness of his chest, the tickle of his chest hair on her fingers. She found the softness of his belly and the coarse hair surrounding his cock. His cock, which awaited her attention, was the key to him, she'd come to realize. She placed her finger in her mouth, made a show of wetting it, and placed her fingerprint on the underside of his cock, where it was most sensitive. She rubbed him there, softly, made slow circles and delighted at the big breath he took.

With a quiet, soft tone, just above a whisper, she spoke to him. She really did feel like a Goddess, casting a spell, seducing him. She wondered if he would break, and if so, how would long would he last.

"Do you know my friend from work? Christina?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"She's very attractive, isn't she?"

His throat bobbed. Trick question? "Not as attractive as you, Mistress."

Ella grinned and gave him a quick kiss. "But she is attractive. Red hair, petite, nice figure. You do find her attractive. I know you do."

He silently pursued his right, refusing to incriminate himself.

She chuckled. "She and I have become friends at work. We have lunch together often, talk about our lives, our boyfriends."

His throat bobbed again.

"Yes, Sweety, I talk about you. I didn't at first, but over the months she squirmed it out of me. She's fascinated by it. She's been having the usual boyfriend problems, you know? In the last few weeks I've told her quite a bit about what I've been doing to you."

He turned pale, looked guilty.

"She has expressed enough interest that I had planned on inviting her over for dinner one evening. I was uncertain, of course, but then I remembered that one of your fantasies was two women."

He remembered confessing to her under duress, her hand on his cock, his cock rock hard and straining, so on the edge of orgasm, so out of his mind. What couldn't come spilling out of his cock had come spilling out of his mouth, his latest fantasy. She was a woman who never forgot anything, who had obviously filed it away for later and was about to use it against him.

She made soft wet circles on the underside of his cock, slow and insistent, rhythmic and regular. It felt good, but he'd longed for the sensation of her mouth or her hand enveloping him. That was starting to change. As she spoke, the softness of her tone, the insidious images she was planting in his mind was starting to sensitize his cock to her finger. It was starting to vibrate and tingle all over as he struggled to get more pressure on his sweet spot, but failed.

That one finger was starting to drive him insane.

"Y-yes, Mistress."

"You told me all about it, how you thought about serving two women, being used by two women, bossed around by two Mistresses. I was going to make that fantasy come true."

He thrashed for a second, his wrists captured securely by the rope, then tried to settle himself. Her finger had lost his sweet spot for a moment, but found it again. He began to whimper like a lonely puppy, his heart racing.

"I was going to have her come over dressed to the nines." Ella laughed. "She wears the cutest outfits. Tight skirt, beautiful red pumps, light pink silky blouse, unbuttoned down to here. She has this lovely silver dragonfly necklace with matching ear rings. Red lipstick, of course, the reddest. I was going to have you meet her at the front door, kneeling, naked, with your cock all caged up, maybe with your leash attached. You would greet her. You would serve us drinks. Maybe I'd get you a little apron. Then dinner. You could kneel by me at the table while we talked, not part of the conversation. Girl talk. You would be there if we needed anything, solely as a servant we ignore."

She collected the glaze oozing from the tip of his cock and spread its slippery goodness up and down the length of his erection, gradually returning to her insistent circles beneath the head of his cock. 

He was shocked to discover his eyes watering, and he couldn't dry them. His cheeks were wet with tears. He couldn't seem to catch a breath. He couldn't seem to catch a thought. His world had suddenly become her voice and the motion of her finger. 'What is she doing to me?'

"Then," she continued in her soft voice, "after dinner, I could show her how well you've learned to heel. How well trained you are. Beg. Sit. Heel. Maybe I'd let her take your leash for a bit, show her how well I've conditioned you to do anything I ask."

The head of his cock buzzed and tingled, his balls tight. He felt the fullness of orgasm, but no orgasm. He thrashed again on the bed, mindless, crying softly, biting his lip.

When he was done, she against placed her finger on his sweet spot and began her slow, maddening circles once again.

He could feel his desperation tightening the lines of his face. He wore the expression of someone in great pain, though he was in anything but. "Please, God, please, Mistress!"

"Please what?" Ella asked, grinning, her eyes bright and twinkling. "Please let you wear the panties?"

He parted his lips to speak, felt them part on their own, but at the last minute turned his head to the side and moaned miserably.

She was heady now, dizzy with power. For the first time, an idea that would've unfathomable a week ago popped into her head. 'I'm going to break him.'

She didn't feel like Ella and Jim anymore. She felt like Mistress and slave: Goddess and worshiper. She felt him as she felt herself, perfectly attuned, knowing what he was thinking, feeling, knowing his desperation. Empathy, perfect empathy. All of his buttons were bare, naked, available, and she was going to push them one at a time.

She wasn't planning; the plan was self-evident. She wasn't thinking. She was a raw nerve caressing his raw nerve. She knew without knowing how she knew, knew exactly what to do next. His button, the button that would break him to her will, was bold and red and presenting itself on a silver platter.

She was no longer grinning, smiling. Her expression was somber.

Her voice, however, remained soft and seductive.

"Then, Baby, one we're done with dinner. Once I've showed you off, you can offer her a foot massage like you do--"

He bit his lip and thrashed his head. "Please . . . no. . . ."

She kissed his neck and placed her lips next to his ear, her finger rubbing on his sweet spot, no longer in circles, but up and down, sometimes veering down underside of his cock, mostly concentrating on the spot that made him squirm.

"Do you remember how I conditioned you to love my feet?"

He couldn't speak; he nodded. 

"You didn't like cleaning my shoes when I asked, just like you didn't like doing my laundry, but I fixed that, didn't I?"

He nodded again, his breath ragged, his hands cured into fists, his body tense.

"I just gave you a gentle cock massage and parked your cute nose in my shoe, made you breathe in the smell of my foot after a long day. You held the heel up to your nose and I gave you a little stroking, every day, day after day. And every other day or so I'd test you, not stroke you at all at first. I'd just have you smell the inside of my shoe and see if your little willy obeyed. Then . . . one day . . . it did. Do you remember, Sweety? One day, I came home and you knew the routine. You knelt before the couch and took off my shoe, and your little willy got hard all by itself. I didn't stroke you so much after that, then barely at all after a few times. After that, you couldn't wait to clean my shoes. Clean, buff and polish, getting a long last breath of them before you cleaned the insides."

He thrashed, then stopped, then thrashed again, then stopped again. He was past words. He could barely breathe. His face naked with need.

"When Christina is here, I'll see if you like her feet, have you clean her shoes for her, give her pretty feet a massage. Maybe I'll even have you paint her toe nails for her. You've gotten quite good at it. Then you can smell her shoes, her sweaty feet. Do you think they'll smell different? Do you think if we blindfolded, you'd be able to tell the difference?"

He whimpered quietly, his bottom bouncing on the bed for a few seconds.

She returned to rubbing his sweet spot.

"Jim," she called, and his head rolled until his eyes caught hers. She felt like she was going to feint. His expression was driving her crazy. She had him, had him in the worst way, in the deepest way. He was hers. Totally. In body. In mind. In spirit. He was hers.

"Are you my good boy?" she whispered. It was soft, she wasn't sure he could even hear it.

He nodded, adding weakly, "Yes, Mistress."

"Will you do anything I ask?"

He bit his lip, squeezed his eyes shut, but nodded. He knew what was coming.

She grinned, collected the panties from his chest and held them up before his eyes.

There was a moment when she thought she might have to work on him some more, though she was out of ideas. Something would present itself, she knew, but she wasn't sure if giving the poor boy a stroke was worth it. Then, his face fell. The tension left it and his eyes flooded, not with pleasure, desperation or need, but with utter compliance.

"Yes, Mistress."



I Have An Idea Ch. 09



Ella rested her head on his chest, snuggled up and cozy, feeling stretched and well used. She was in heaven. She listened to Jim's heart, heard the rumble of his voice and turned so she could gaze up into his eyes. They twinkled like stars, full of joy and love and adoration. "Hmm?"

He smiled. "Thank you. That was unexpected."

He'd had a quick orgasm to start with, an appetizer, six months in the building. After a short recovery, he'd worked himself up to two more and now he was exhausted.

She closed her eyes and squirmed even closer against him. "You've been a good boy. You earned it."

He chuckled and the rumble of it in his chest made her happy in ways she couldn't define. "Thank you, Mistress."

It was the first time he'd used the term where it wasn't laden with desperation. The need was gone, well satisfied, stripped down to its bare bones, and its bare bones was pure love.

He took a deep breath and watched her head rise and fall. He debated with himself. Was it appropriate for his Mistress to rest her head on his chest? Did it put her in a submissive position? Shouldn't it be the other way around? 

Did it matter? She was still a woman, and still needed the love and strength of a good man, but more importantly, it was what she wanted. His job was to tend to her needs, and if this was where she wanted to be, then it was his job as slave to fulfill her desire.

While he carried on his silent debate, she carried on hers:

He's becoming my Slave, she thought. Not my boyfriend, my slave. 

Is this what she wanted? She loved him, had loved him from the first moment he'd smiled in that easy, relaxed way of his. All she'd truly wanted was a way to keep him, a way to be happy and still have him around, doing the things he did, touching her, speaking the way he did, all manly and good. Was this the only way for them to be together? Why did it seem she was having more difficulty with it than him?

His hand gently petted her, smoothing across her hair as if she were a lazy kitten snuggled up against him.

A rolling wave of happiness cascaded through him. Even after the sex, the amazing orgasms, he realized how good it could all be. Why couldn't he have done this on his own? Before giving her control over their relationship, over him, he'd been selfish and lazy. If only he'd known how happy he could be serving her, even without the Mistress / slave set up, he would've done it ages ago. It was his ego and his pride that had stood in his way.

His ego and pride had taken a beating lately, for the better he thought. He allowed himself to be reduced to her toy whenever she chose. At least once a day, sometimes when they were getting ready for work, sometimes when they'd returned home, she snapped her fingers and he dropped to his knees. Kneeling, head bowed, arms behind him, submissive and strangely happy to be have her attention once again. 

He'd missed a few of her finger snaps at the beginning. He'd been so engrossed in his duty, washing clothes, dishes, cleaning her shoes, taking care of bills, that he simply hadn't heard them. She'd punished him with corner time, stress positions and spankings. He improved quickly and drastically. He learned to always keep one ear open for her snapping fingers. It taught him to keep part of his mind focused on one of her desires, even when he was fulfilling another. The days of tuning her out while he drove or watched TV were gone. He was proud of how good he'd gotten at it, and it didn't help that she rewarded him, conditioned him as always, with a long stroke of his cock or a kiss or a warm hand on his shoulder or the back of his neck. Although, it was the warm, rewarding tone of her voice that penetrated him the most. One "Good boy" from her was like a thousand Suns going supernova in his heart.

She'd become frighteningly skilled at conditioning him. It was amazingly effective, and he'd become astonishingly receptive to it, soaking it in like a new medicine.

She reinforced his obedience with leash training. He crawled beside her on hands and knees, naked, while she whispered commands, barely audible. She did it with the leash and without. She had him obey silently by the pull of the leash alone. Heel. Sit. Beg. Up. Down. He'd learned more positions, but he didn't remember them all, and that was insidious, because his body knew them and adopted them without him thinking.

It didn't help that she occasionally turned his ass red beforehand: a harsh spanking with a paddle on his poor bottom while he remained as still and as quiet as possible per her quiet repetitive instructions. It softened him up, she said, and she was right. It zapped him, put him into an incredibly deep submissive state, and the obedience training was so much more powerful because of it.

He loved the smell of her dirty clothes. She'd conditioned that it into him as well. He was overwhelmed with arousal and joy whenever he did her laundry. He loved the smell of her feet. He now begged to give her foot massages, to shine her heels, taking long drags from the inside of her shoes, worse than a cigarette. It was an addiction. She'd created an addicted to her and he loved her for it.

She took him shopping, picked out his ties, his shirts, his suits, but there were no boxers. There were panties. Panties reminded him where he lived and with whom. Panties reminded him of his owner. He found deep shame when he slipped them up his legs. They were too tight, too soft, too silky, and she insisted on a certain variety, the girly ones, the cute ones, the sexy ones. Panties were her way of keeping her hand in his pants all day long.

She texted him at work. 'How are they feeling today?'

He texted back. 'Tight.'

' :P Are you ashamed of them?'

Under his desk, his erection grew. His secretary dropped off a file and gave him a quick smile. 'Deeply,' he texted back.

'Good boy.'

His erection found a new high. There were days where she texted him twenty times or more, teasing, humiliating messages. By the time he arrived home, he was in a molten mess, begging to please her. She did it on purpose. She was enjoying it. She arrived home smiling, blushing, expecting him on his knees. She could tell when she'd done a good job, kept him on pins and needles the entire day. She could make him shudder now with a grin.

He remembered when just one text from her made him feel nagged and suffocated.

Once, when she was drunk, she'd teased him mercilessly. Edged--brought to the edge of an orgasm time after time with no fruition. Restricted by her words her alone, by her command, by her desire. Kneeling, naked, chastity device removed, arms behind him, he was to remain as still as possible and remain soundless. No gasps, no moans, no begging. Just her and her hand and her eyes gazing deep into his.

It was the most intimate connection he'd ever experienced.

She stopped and freshened up her lipstick, which had been mussed by frequent kissing. He watched the glistening red go on her lips, watched her stretch her lips to accommodate the bright red color, watched the tube slip over her lips, slick and perfect. His cock had begun to twitch then. She wasn't touching him, hadn't touched him for several minutes, but it twitched and bobbed and a long stream spilled out.

She'd blushed, surprised by his reaction. She gave him a quick shocked expression, followed by that sly grin that made him worry. Without another thought, she grabbed his chin, forced his lips into a pucker and applied the lipstick to her mouth.

He remembered thinking, "Please, no--", but it was too late. She'd accidentally (maybe) begun conditioning him to love lipstick.

She'd already given him a foot fetish. Now she was turning up the heat and giving him other fetishes. The mere fact that she could do that to him made him swoon with deep, submissive pleasure. She was changing him, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

She lifted her head from his chest, swept his hair back with her hand, and smiled at him. "We should talk about your concerns, now that you've got a clear head."

He chuckled at the pun. "You've certainly cleared my head tonight."

She giggled and patted his cheek. "You're easy."

He leaned down hoping for a kiss and found her lips wet and inviting. She blushed and smiled and he felt his heart catch fire once again. Somewhere down below, the monster was waking from its nap. "I'm whatever you want me to be, Mistress."

Her eyelids wavered slowly, flirting with him, showing how she pleased she was. "I've been doing things to you, things that I thought you might not like."

He shook his head. "I don't know what to think anymore."

She frowned a little. "I'm so afraid I'm going to . . . break you. I mean, not break you, but take it too far, do something that you end up hating me for."

He felt the grin sit on his face. "I've never been so turned on in all my life. No other woman has ever made me feel-- I can't even describe it. All day, every day, Ella. You drive me crazy. I know there are things that I think about later and can't believe I'm doing, but I don't want you to stop."

She nodded, gave him a soft smile and retreated into thought.

"Are there--" he wondered. "Are there things you wished you hadn't done? Are we taking it too far for you?"

She shook her head. "I worry about how I'm changing some. I feel a lot more aggressive at work and everywhere else."

He ran his finger over her soft cheek. "Does that bother you?"

She shook her head. "I don't even know I'm doing it. Someone pointed it out the other day. I'm trying to be a little more careful with it now."

"Would it be such a bad thing if you became more assertive?"

Her face flushed with a pretty blush and an embarrassed smile. "I don't know. I'm not sure what other people would say though."

"What difference does it make what other people say. I mean, I know, in an office you have to be concerned with how you're perceived, so I get that. But outside of office politics, does it matter what anyone thinks? It's how you feel that's important, isn't it? Do you feel that you don't like the changes you've made?"

She reached up and pulled his chin down for a kiss. He let out a quiet moan and couldn't help laughing about it when they lips parted.

She giggled, too. "I can't believe how good that feels. A kiss shouldn't feel that good, should it?"

"It drives me over the edge every time, Ella, Mistress."

"It's your reaction that does it for me. Sometimes I really feel like some kind of Goddess."

They grew quiet for awhile, alive and warm in each other's arms, then Jim cleared his throat. "Mistress? May I have permission to kneel for you?"

She shook her head and squirmed closer against him. "No, I like you here."

"Yes, Mistress . . . but I have something to say . . . and I'd feel better if I could kneel while I said it."

"I said no."

His chest was tight. The thoughts swirling through his head were alarming, thrilling. She was the Mistress though, and Mistress was always right. "Yes, Mistress."

After a minute, her quiet voice piped up. "So? What did you want to say?"

He cleared his throat again. "In the past year . . . you've pretty much taken away all my access to my own, uh, pleasure. You've locked it away and re-focused all my thoughts, and I mean ALL my thoughts, back toward you. You are almost all I ever think about these days. You've treated me like a dog, made me kneel and heel and beg, screwed with my head so that now I get ridiculously turned on at doing your laundry and giving you pedicures and just being in the same room with you. You've made it so I get even more turned on when I do something for you and you don't even thank me. When you ignore me like that, it . . . it drives me wild."

She swallowed deeply and separated herself from him, pulling herself up to face him. "Maybe you should be on your knees for this, after all."

An enormous smile broke out on his face, and a moment later he was at her feet in the kneeling position she had taught him. He held it perfectly. All those hours of training had worked wonders. 

"Mistress Ella, I have come to love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone. For the first time in my miserable, selfish male life, I feel like I can put someone else's needs ahead of my own. I don't want . . . I hope you don't want to go back. I want to go forward."

She felt tears spring into her eyes. She wiped them away, barely able to stand the sight of him; he was too beautiful. The love, his, hers, was overwhelming. It had filled her to the brim and was spilling over. She sniffled and tried to smile.

"You think I'm weak, that I can't handle this, well I can."

She put her hand on his cheek. "No--"

"You think you can break me, so go ahead and break me. I'll break for you and get put back together any way you want. This isn't a game anymore. This is serious. I'm not just in love with you. You ARE my Goddess. I worship you. I think I don't want to be a cross dresser. You've proved that I want to be whatever you want me to be. I love wearing panties now. It's crazy, but I do. I'd humiliated if anyone found out, but I don't care if I'm humiliated, because even that turns me on now. I'd be humiliated for you. I will give you anything, Mistress, anything you want. I don't care anymore. You made me love the smell and feel of lipstick. If you want me to dress up in women's clothing or tie me up or whip me or . . . whatever, I want that, too. I want to do and be whatever you want, Mistress. You made me this way, and I let you, so it's not your fault. Don't think it's all your fault. I've loved every step. You made me want to be your slave."

His eyes flashed up and met hers. "I want to be your slave. I mean that. Not a game. Not playtime. I know it's not about what I want, but I would like to turn our FLR into an WLM."

Every part of her that was female froze. Was he asking--

He leaned down and kissed her toe. "Control my mind if you want, control my body. I can take it. I want it, if that's what you want. You don't have to decide right away . . . or ever. I know better than that. You've taught me better than that. If you're not ready now or never, that's fine, but I'm letting you know that I'm willing to go as far as you want to take me. I want to go as far as you want to take me."

He placed his hands around his collar. It was so comfortable, he'd grown so used to it, he sometimes habitually felt for it at work, and missed it. When it was on, it was easy to forget. "This isn't something I wear as a fetish. This is you. It's you on me. Jesus, Ella, I don't know to say this any better."

She was in shock and in heaven. She was wordless, which was good because she wasn't sure she had the ability to speak. While part of her soared with indescribable feelings of utter joy, another part of her roiled with worry. "Go--" She pointed to the corner. "Kneel over there. I have--I have to think."

He smiled. This wasn't a punishment. He was still learning that. Sometimes punishments were just that, sometimes not. She had spanked him, squeezed his cock into a small cage and aroused him until the pain lit up his poor brain, but he had not been punished. She had put him in the corner, put him in stress positions until his legs, arms and back trembled with pain, but that hadn't been a punishment. The only punishment he received was when he failed to please her. When she frowned at him for real, glared at him or got an angry tone in her voice that was like being in Hell.

"Yes, Mistress, and for the record, I just came like four times, so my head is pretty clear." He risked catching a tear on her cheek with his lips, a quick kiss, then went to his corner, took a deep breath, having no idea how long he'd be there, and tried to be patient. She'd come around. He was certain of it. 

"I have an idea," she said, and watched him shiver.

* * *

'Where does this all end?' Ella texted her friend from the Divine Tantra forum.

'Where do you want it to end?' 

'Don't give me that. You know what I'm asking.'

'I do know,' her friend texted, 'but I can't answer what you already know.'

'Jesus, he wants to be marry me.'

'Half right.'

Ella blinked and sipped her coffee. She'd sent Jim out on errands. It was the first time in a long time that she felt she needed her space. Even now, she felt a little tinge of guilt. Why couldn't she shake the guilt? Should she even be wanting to shake the guilt? Maybe the guilt was there for a reason.

'What do you mean?' Ella asked.

'He wants to be you slave, Ella. He said that. You heard him say that. You told me he said that. He wants to be married to you because he feels that makes him more yours. Do you see?'

Did she want a slave? Did she want Jim to be her slave. 'I don't know if he was in his right mind when he said that.'

'He'll never be in that frame of mind again, you know? It's too late for that. He's a submissive. He's YOUR submissive. Even if the two of you broke up, he'd find another Mistress to serve. I'm sorry, but it's Pandora's Box and the two of you opened it. And, I suspect, you'd need to find someone to replace him, someone to serve you because you've come to love it and need it.'

She closed her eyes and cried quietly. 'I didn't mean for that to happen.'

'You wanted a happier, more fulfilling relationship. It sounds to me like you have it.'

Without another thought, even as tears trickled down her cheeks, she pushed her fingers down past the waistband of her panties and felt how wet she was. 'What does it mean if I want him to be my slave, my real slave, not a play slave. What does it mean that I want to do things to him, change him, bend him, break him? What does that mean?'

She got a smiley face, which oddly made her smile. 'It means that you're a Mistress now. When you're ready to accept that, you'll be opening another door for the two of you. I know you want to know what's going to happen, but I don't know. I can't know. He's your slave now, whether you like it or not. He's begging you to take full control of him. He needs that. You know he needs it. He's telling you that. You can only hurt him and yourself and your relationship by not following the road you've chosen.'

Ella typed back. 'It's too much for me to think about right now.'

Her friend replied, 'So think about it later. No one said you have to eat the whole cake at once. Take nibbles. Take as much as you're ready for, and don't feel pressured to go farther than you want. If tries in even the smallest way to goad you on, he's failing as a slave, but it doesn't sound like he'll do that. He gets what being your slave is all about, I think. No matter what, enjoy the ride. If you thought it was intense before, you have no idea.'

She was tired of feeling divided all the time. Part of her was whispering, "What have I gotten myself into?", while the rest of her shouted, "You know what to do. He's yours. Take him."

The sound of the lock made her jump. The sliding door opened and in walked Jim, her slave. His eyes met hers. His brow furrowed when he saw her face. "What?"

She grinned. Poor Jim. Poor, poor boy. You have no idea what's in store for you.



I Have An Idea Ch. 10



Ella had cautioned him about weddings. More importantly, how busy and frustrating wedding planning could be. He cautioned her that she had a ready and willing man to do anything she asked. He wasn't the usual fiancé, he said. He was her petitioning slave.

Jim took care of the arrangements as she saw fit. His office and hers were a buzz of delight and expectation. It was to be a small ceremony, but a venue had to be rented, tables and chairs rented, flower arrangements selected, food, cake, seating charts, invitations . . . . The list dragged on.

Even he had to admit it was more than he was prepared for, but if he struggled, it was for her. He did as much as he could until she had politely ordered him to rest. He was looking more like an exhausted bride than a hopeful groom. Although, she saw that he, as a man, handled it differently. Where she would've had a fit and broke out in tears of fatigue, needing reassurance and some hardcore snuggling, he carried on, more and more ragged each day, but trudging on nevertheless. She couldn't help giggling at that. They'd both been married once before. The last time she'd tried to plan a wedding, she'd ended up bordering on anorexic. 

She was determined to enjoy it this time, and he was making that possible.

It occurred to him that she'd never officially said "yes". Perhaps, she didn't feel she owed him that, but he had a sneaky suspicion she had something else in mind. He wondered.

They discussed wedding plans while he knelt and listened. His day of rest had come and gone. It was back to business. She ordered him to stand, and the hard tone in her voice caused a deep thrill to run through every part of him. It was like there was no doubt left in her mind that he would do anything but obey.

Jim stood at attention before her while she fiddled with the lock of his chastity device. It popped loose and his cock began to grow. It was interesting, she noted, how it waited now to be released. When he first wore it, his poor cock would pick the worst times to squeeze itself against the metal bars of the cage. She hadn't noticed it doing that as often. She hadn't noticed him waking up in the early morning anymore either.

"You've trained it, Mistress," Jim explained.

She gave him a curious expression. "Explain." Her tone was stern and to the point. She no longer worried about it; it was a button she could push and did so without thinking. She commanded; he obeyed. That's how he liked it, and she enjoyed what it did to him.

His eyes met hers, his cheeks pink with humiliation. "It used to get hard a lot, but I guess it finally learned that made it hurt, so it stopped doing that. I'm not sure when. I just realized it the other day. Even when I'm so turned on I'm ready to explode, when you do things, say things with that beautiful, sweet–"

"Enough flattery. Get on with it," she barked. 

His head sank. "Yes, Mistress." He wanted to apologize for wasting her time with his adoration, but she did not want his apologies; she wanted his swift obedience. "Even when I feel turned on, if the cage is on, it doesn't seem to get very hard. I was freaking out about it a little until you took it off and it sprang to life. I feel like I get extra hard now, but only when it's free and it's only free when you free it."

She gave him an amused expression. "It obeys me now."

He shuddered. "Yes, Mistress."

She smirked. "And you–" she rubbed his nipple, "–you obey it. That's how I make you obey."

He nodded. "Yes, Mistress."

She held up the device before him; his eyes fixed on it. "You're totally used to it now, aren't you?"

She always did this, made him think about things, pushed unrealized things into his consciousness, pushed his buttons. That's why she did it, and that's why he loved it. "I am, yes, Mistress. I barely even know I'm wearing it anymore. In fact, when I'm not wearing it, it feels . . . odd. Sort of naked. There's no weight to it. It almost feels wrong."

His cock jutted straight out, long and proud. She grinned and applied one finger to its base, running the soft pad of her finger down its length, rubbing it in a slow circle around the tip. She put her other hand on his chest as she sighed and sagged against him, letting him binge himself on her scent. "It's hard when I tell it to be hard."

His breath caught in his throat. She was barely doing anything, yet somehow it made him feel as small and as tight as the engagement ring wrapped around her finger. "God, yes, Mistress."

"But more importantly," she continued, the breath of her whisper brushing across his cheek, "it's soft when I command. It can't cum without my say so. It can't get hard without my approval. It can't twitch, drain or get any pleasure unless I say so. It's mine to play with, my little toy. You don't get to play with it anymore, and I'm sorry to say, Jim, after we're married . . . you'll never play with it again."

His body trembled. His face twisted with misery and delight. He was in a tortuous heaven. He nodded. Words filled his mind that he was not allowed to express. Love. Please. Beg. Anything. God. Mistress. Need. Love. Love. You. You. YouYouYou. . . .

She patted his cheek, enjoying the glaze in his eyes. Submission. He felt it. She put it there. She could make it ebb and flow. She'd learned how. She could increase it with a look, with a smile, with a snap of her fingers, with a toss of her hips. She could let it fade, wait patiently, then zap him again. She giggled. He was so easy to control now, and he was so much fun.

He was red-faced and swooning. 

She snapped her fingers.

He dropped. It was automatic. His position was automatic. Kneeling as she commanded, in the way she'd commanded, in the position she'd conditioned into his poor body and brain. He dropped to his knees and dropped into submission. He shuddered under her watchful eye.

At this moment, he was totally hers.

She liked that.

***

Ella had taught him. He had learned. There was the erection. There was pleasure humming inside it as she brought it to heel, as she whispered things to it, stroked it expertly with her hand. Then the warm buzz of it being filled, so like urination, but infinitely more pleasurable. And just like that, he was so near the edge, the point of no return. She was at his ear then, her hand far from his cock, urging him to "let go."

By her command, he did not flex his Kegel; he did not thrust out his pelvis. Instead, he did the unthinkable: he relaxed, released the tension in his begging muscles and let his cock overflow and drain. Inside, he wept and whimpered, feeling the pleasure before him, but utterly unavailable. But there was another pleasure far greater: the pleasure of obeying her wishes, of doing exactly what she wanted him to do, of being under her control.

He had learned so well or she had taught him so repetitively, that it no longer took her hours. Twenty or thirty minutes was enough time for her to have him drained.

But there was a problem. What to do with his spilled semen? She didn't like it splattering on her carpet, though she did like him scrubbing the fibers on hands and knees, butt naked while she watched him. He was a naughty boy, after all, a dirty boy, defiling her lush shag in such a way. 

It was Jim's solution, though he wasn't aware of it. She'd read all his forum posts, and had found herself becoming most interested in what he expressed as his "limits". Those things he claimed gave him no pleasure, though they could still be considered evidence of a Domme's control over her sub. Months ago, he had given a terse response to a forum thread and had almost certainly forgotten about it. She hadn't.

She petted his cock softly like the well trained animal it was. She grinned and watched him shiver in response.

She cupped her hand under the head of his twitching cock and caught every drop, giggling as she did so. "This is kind of like milking a cow." She pinched his naked ass with her other hand. "You're such a good boy."

Then she had a wicked thought. She'd been having them frequently. She thought about the forum post he'd made. She brought up her hand, filled with his cum, his pleasure, her control, and showed it to him. "What do you think?"

His face was drawn with misery, but the quick catch in his throat and his sharp breath showed how submissive he was feeling; he was in ecstasy. "I . . . don't know, Mistress."

She held it up to him. "Seems to me, I used to be a pretty good girlfriend to you. I used to go down on you. I used to swallow it for you. You loved that, didn't you?"

His eyes flashed with the memory. He smiled. "Yes, Mistress."

"Smell it." It was an order. He leaned down and put his nose above it, barely catching a whiff. For a moment, he thought she might push it into his face. He was relieved when she didn't. "What do you think it tastes like?"

He made a sour face. "I . . . I don't know, Mistress."

"But I do, don't I? That was something I did for you."

He blinked and smiled at her with love. "Yes, Mistress. Thank you."

"Why do you like that so much?" she wondered. This wasn't part of the game; she was truly curious.

His eyes shifted. His head furrowed. "I'm not sure. I guess, it's just hot, you on your knees, sucking me off. It's maybe something you didn't want to do, but did it because you knew how much I loved it."

"Don't some girls love it though?" Her smirk made him nervous. She wasn't lowering her hand. He kept getting whiffs of his own cum. What was she after?

"Maybe. I'm not sure any guy really believes that."

"Why?"

"Because," he shrugged, "it's something we wouldn't want to do."

"So," she smiled, keeping her gaze on his eyes as she snapped her fingers and watched him drop to his knees, "you only loved it because you thought I didn't want to do it?"

Her snapping fingers and his kneeling were so automatic, it didn't even cause a break in the conversation. Neither of them so much as notice it. 

He shook his head. "Not only that, I guess. I guess, in a way, it was that you were taking something of me into you. I was penetrating you another way. Just the thought of it, the sight of it. . . ."

His cock was hardening again. It didn't take long. It was thirsty for an orgasm, an orgasm it hadn't had in months. She didn't keep count, but she knew he did, down to the day. She didn't ask how long very often, because she realized it excited him more when it seemed she didn't care. It was an odd thing to get her head around, even harder to accept. He grew more excited when she pretended not to care about his desires, pretended not to even know about them. It was that theory that led to her gradually thanking him less for all the nice things he did for her. It turned him on so much when she took him for granted.

Men were such bizarre creatures. Men in chastity were even more bizarre, completely upside down, but extremely useful and fun.

She held her cupped her hand up to his chin. Her tone was soft and quiet. She did not have to order it; he knew. She whispered so quietly he could barely hear, but he shivered all the same. "Be a good boy."

His throat bobbed; it clacked with a dry, nervous swallow. He clamped his lips shut and relaxed them reflexively. The furrow in his brow deepened. His eyes winced. He shook his head slightly in disgust. After a long struggle, he finally admitted, "I'm . . . I'm sorry, Mistress. I just can't."

In the past Ella would've been disappointed. Now, strangely, she was somewhat delighted. She'd found a limit; something he didn't want to do. It made her want to make him do it, to push him past it. If it had been something truly serious, she would've let it go and talked about it later, but this was something silly. He wouldn't swallow what she had so graciously swallowed.

Still, she knew better than to push directly. Dommes never have to insist on anything, she thought and grinned. She brushed his hair back over his head, scratching and patting his head like a pet. "You can. And you will."

She had a challenge. She couldn't be happier.

He peered up at her. "I'm very sorry, Mistress."

She smiled down at him. "Oh, poor boy, poor naughty boy, this just means I get to punish you."

His eyes flashed with concern, but his cock stayed rock hard. He bowed his head and nodded, adding softly, "Yes, Mistress."



I Have An Idea Ch. 11



They'd fallen into a standard operating procedure. Without any real thought, Ella had developed the ability to gauge when he was most pliable and when his lack of orgasms were counterproductive. She somehow knew when to let him release a little, either through a good orgasm (which had become extremely rare) or through draining. It wasn't a regular thing. She could sense it, the tension in his body, the lines of his face, the glint in his eye. Did he hop to obey or he was just a tad reluctant? Was he happy and servile or just a bit tense and rebellious?

While she controlled him through intuition, Jim kept regular notes in his head. He had gauged that somewhere between seven to fifteen days, he should be drained. For awhile they'd had a routine, once a week on Saturday at Eight P.M. It had been so routine for awhile that he'd had found himself leaking just approaching the time. It sent his thoughts into a whirl. Conditioned. He had been conditioned. She was doing it, changing him, making his body obey her instead of him.

Then she broke the pattern, following her own sense of timing and it had disappointed him. He'd adored the routine they'd set up, absolutely loved that his cock knew the time and the place and was ready to obey. He hadn't told her this. He trusted her. He felt less and less like it was his cock. There was almost a sense of disconnection from it. It didn't feel like it belonged to him anymore. The only time it was touched by his own hand was when he was left to clean it and the cage thoroughly, and he had strict orders there was to be no pleasure. The only time it received any pleasure was from her, her hand, her mouth, her light touch. It was her toy, and she played with it when and where and how she pleased.

He asked her about the timing, out of sheer curiosity. She thought about. It amused him that she had to think about it. It was practically all he thought about, but it had barely warranted her attention. Another long, deep thrill of submission went through him. He'd never get used to it; it pushed him so completely under her control that he couldn't help wanting more.

"Well," she pondered, "it seems like if I let you go too long, then you're no good to me. The second I let you out, you're all dribbly and right at the edge. If I want sex or something, you can barely stand it, and it's too hard to keep you on the edge."

He swallowed. It all made sense, and the fact that it did left him feeling deliciously defeated. "And if the time is too short?"

The grin that appeared on her face, that lit her eyes with wicked delight made him shiver with pleasure. "Hm, that hasn't come up, has it?"

His heart was heavy; his stomach churned with ecstatic butterflies. "No, Mistress."

She sent him off to his daily punishment. He hated it. Every day, standing, sitting, holding the positions she demanded, stress positions. She barked at him, whispered sweetly, pushed his buttons, jerked the leash attached to his chastity belt, took him through obedience training with more forcefulness than before. In an hour's time, he was haggard, tired and utterly at her command, in heaven, watching her with an alertness and obedience that astonished him. Although, the astonished realization of it came later. When he was in that state, all of his conscious thoughts had somehow been pushed far away. He was only her obedient, unthinking pet.

Then the stress positions: how long did he think he could hold it? She set the timer. Agony. Eternity. Sweat and strain and trembling muscles. He hated it. The timer went off, but it wasn't the end. He learned soon enough. It meant her whispering to him again. "If you really want to stop, you can, but it would please me if you continued until I say so."

How could he refuse?

At first, she only made him hold it for a few seconds more, then a few minutes. Then she seemed to become merciless. More than once, he'd simply collapsed, his muscles as limp as noodles.

He hadn't complained. Not once. Not even during their regular "discussions" when he was to confess his thoughts and did so with an alarming openness. He did confess that he hated the positions. They were boring and painful.

In the past, her smile would've fleeted, faded into a frown. She would've apologized and kissed his face, feeling guilty. Now, she addressed his confession. "Yes, but I have noticed that it's really toning you up. Your legs and arms are looking more lean every day, and I think I see a little rippling in those abs."

He sighed and caved. She was right. The positions weren't harmful; they were actually isometric if he thought about it.

"Besides," she quipped, "you know how to make them stop."

He did. Between the punishments that went on forever and the endless teasing, morning, noon and night, she took the time to drain him, now every few days. He thought it was because of the thrill of making him do something he didn't want to do. When he'd spilled himself into her palm, she brought it to his face and waited with glittering, wicked, expectant eyes. He tried. He thought about it, struggled with it, but time after time, he resisted.

"Sooner or later," she told him, amused.

Spankings got added on. Corner time. He got tied up and put away like a vacuum in the closet. Out of sight, out of mind. She hummed and sang while he anguished. 

The teasing was driving him out of his mind. She tapped his cage, whispered things that made him break out in a hot blush, things she would do to him, things she wanted him to do to her. She texted him at work. When he arrived home in the evenings, she released him from the cage and idly played with her toy while she watched TV, light fingers, warm unmoving palm, taking the time to stroke him during commercial breaks until he was hyperventilating, whimpering. Then she'd bark an order. She wanted her tea freshened with hot water. No. Crawl like a good boy. 

It could all stop so easily. She was really putting the screws to him. He should hate it. He should hate her. She was hurting him, safely, without damage, but hurting all the same. It was a punishment, after all. What did he expect? She was right. If only he would break and do what she wanted him to do. It was a silly thing, harmless, but he couldn't make himself do it. 

He didn't hate her. He fell more in love with her. Terrifyingly deep. It was what he claimed he wanted, wasn't it? As she took more control, he fell. He began to worry. He had feelings of guilt. Was this the way he was supposed to be?

It was turnabout at its finest. All this time he'd been lobbying her to move past her guilt, to enslave him utterly, and now she was. He worried it was an addiction. He worried she wouldn't love him anymore, couldn't love him. He worried she would reduce him to something that was less than a man, then get bored with him. She would go looking for someone else, a real man, to fulfil her. He worried, and it helplessly spilled out of him at their next discussion.

He felt like a stupid child.

When he finally peered up at her after the longest silence, he saw tears in her eyes. She tried to smile as she wiped them away. She sighed and took his face in her hands and pressed her forehead to his.

Her scent--her perfume, her shampoo, her skin lotion, her lipstick--was a seduction in itself. It made him dizzy.

"Jim," she whispered, "I've never felt so alive in all my life. I've never felt so close to someone, anyone. God . . . I love you so much." Tears dribbled down her cheeks; she sniffled miserably. "I'm more worried that I'll break you or hurt you and then you won't love me because I fucked it all up. I love the feelings I get when I control you, when you just go so totally . . . so totally deep for me, but I still feel guilty. I can't help it. What if you need someone harsher than me? Like a real Femdom? What if I push you too hard? What if I break us?"

They cuddled for a long time on the couch, his hand on her breast, nose buried into her neck. She squirmed her soft bottom against his cock cage, enjoying how trapped he still was. Hers. Under her control, even now. She wanted him, and there was no doubt he wanted her. She'd put him into a state of constant wanting. They spoke in the hushed tones of happy lovers.

"Jim, if it's something you really want to do--"

"It's not that."

She twisted her neck to catch his eyes. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "I want to and I don't. I mean, I don't want to do it. It's kind of disgusting to me. But I get a thrill just thinking about you making me do it. Like you said, it's really harmless. Every time I'm sure this will be the time I break. I'm sure you'll make me cave and that drives me crazy, because then who knows what you could make do, and that drives me even crazier."

He laughed and kissed her shoulder. "I want you to make me do it, but I don't know if I can."

She blushed and pressed her bottom against his trapped cock again. "Why can't you?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I just get . . . blocked or something. I get up to it and then I just can't."

She turned and relaxed in his arms. "Hmm."

After a moment, with just a hint of panic in his voice, he said, "Please don't give up on me." It was very close to a whine, too close.

It took her while to decide. Yes. It was whiney enough, and they had rules. No begging. No whining. She pointed to the floor lazily. "Number four."

His heart soared, but his shoulders sagged. He smiled but sighed heavily, feeling both happy and defeated. He hated stress position four, but she'd answered him, hadn't she? It was a sit up that never ended, but she would keep at it until he broke. He'd never enjoyed his conflicted feelings more.

He extracted himself from the couch, and parked himself on his naked butt in between her and the TV, his arms, legs and torso raised.

She picked up the remote and flipped through channels, smiling helplessly now and then when he grunted and moaned.

* * *

The texting between her and her mentor from the Divine Tantra site had ended. They had chatted over the internet in voice, and finally exchanged phone numbers. She had a network now of other women like her. She was a member of the club, even helping moderate the forum when she had time.

Still, out of all the women she'd met, she trusted her friend the most. She arranged an internet call. They spoke for an hour, chatted about life, work, the DT site. Her mentor had children, so there was a lot to hear. After an hour though, they both recognized Ella had something on her mind.

It spilled out of her, every detail. Jim and his challenge and his block and his desire to overcome it for her. Ella and her challenge and her true desire to manipulate him into something doing he didn't want to do. It had worked so well in the past; why didn't it work now?

Her friend had a suggestion. A woman who was a friend of a friend. A therapist.

Did they really need couples therapy?

"Not therapy for you," her friend said. "She is a therapist, but she's very kink friendly. She holds a lot of chats on the site talking about safety, physical and psychological. She's written a few books on relationships. She's wonderful!"

"I don't know," Ella replied. "I'm not sure how Jim will feel about a therapist." Before her friend could interject, she added, "I know. It's my decision, not his, but for something like this I still like to talk to him first."

Her friend laughed. "You're the Mistress. You can do whatever you want. But I'd like to give her you number. I bet she could solve it in ten seconds. Seriously. You won't be sorry. She's so full of information that I could just listen to her talk all day."

In the end Ella relented. She was uncertain. She decided not to ask Jim just yet. A thrill rushed through her as she considered not asking him at all. He had been begging to be her slave, after all. When did slaves really get choices about anything?

She received an email from Amy Owens, asking if she could call and when would be a good time. There was something Ella liked about her right away. Just the tone of her email seemed friendly. While arranging a good time to talk, they realized they were in the same time zone, then realized they were only a few hours away. She was practically a local. That made Ella even more comfortable.

On the first call, they spoke for hours like old friends. Amy didn't sound like a therapist. She sounded warm and accepting and talked freely about her own life, her husband, her sexuality. Her husband and her did not engage in kink in any major way. They did not have a FLR or WLM, though they had tried it for a year. They had also tried numerous other things. Amy had been submissive to him for a year. In the end, they decided they liked being equals, even liked the struggles that came with being equals. "But we never would've known that," Amy told her, "if we hadn't had those experiences to establish a contrast."

Amy asked if she could visit. Ella was reluctant. "I appreciate the thought, but I guess I'm a little wary of us starting couples therapy."

Amy laughed. "Ella, I don't do therapy in people's homes. I do it in my office. This is an interest of mine outside of my practice. I'm gathering research for a book and you two sound like a perfect couple. Now, before you say anything, names, descriptions all get changed so no one would know, but you two went from a pretty straight vanilla relationship to a D/s relationship. From the way you describe it, it sounds like you used kink to save you relationship. That is of great interest to me."

Ella grew even more concerned. "Let me think about it."

Amy agreed. "That's a good idea, but let me say one or two things to put your mind at ease. First, I've talked with dozens of couples, and I can honestly say no two are exactly the same. I hope you know by now that it's your choice about how your relationship progresses. Don't let yourself get caught up in the definition of what a 'Mistress' is supposed to be. You define it, no one else. Second, I really would love to come and meet you and Jim, not for therapy, not for the book, but just to meet you. I've loved talking with you and I often visit people from the DT site, just to visit. I even arrange get togethers for everyone. Third, just from our discussion, I'm reasonably certain I know what you want and I know what Jim wants, and I know exactly how to help you. I promise within a week, he'll be eating out of your hand." She giggled. "Literally."

Ella giggled in response. She was still hesitant, but her offer was too good to pass up.

* * *

Jim wore the shirt and pants that Ella ordered. By that simple act alone he was already feeling submissive. He carried out her instructions, answering the door before Amy could ring the doorbell, greeting her and offering to take her coat or purse or anything that was appropriate. He was to escort her to the living room and offer her a beverage, coffee, soda, tea. Then he was to fetch his Mistress by finding her and dropping to his knees, waiting patiently for her to acknowledge him.

By the time he did it all, he was practically floating.

Amy had a young voice as it turned out. She was in her fifties, but when Jim helped her out of her coat, he spotted her lean, trim arms. She wore a sleeveless white blouse with ruffles and medium length charcoal skirt and it was obvious she was absolutely fit. Her face showed her age if you looked close enough, but her petite figure and blonde hair were absolute distractions. She could easily past for thirty, possibly even younger.

She had a nice face, too. She was pretty without being intimidating. Her smile was big and genuine and Jim had to admit, he liked her right away. She was the type of tomboy cheerleader that was so genuinely sweet she was comfortable with any crowd. By the time they'd made it to the living room he'd confessed the entire history of his and Ella's relationship.

He nearly forgot his instructions. He was tempted to stand there and talk to Amy forever.

He hurried to find Ella and knelt, waiting until he felt her hand brushing his hair, hearing her soft "Good boy". When she shooed him away, he rushed to the kitchen to start on the tea. It was not lost on him that this was not unlike his fantasy: serving two women. Along with a deep sexual thrill, he felt a sense of pride. This was the first time he'd been submissive in front of anyone. He thought Ella might be showing him off a little, and if not, he thought he might be showing off a little.

They were already talking like old friends by the time he brought them the tray with cups and saucers. He stood nearby, uncertain as to whether he should sit or leave or what his role should be. Ella let him stand without so much as a smile. They drank their tea, skipped through topic after topic, and finally, almost without thinking Ella turned to him and said, "Have you finished the laundry?"

His heart skipped a beat. His eyes shifted between her and their guest. "Almost. I maybe have some ironing."

She waved him away. "Get to it."

With his heart in his throat, he hurried to the laundry room. While he folded and situated the ironing board, he listened to their quiet, unintelligible voices. He heard laughter from time to time as their voices rose, but mostly he wondered how much of what they were saying was about him. With women, he thought, probably less than ten percent.

He finished the folding. He finished the ironing. He finished everything and was at a loss. Should he dare pass through the living room? If he wanted to put the clothes away, the master bedroom (or should that be Mistress bedroom?) was past them. He decided not, feeling they didn't want to be disturbed. The uncertainly bothered him more than a little. He reminded himself to bring that up during their next discussion.

That made him chuckle. He wanted more instructions, more rules.

After what seemed like hours, Ella called his name and he jumped to his feet.

As he entered the living room, Ella was already on her way out of the room. She didn't look at him, not a smile, not a wink. He felt like he was balancing on a thin wire. Amy smiled and motioned him to the couch. The couch. A therapist and a couch. He wasn't thrilled at the idea. He'd wanted to shut the whole thing down, honestly, but it was Ella's decision. Right?

Did he get no say at all? He had begged to be her slave. He had to admit: it sounded a lot like what he'd asked for.

"How are you, Jim?" Amy wondered.

He settled nervously on the couch, but his nervousness didn't last long. Amy worked her usual magic, the same magic she'd worked earlier. Now, the laughing voices were his and Amy's.

His feelings of submission faded. She could tell. His demeanor changed; his posture changed. He no longer sat on the edge of the cushion uncertainly, demurely. He took command of the couch, settling back, legs apart, arms stretched and draped over the back.

After awhile, he realized he really liked Amy. She was hard not to like.

"So, Jim," Amy continued, "Ella has mentioned your latest challenge. I hope that's okay."

He blushed, but nodded. "I guess so. It's kind of a stupid thing."

"But it's important to you, isn't it?"

He nodded again. "Yeah. I'm not sure why, but it feels important."

"Well, there are lot of important things happening in your life, your upcoming wedding for one."

He laughed and slipped to the edge of the couch, leaning forward, clasping his hands. "Don't remind me."

"You sound nervous." She grinned.

His eyes caught hers. "I am, but I want to do it."

Amy eyed him curiously. "You want to do this other thing, too, but Ella said you felt blocked."

His brow furrowed; he shook his head. "I do. I don't know why."

"Well, first of all, can you tell me what it is she wants you to do?"

He laughed nervously and swallowed a dry gulp. "Uh . . . well . . . she, uh--"




I Have An Idea Ch. 11



She giggled. "Do you prefer to call it semen or cum? Or something else?"

He turned beet red. "Semen is more . . . medicinal, I guess."

"But cum is more sexual. This is a sexual act. She wants. . . ." She let the thought hang.

He nodded; his face flushed. "She wants me to, uh, swallow." It was barely a whisper.

Amy leaned forward in her chair and clasped her hands together. "What do you think is blocking you?"

He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Do you think it would make you gay if you did it?"

The lines of his face deepened. "No. I mean, I'm not gay."

"Are you afraid it would turn you gay?"

He laughed. "That's not really possible. Is it?"

She couldn't help but notice it was less of a statement and more of a question. "No. It's not. People come in all types. There are no absolutes though. Can I ask about what you hope to happen after you and Ella get married?"

Jim swallowed deeply, whispering. "I hope . . . that we'll belong to each other, and that I'll, you know, belong even more so to her."

"Jim," Amy continued, her eyes checking his, "you asked her to enslave you. You're asking her to end the game and make it real. I know, it doesn't feel like a game anymore, but are you fully prepared for what that might mean? If Ella takes your request seriously, and she is, I assure you, VERY seriously, you may not be ready for what she has in mind. You'd be giving up a lot, much more than you think."

He nodded and gulped with a somber expression. "I don't know what it means exactly, and I didn't know if Ella was taking it seriously. It scares the hell out of me that you say she is, but it also makes me . . . love her so much more. I . . . I want this to be a real thing for us. I've lived enough years of being selfish and lazy and I want to give her everything."

Amy smiled softly and blushed. It was a good blush, Jim noticed, deep and rich and glowing. "Okay, Jim, I'm going to help you. The reason this little thing has occurred by the way is because both you are at a point of no return. She wants you to eat your own cum for her, not for any reason than because she wishes it."

He blanched at hearing it put so blatantly.

Amy continued. "You want to her to push you past your resistance so you can experience feelings of deep submission and belonging, but you're blocked and I know why, and while you may have some feelings of concern regarding your sexuality, that's not what's stopping you."

She took a deep breath and settled back in the couch. "Jim, in order to do this, I'd to talk with you in a certain way. I'd like to talk with your subconscious without your conscious mind interfering. I'd like to hypnotize you."

His eyes snapped up at that. He wondered what Ella had agreed to.



I Have An Idea Ch. 12



They discussed it at length. Amy explained what hypnosis really was, not the myth, not the media portrayal, but what it really was, and what it really was surprised him. It was watching TV. It was driving along deep in thought. It was daydreaming, being relaxed but also focused on one idea.

Amy had the gift of making him feel more and more comfortable with the idea, comfortable enough that he volunteered to try a few exercises, just to get a sense of what it might feel like.

She led him through several experiments. She said it was to get an idea about what kind of thinker he was. He held up his arms and listened to her suggest that his hands were attracted to one another and would slowly come together and touch. Was he a physical thinker? She had him close her eyes and just listen to her voice as she recited certain words in an exaggerated lazy way. Was he an aural thinker? She did quite a few more exercises, including an imagery test, where he relaxed back on the couch and imagined the ideas she described, stairs leading down, elevators descending, and so on. How well could he see the images? Did he see colors? Did he imagine only what she describe or did he add details?

By the time she was done, he felt like he'd had an hour long massage. His body was loose and pleasantly limp, warm and nice, and he found himself smiling as he opened his eyes.

She smiled back at him. "You did really well."

He couldn't help but pleased at the compliment. "Well, you made it very easy."

She leaned forward and clasped her hands. "So, tell me what you think."

He shrugged. "It's nothing. It's easy."

"Nothing to be nervous about."

He shook his head and sat up, blinking his eyes, stretching. "No. It was great actually. I feel great."

"That's great. And it might please you to know you are extremely suggestible."

His brow furrowed a little; he chuckled. "That's supposed to be a compliment, right?"

She laughed, and at once Jim saw the giggly little girl she had once been. "It is, actually. I don't mean to suggest you're easily fooled. Far from it. I think though that you're eager for this to work, and it probably doesn't hurt that Ella has been hypnotizing you for months now."

Jim's eyebrows raised. "She has?"

Amy smiled. "She doesn't know she has, but yes. She's been guiding you into a deeply submissive state for awhile now. That state makes you open to her desires, to her suggestions, and you've gained a lot of pleasure from it. She and you both mentioned conditioning, which is a very hypnotic landscape on which to play."

He shook his head and laughed. "Yeah, I guess I can see the similarities. But anyway, this was great, and . . . you know . . . I'm ready if you are."

"Ready?" she asked.

He nodded, his eyes shifting. "Yes. You know . . . to be hypnotized. I'm good with it. I'd like to do it, if you're still up for it."

The smile that broke out on her face was contagious. "That's great, Jim. So are you ready then?"

He nodded again and settled back into the couch. "Whenever you are."

She snapped her fingers and said, "Sleep, Jim, sleep."

He collapsed in on himself, his body and mind suddenly too heavy to do anything.

They talked for awhile. A short time. A long time. No, a short time. They talked. After an endless few minutes, Jim opened his eyes, feeling lazy and good. He saw Ella sitting beside Amy, smiling. She turned to her new friend and remarked, "That is amazing! You have to teach me how to do that."

Amy nodded, smiling. "That's why you're here."

Ella smiled back. "I can't wait to try."

Jim blinked, staring at them, feeling like his mind was wide open. He heard their voices, their words, but couldn't seem to follow the conversation.

Amy sat back in the chair. "Why not now?"

Ella giggled. "Really?"

Amy giggled back. "Of course."

Ella stared at him, her smile so wide it swallowed her face. She was beautiful, Jim noticed, more beautiful than ever. She snapped her fingers at him. "Sleep, Jim, sleep."

It was Amy's voice he heard as he sank. "He's getting better at it. Pretty soon. . . ."

His body felt like a lead weight. It took him awhile to get his head back together, his thoughts were heavy and soupy. It was like waking from a coma. He blinked his eyes, stretched and noticed the smiles on the girls' faces. He laughed and rubbed his face. "I didn't do anything stupid, did I?"

Amy spoke first. "You did very well."

Ella was all smiles and blushes. She turned to Amy. "So, when do we continue?"

It occurred to Jim that he was being ignored again, which was fine, because he was still trying to make his brain work.

"Well, I'd like to take the week. He'll probably be ready much sooner, but let's take our time. We should enjoy this."

Ella nodded whole-heartedly. "Of course. Let's be thorough."

Amy turned her eyes back to Jim. "Now, before I go, I did want to suggest a few things."

Jim wondered if she hadn't done enough suggesting for one afternoon, but nodded agreeably.

She addressed the two of them, the happy couple. "First, I promised I wouldn't do therapy, but it's a part of me and I feel I should address a few things."

Ella sat by Jim, shoulder to shoulder. His hand reached out for hers and interlaced fingers lovingly. "Okay," Ella replied for them both.

"Your relationship is pretty healthy. So, that's good, but it could be better. You've mentioned the discussions you have, but they seem to be entirely focused on the kink. I'd like to suggest if you're getting married, you expand that. During these discussions, take the time to venture out into other areas of your life. Where will you live? Who will pay the bills? Do you want children? These are all things that will come to pass maybe sooner, maybe later, but it will make that time much easier if you both know each other's positions."

Ella tightened her grip on Jim's hand. He gave it a comforting squeeze. She nodded, appearing thoughtful and somber. "Okay. You're right."

Amy smiled in her friendly, ever helpful manner. "Don't beat yourself up about it. Most couples don't have those discussions until it's too late. Now, regarding your kink. You've both been very responsible, and the discussions you've had prove that, but you've mentioned a few things that concern me. I'd like to make sure you consider safety your top priority."

The lovers exchanged a concerned glance. Again, Ella spoke for them. "I thought we had."

Amy shook her head. "Safewords are a good idea. And since you've engaged in some mild bondage, safe signals are even better. That doesn't alleviate you, Ella, of the responsibility of keeping you both safe though. When submissives experience extremely deep subspace, they may not have the presence of mind to use those safewords."

Ella frowned. "I see. I'm not sure I knew that."

Amy continued. "Also, sleeping while he's tied is a big no-no, especially if you ever choose to use a gag of some sort. If he's tied, you should remain in the room. You can use a baby monitor otherwise, but make sure you stay tuned and make sure he's capable of signalling you if he has trouble breathing or is experiencing unhealthy pain. Don't leave him tied for hours and hours and unless you use padded cuffs. Rope can tighten and cut off his circulation. If he experiences tingling or his fingers are cold, you need to release him."

Ella nodded. "So, honestly, I have a lot to learn."

Amy agreed, but added. "You both do. Jim is not exempt. He absolutely must promise to use safe signals and to tell you when the pain is potentially damaging or just too much. Do you understand that?"

Jim nodded. "It's hard because I like suffering for her."

Amy addressed him directly. "Suffering is one thing. Damaged nerves is another. How do you think it will make your Mistress feel to know she's responsible for something like that? It doesn't matter if it's not her fault. She loves you and she will feel an enormous amount of guilt. And, if that doesn't make an impact on you, think of it this way. If you really get hurt, I can practically guarantee that your playtime will be over. She'll never trust you again. Part of loving your Mistress is loving yourself, keeping yourself healthy and happy for her."

He sagged against Ella, nodding. "Yeah. I hadn't thought of it like that."

Amy stood and Ella patted Jim's leg. "Get her coat."

He hopped up and collected her coat and purse from the foyer, noting their quiet, conspiratorial voices starting up again behind him. When Amy was ready, he helped her into her coat and handed her purse over. She thanked him with her smile, but did not voice it. 

She knew, didn't she? She knew he didn't want to be thanked. He wanted her to accept his service without thought. He was more impressed with her than ever.

Ella's voice snapped him from his reverie. "Be a good boy and thank our friend."

With utter sincerity, Jim said, "Thank you, Amy, for taking the time to visit with us and help us. It's Ella's decision, of course, but if she ever asks my opinion, I'd love for you to have dinner with us sometime."

Amy smiled, gave Ella a hug and was out the door.

Ella and Jim stood, sheepishly staring at each other.

After a long silence, Jim said, "Having ideas again?"

Ella's smile was wicked. "Wait and see."

* * *

He laid the papers carefully on the coffee table, set the dinner table and re-heated the leftovers. He was in the middle of making a small salad when the phone rang. For the next twenty minutes, he engaged in a frustrating conversation with the florist about arrangements he thought had been clear. Ella had chosen everything, but it was his job to ensure she got what she wanted. Suffering for his Mistress had never felt so real.

He kept an eye on the parking lot and hurried into position the moment he spotted her car. She had insisted he kneel on a cushion by the front door because the hard tiles were bad for his knees. He was prepared to take the pain for her, of course, but he hadn't gotten two words out before her eyes shut him down. She had made her decision. There was no argument.

She sighed, threw her keys in the bowl and petted his head as she passed. "How's my future slaveboy today?"

He felt the grin that broke out across his face. He couldn't help it. He was in love. "Better now, Mistress."

She giggled and dropped her suit jacket on the floor for him to collect. "Aww, sweet, but I'm starving."

"The salads are ready, Mistress, but the chicken is still being warmed up." She didn't like the microwave, she'd decided. Although, he had plenty of memories of her not minding it when she had done the cooking. Now, she preferred the crispy nature of the food when re-heated in the oven. Microwaves make things soggy, she told him.

As he collected her heels and dropped clothes, she settled on the couch and at once leaned forward, spotting the papers on the coffee table. "What's this?"

He hung her suit jacket and skirt and put them with the other items he had set aside for the dry cleaners. It was a quick chore, and he hurried back to kneel before her. "That's . . . that's the contract you wanted me to look over, Mistress."

He watched as she crossed her legs and leaned forward over them. She hadn't yet removed her hose and the shine of the dark nylons made him lick his lips like a hungry wolf. She stretched out a long, lean arm and lazily turned a page. His eyes fell on her hand, so small and delicate. It was astonishing how tiny they were in comparison to his, yet with a snap of her slender fingers he was hers. "I notice you marked it up quite a bit."

His mouth went dry. "I . . . I was closing the loopholes and doing what you asked, Mistress."

Her eyes met his. There was no humor or happiness in them. He shuddered involuntarily. "And you crossed out the things you disagreed with like I told you?"

He nodded nervously. "Yes, Mistress."

"Did you say," she wondered with the first traces of a grin, "that you were closing loopholes?"

"Yes, Mistress."

She let out a soft laugh. "You're doing it to yourself, you know. If you close all the loopholes, then you really will have no place to run, no excuses."

"I know, Mistress." He felt a tremor in his knees.

"But it's not really about loopholes. It's about the intent of--"

She paused. Her eyes shifted back and forth as she read, then flipped up and began again as she re-examined the contract. "Jim . . . some of the parts I expected you to cross out, you didn't."

"I didn't?" It was news to him that she had expected him to cross out anything.

"It's a negotiation, Honey. I told you that. This is your last chance before the wedding. Once we get married and we sign this. . . . Honey, I'm not kidding with this. I'm very serious. I will absolutely hold you to what we've agreed to."

He thought he should probably re-examine the contract a second time."Mistress, I'll consider it more carefully."

She studied him for awhile, then returned to reading the contract. "Wine. Red."

He scurried to obey.

"Jim!" she called. He rushed back, still holding the bottle and the corkscrew. "What's this about joint accounts you added?"

"I, uh--"

Her eyes flipped up and leveled him. "Well?" He felt small and weak.

"I . . . I added it for safety reasons."

She pressed her lips together until they were pale. "So, you don't want to sign over your paycheck to me. That's going too far for you. I expected you might cross it out, but you just changed it."

"Mistress . . . I don't want to sign over my paycheck to you. It makes me nervous. It scares the--" He re-considered his words; Mistress didn't like profanity. "It scares me, and having only one account only in your name is not safe. If you get hurt or go to the hospital, I won't be able to pay bills or take care of you. It's a negotiation like you said, so I offered a compromise."

She blinked. A very soft smile appeared on her face. "I see. So, a joint account make sense, but I'm asking you to re-consider your paycheck. I think if you're my slave, you shouldn't be allowed to make buying decisions."

He took a deep breath. "I added it in the margin here. I would have to ask for every major buying decision."

"For every buying decision, I think," Ella corrected. "No matter how small."

"Mistress--" Jim used his 'be reasonable' voice. She hadn't heard that tone for a long time. "Even a cup of coffee? Do you want me to phone you or text you for every tiny decision?"

Her eyes shifted. Her leg bounced. She crossed her arms. "That would be bothersome. I guess we could set a money amount."

He opened his mouth to suggest an amount, but figured anything he suggested would be too high. In a negotiation, it's best to--

But this was his Mistress, the woman of his dreams. He wanted--

What did he really want?

It killed him when the solution appeared in his mind. She'd been using his own desire and that of his cock against him for months. Now his brain was joining suit, conspiring against him in her favor. Begrudgingly, he offered, "What about an allowance?"

She smiled at that, a big smile, a big, happy "gotcha" smile. "I LIKE that. Yes. Hmm, I like that quite a bit." She pointed to a space before her foot and snapped her fingers.

He ran to her and dropped, setting the bottle of wine and corkscrew on the coffee table. His heart was in his throat again, and there were ecstatic butterflies churning in the pit of his stomach. His face was hot; he could feel his own pulse in his cheeks. She'd zapped him again. He couldn't blame the hypnosis; she'd created this response long before Amy had come into their lives.

She reached out and caressed his burning cheek with her hand, sending him spiraling into heaven. His breath quickened; his lips parted; his eyes glazed over. She could see it in his face: love, devotion, adoration. With the softest whisper, she continued to condition his obedience with pleasure, "Good boy." 

She was rewarding him for having given himself away, for helping her dominate him far beyond the bedroom into a very personal part of his life. "How much though? Twenty a week?"

Jim's eyes bulged. "Twenty?! Mistress . . . I spend more than that on one lunch!"

She sat up straight and glared at him. "Slave. Did you just yell at me?"

His throat bobbed as he shook his head, croaking out, "No, Mistress. Sorry."

She ran her finger down the length of his nose and suggested with a soft tone, "I was open to negotiating, but you just sealed the deal. Twenty dollars a week until I say otherwise. If you need more, you will need my permission . . . and a very good explanation."

There were further negotiations. He did sometimes entertain clients. Their slave life should not impact his job they both agreed. She cautioned him on the wriggle room of his corporate credit card, cautioned him on using it to defy the "intent" of their agreement. 

When the phone rang, she gave Jim permission to answer it and sat at the dinner table to enjoy the salad he'd prepared. After a polite greeting, Jim offered her the phone. "It's Mrs. Owens."

Ella dabbed at her lips, wet her throat with some water and took the phone. "Amy? Hi. Wonderful, how are you? Uh huh. Yes. Oh, we have. It's going well, I think. We just started. Yes. Oh, no, that's no problem. Now is as good a time as any. Okay."

She handed the phone back to Jim. "It's time for your treatment."

Jim studied the phone as if it were a foreign object. "Treatment?"

Minutes later, Ella noticed he was sacked out on the couch. His body was completely limp, his cheeks heavy, his eyes closed. Only one arm had the energy to keep the phone pressed to his ear. He sat quietly for a long time, repeating the word "yes" every now and then, each time softer than the last.

Then it was all done, and he was stretching and handing the phone back to Ella. He served her leftovers and wine and put her salad dish in the dishwasher. Ella spoke to Amy on the phone, enjoying the fact that Jim could certainly overhear their conversation, but was not allowed to acknowledge it. "So? How's he doing?"

Amy, cheerful as always, exclaimed, "Wonderful. He may be the best subject I've ever had. I think that's due in no small part to all the conditioning and obedience training you've put him through. It doesn't hurt either that he's head over heels in love with you. He has a very deep desire to please you. If I didn't know better, I'd identify him as a natural submissive."

Ella tensed a little. "Why do you say 'if you didn't know better'?"

Amy replied. "Natural submissives tend to know they're submissive at a very young age. From what you told me, Jim did not identify as submissive when you first met."

"True, I guess. So, how do we know if it's working?" Ella smiled with glittering eyes over at her fiancé. She knew he was listening. He was trying to hide his smile.

"Oh," Amy giggled, "it's working. Don't worry. I set up little tests and he's passing them with flying colors. I'd like to reinforce the suggestions every day this week like we discussed. I'd say he'll be ready by Saturday at the latest. Until then, don't pursue it. Now, are you practicing the exercises I gave you?"

Ella nodded and propped her legs up on the empty chair where Jim used to sit, before she removed the privilege of dining with her. It was all about easing his transition to slavery. Slaves don't sit at the table with their betters, after all. That fact had Jim swooning and moaning for days, which caused her to giggle uncontrollably. "Oh, of course. I try to do it two or three times a day."

"Good. Would you mind giving it a try now, just so I can get an idea of how he's responding?"

Ella grinned. Jim caught it out of the corner of his eye and couldn't help turning to meet her with a "what?" expression on his face. Quietly and insistently, she snapped her fingers and said, "Sleep, Jim, sleep."




I Have An Idea Ch. 12



There was a half second where Jim's eyes widened, but an instant later they slammed shut and he stood there, head bowed, cheeks deeply flushed and breathing deeply. "He's under," Ella told her.

"Good, now don't forget the deepening patter. He may seem to go under in an instant, but he is actually continuing to go under over a period of several minutes. You can establish yourself as his hypnotist by guiding him with deepeners. It will also help condition him to the sound of your voice, and one side effect may be that if he hears you speak to him with the same tone in the future, he might have little waking trances. He may not notice those if you're subtle, but he will learn to become very vulnerable to your suggestions."

Ella grinned. "That is so hot, you know."

Amy giggled. "Save it for Saturday, Mistress!"

Ella laughed and agreed.

* * *

The magic moment.

His heart raced. He felt hot all over. His face felt feverish. He trembled. He swallowed repeatedly, each clack of his throat drier than the first. He was on his knees, naked. She'd produced padded cuffs as a gift. She giggled at the ease with which they captured him. No more tying, no more knots, just a simple click. He was hard and helpless. For the first time, he resisted getting aroused. He didn't want to be drained. He didn't want it to come spilling out of him into her waiting palm. He was afraid of where it would go next. He was afraid of what she might make him do.

Every day he'd received a call from Amy. Even now, he couldn't remember a single thing she'd said. From the moment he heard a voice on the line to the moment he handed the phone back to Ella it was a giant fading memory. Within minutes after each call, the entire experience was a blank.

He worried about what Amy and Ella had done to his mind. What suggestions had they implanted? Ella practiced putting him under several times a day. She was getting good at it. Her tone was emulating Amy's soft, quiet, lazy tone, one part insistent, one part soothing. Ella was getting good at a lot of things.

She rubbed the underside of his cock with one finger and gazed deep into his eyes, looking down on him from her seated position on the couch. She used that tone on him, the hypnosis tone, and he felt it, nagging somewhere in him, working on his subconscious. "You know what's going to happen."

He felt dizzy. He felt sleepy. He felt compliant and vulnerable.

"You want it to happen," she continued. "It's what you asked for and now it's going to happen."

He had finished the contract. Their marriage contract. No. Not a marriage contract per say. A slave contract, but not quite. It was a combination of both. They discussed many things, negotiated many more, but somehow he did most of the compromising, and more than once, a simple look from her had compelled him to agree and give into her wishes.

It was hard. It was very difficult to surrender in those ways. He could give her his heart, his body, but some of the things she expected brought him screeching to a halt. Ella somehow moved him past every obstacle.

"It's going to happen. Think how exciting it's going to be when it happens, when you give in. I can feel you getting close." Her hand wrapped tight around his cock and squeezed. He was struggling against it, trying desperately not to let her win, not to let his arousal make him hard, not to let her dominance make him fill his cock and spill out into the palm of her hand. 

She whispered in that tone that made him realize if she said the word sleep he'd be in a trance in seconds. "You're getting closer and closer. You can't resist it. You don't want to. It feels too good. And it will feel sooo good to finish it. You can already feel it on your lips, in your mouth, swallowing."

He swallowed reflexively. It was disgusting. He wouldn't do it. He would refuse. He would turn his head and clamp his mouth shut. He wouldn't do it. No matter how much hypnosis they used, how many suggestions they'd implanted, somehow, he would resist.

He'd given her everything in the contract. He would be her slave in more ways than one. Financially, emotionally, physically. It was all spelled out in clear language he'd helped write. He had done it to himself, tightened the proverbial ropes, installed better locks and given her the keys. And she had rewarded him with pleasure at every turn, making it impossible for him to stop.

His cock was buzzing. It was hot.

"No," he whispered.

Ella whispered back. "I can feel it coming. It's almost there. It's going to happen. You're going to make it happen. You've already agreed again and again and again. Your subconscious knows, even if you don't."

She was an expert. God! Why did she have to be such an expert? What had happened to him? He had gone crazy. He didn't remember what it was like to masturbate anymore. He barely remembered what it was like to feel the warmth and wetness of her pussy. He longed to feel it. He longed to be inside her, to cum, to cum inside her, but she wouldn't let him, and God help him, he loved her for it.

"Please, no," he whimpered.

"Yes, Jim, yes. Now, here it is. You know it's going to happen. It's here and it's going to happen."

He whimpered and cried, tried to tell her "no" again, but couldn't force his lips to form the words. His cock filled with a hot, tingling sensation, and then just Ella had commanded, it began to happen. He felt it slipping out of him, the cum, draining, his cock twitching, his body screaming at him to fuck something, to buck his pelvis, to tense his muscles, but his body had been trained repeatedly and no longer obeyed him. He couldn't remember tightening his Kegel muscles during an orgasm anymore. She had conditioned it out of him. Now, when he wanted to buck and tighten and fuck the most, his most powerful muscles relaxed instead.

He was helpless to it. 

She let out a coo of pleasure as his cum streamed out into her waiting palm.

'I won't do it,' he thought. 'She may have made me cum, but she won't make me--'

She snuggled against him, her body so warm, so on fire, her scent so sweet and female and overpowering. She raised her palm to his mouth and said, before he could object, "Drink, Jim, drink."

'No,' he thought, but then it all came rushing back to him, the trigger, the hours of imagining it over and over, so that when the time came it wouldn't feel like the first time; it would feel like the hundredth time. He'd done it a hundred times and been in heaven each time. Tasting it, swallowing it, slurping it from her palm, pleasing his Mistress, seeing her loving, happy, excited face and being rewarded with such pleasure.

He felt blank and used and hot as Ella tipped her palm over, feeding him his own cum, delivering it into his mouth. It was warm and slippery and it slurped past his tongue with a salty, mineral flavor. "Swallow," Ella said, and he did. 

She was so close to him. He could feel her body heat like a furnace. His face felt Sunburned. He could barely kneel upright. He leaned heavily against her, whimpering as she rewarded with him pleasure, embedding the joy of utter obedience in his mind with a terrifying firmness. "Good boy. Almost all gone, just a little more."

Then, God help him, he was licking her palm, cleaning it with his tongue. 

He was lost.

He couldn't disobey anything anymore.

He wanted to sign the marriage contract now, and not wait for the ceremony.

'Oh, God, Ella,' he thought, 'you did it. I'm your slave now.'

Ella wasn't grinning. She wasn't even smiling. She had the glaze of a woman at climax. Her eyelids were heavy, her lips wet and parted. She leaned forward, pressed her forehead against his and found his lips. She kissed him, and it was unlike kiss they'd shared before.

It was beyond hunger or lust. It was absolute, and absolutely indescribable. 

"Good boy, Jim. Good boy."

Pleasure coursed through him. 

She caught him with another kiss, still tasting his own obedience on his tongue, feeling it play with hers. "That hypnosis stuff," he panted, "is evil."

Ella grinned. "It wasn't the hypnosis. Amy said that was just to help you go along with it. She said I'd been trying to tease you into, persuade you, manipulate like a girl manipulates a boyfriend. She said all I had to really do was accept my place as your Mistress and then you would finally accept your place as my slave. She said if I did that, when the magic moment finally arrived, all I had to really do was tell you to do it and you would."

Jim blinked, eyes wide, then broke out in a smile. "So, you're my Mistress?"

Ella's cheeks blushed. Her smile stretched ear to ear. She had the expression of a woman who was so close to orgasm it almost hurt. "Yes, Jim, and I've accepted it finally. I'm sorry it took me so long. I just had to find my own way, I guess."

"That's okay," he told her and risked a soft, warm kiss.

She inhaled her acceptance, breathed out the last of her resistance, whispering, "You're my slave, Jim, for now and forever."

They snuggled on the couch for a long time, arms and legs entangled, before he finally admitted, "You . . . you have really good ideas."

She grinned and pressed her face into his chest, enjoying how his arms tightened around her. "Thank you." She pinched his nipple and enjoyed how his body flinched. "Oh," she giggled, "I just had another one."

The End