by Kyoko Church
“Mason, you shouldn’t be here,” I croak, trying to smooth my hair, covering my puffy eyes. “You should stay away from me.”
“What? Why? I love being with you. What we did…the way you…were. With me. It was so beautiful. It was perfect. It was all of my fantasies, everything I imagined it would be.”
“Exactly,” I whisper.
“Exactly,” he repeats. He looks at me pointedly but I stay silent. “So why would I stay away?”
“Because…” I say. I look at him then, so forlorn, so passionate, so…open. And I feel my steady heartbeat, feel the blood pumping through my veins, feel something threatening from underneath, that beast awakening, uncoiling, unfurling.
“Because?” he says, all innocence and confusion.
I try to look away from him but I can’t. “Because,” I say again, heat rising in my face, synapses in my brain firing in all directions, making things course and pulse and hum through my body. “The things I want to do to you are not sweet, Mason. I look at you and, I don’t know what it is, but I want to control you. To own you.”
He’s staring back at me and he is speechless. He looks a little scared. I know I should really stop now and send him away. But now I’ve started. The ball is rolling, the cat’s out of the bag, the horse is out of the gate, there’s no stopping, it’s all go.
I take a step towards him. “Did you like it when you were inside me and I rode you until you came hard?” I whisper almost ferociously. “Well, what if I didn’t, hmm? I mean, what if I rode you but didn’t let you cum? What if I stopped? And what if I did that over and over? Until you were begging, until you were crying, until you were desperate and would do anything for me to release you?” I’m panting now, almost nose to nose with him, and he’s wide eyed and slack jawed.
“And what if, at that point, I made you lie down and I straddled your head and rode your face until I’d had orgasm after orgasm? Until I just couldn’t cum anymore. And then I made you get up, get dressed and sent you home, balls all achy and sore with unspent cum and with strict instructions not to masturbate or touch yourself while you were away from me.
“You should stay away from me, Mason—” I breathe low but taking care to enunciate each word. “Because I want to make you my plaything. My fuck toy. My human dildo to use and subjugate. That’s why.”
We’re both silent. My words hang thick in the air between us.
“Go, Mason,” I breathe.
“No.”
“Go!”
But he grabs me. Pulls me to him, says, “I’ve never been harder in my whole life.” And I feel him, his enormous prick that screams he’s a man even if he still looks a boy, stiff as steel and pulsing against my hip bone. I reach up, curl my hands in the mop of his hair, and kiss him hard.
Mason’s pool boy gig didn’t work out. But I think he’s much better suited to his job as houseboy.
“I’ve finished all of your laundry now, Ma’am,” he says.
Like most thirty-something women, I’ve always hated when someone calls me Ma’am. Except when Mason says it. I remember the first time, when I’d instructed him, rather coldly, to get his cock out for me. “Yes, Ma’am,” he’d whispered, and it landed right in my gut, those two little words, stoking the fire that was already there. And even now, three months in, every time he says it, it’s so good, laden as it is with his submission to me.
“Well, thank you, Mason,” I say. “I suppose you’ve earned a reward then.” I turn from my laptop.
“If you think so, Ma’am.” I can see he’s already starting to get excited. His shorts have just started to form a bulge in the front. His eagerness has always been compelling, but he’s even more eager these days and it’s all I can do not to rip his clothes right off him.
I close my laptop and stand, move close to where he is in my living room. “And what do you think you deserve, my boy?” I say, tracing my fingers down his chest that’s starting to rise up and down more distinctly.
“I’m always hopeful you’ll let me cum, Ma’am,” he says, not looking at me.
“Ah, yes. Always greedy for a little release, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he whispers.
“Mmm. And what if—” I say, unbuttoning my blouse and letting it hang open, fondling my breasts over my lacy cream bra and pushing them together under his nose, “...what if today is just a day for you to look?”
“Ohhh…” he says, looking mesmerised at my firm tits. I know he longs to touch them but he knows he can’t, not without permission. His fingers twitch at his sides. “I love to look at you Mistress. But please, please let me cum. It’s been five days now.”
I giggle. “Five days is not a long time, Mason,” I chide. I slip my blouse off my shoulders now and undo the button and zip of my jeans, letting him see just a glimpse of the top of my panties. I look up at him all coquettish, pausing with my jeans open. “Unless you’re a naughty boy who’s used to jerking it multiple times a day.” He groans. I pull off his t-shirt and his shorts and he’s standing in my living room in his briefs. I can see he’s fully erect now. He springs into action more easily than ever since I’ve taken him in hand, as it were.
I press myself against him and delight in feeling slinky and feline. I turn around, arch my back and ease my jeans down over the globes of my ass, hearing his intake of breath as I do it. I step out of my jeans and now I’m just in my lacy bra and skimpy matching panties. “But it’s true,” I sigh. “It has been a while for such a horny boy. Do you want me to let you touch yourself while you watch me get totally naked?” I ask over my shoulder as I sway my hips from side to side very close to his straining cock.
“Oh god, Mistress,” he breathes, his eyes glued to my ass.
“Or do you want me—” I say, turning around and running my hands over his chest again, listening to him pant “— to do it for you?”
“Oh Mistress!” Once when he asked for my touch I gave him only feather light strokes for two hours before sending him home without making him cum. “Will you let me cum if you touch me?” he pleads.
“Well, all right, my love.” I say gently.
“Really, Mistress?” His body is practically vibrating he’s so excited. I’m not usually so easy to persuade.
“Yes, really. If you want to cum by my touch instead of your own, I will do that for you. Is that what you want?”
“Oh yes, please, Ma’am!”
“Good!” I say, smiling brightly. He looks close to bursting with the excitement of imminent relief from the weight in his swollen balls. Until I say: “We’ll do a slow release.”
His eyes widen. He looks momentarily frozen. Finally he speaks and words rush out like a waterfall.
“Mistress! Oh god, Mistress, no! Anything but that! Anything but the slow release!”
“But you said it was what you wanted,” I say, all feigned surprise. “For me to make you cum with my touch.” I smile sweetly. “If you’d prefer we could have NO release.”
“Oh Mistress.” And he actually starts to tremble.
“Now be a good boy. Go in my room. And assume the position.”
We have our safe words. We established them right away and Mason’s only ever used his once, when I went near his tight little virgin asshole. He’s not ready for that yet. But I can be patient.
In truth, I know that if there’s one thing he loves as much as begging for something he loves to happen, it’s begging for something he secretly loves not to happen. So as I wait for him to position himself with his back against the wall of my bedroom, all while still pleading for a fate other than the slow release, I just smile. If I didn’t know this already the enormous meat pole jutting from his body would tell me all I need to know anyway.
I could cuff him to my bed, and have done. But sometimes the mental bondage is even more fun. I simply tell him he cannot move. And then he mu
stn’t. There are no bonds to strain against. He must be disciplined and he must fight to control his urges.
Watching the battle is delightful.
First I tease just his eyes and his ears. I roll all over the bed in my bra and panties, writhing and squirming and telling him how horny I am, cupping my mound and grinding against my hand. I ask him how much he wants to lick my pussy as I slip my hand in my panties and dip my fingers into my slippery quim. He is among those treasured males who not only love to lick pussy but crave it. I listen to him beg for my cunt while I frig myself hard to three consecutive orgasms all while he stands immobile against my wall.
“Do you wish you could just see underneath my little panties right now?” I ask, panting, lying back on the bed with my legs spread, my fingers hooked inside the leg of my panties, teasing, threatening to pull the isthmus of satin to one side so he can see my shining pink folds.
“God, yes, Ma’am. More than anything.”
“Mm, not today,” I say, but I rise to stand in front of him and offer him my fingers which he hungrily licks and sucks clean.
His body is taut with tension. I know how badly he wants to thrust his hips. He’s trying not to shift from one foot to the other. He’s pressed his body against the wall like he’s desperate for whatever support it can give him.
I sink down onto my knees and pull his briefs down with me. His eyes follow me and he lets out yet another groan. I know what the sight of me on my knees before him does to his sex addled brain, to see my mouth near his straining erection. He once told me he could almost cum from the sight of it.
I smile up at him. He’s so hard his foreskin is already mostly retracted. I wet my lips and kiss the shiny purple head as I ease the rest of that flesh back. “Unh! Oh!” he cries.
With his cock firmly in my grasp I ask, “Are you ready for your slow release now?” And I place another wet kiss on his head.
“Oh Mistress, no, please no,” he grovels. “Please pump it out fast.” Oh how his breathless begging makes my stomach churn with desire.
I only smile and shake my head no. “You remember the rules. You stay still. Don’t move. I’ll take your cum from your cock in my own time,” I say firmly.
“Yes, Mistress,” he says, his voice weak with helplessness.
“If you move, I’ll stop. And you won’t get to cum at all.”
“Oh fuck,” he moans.
I push his cock into my mouth very slowly, listening to him pant and groan. The very first time I did this my sweet boy ejaculated into my mouth during that first push. And as turned on as he is right now I know it’s not going to take much. So I just do one painstakingly slow stroke in and out of my mouth.
“So hard not to move my hips, Ma’am,” he says through clenched teeth, his whole body as rigid as his cock.
“Aww, I know, Mason, I know. Soon, baby. Soon I’m going to take your cum from you,” I say, as I slide my fist up and down his wet pole, once, twice, three times. He lets out a strangled cry.
I hold him firm around the base. I rise up so my mouth is level with his prick. “Watch me now, Mason,” I say and I start to tongue the underside of his cock.
I don’t stroke it. Not with my hand or my tongue. That would trigger powerful surges of orgasm and that’s not what I want. I just do steady, short laps up and down on the underside of his cock, massaging that special spot where the head meets the shaft with my tongue. His ecstatic moans as he rises painfully slowly to his pinnacle connect directly with my pussy. He’s trembling; I hear his sharp intake of breath and then the whimpering cry he lets out at the top, right as he’s cresting, sounds so helpless and pure. I think it might be the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
I keep my firm grip on his shaft and speed up my tongue just the tiniest fraction. But not much. He shouts out and his hips jerk hard involuntarily. “Please! Please! Miss! Ungh! Uh!” Sobbing cries escape from his lips as he battles his body’s strong impulse to thrust and thrust and shoot out all the pent up cum in his balls. But he can’t. Because I hold him fast against the wall and just lap that spot that makes the cum ooze and pulse out, so frustrating but so much more intense. He howls and grunts and moans out his protracted release as cum spills like lava from the tip of his cock and down, coating him, coating my hand, making a lake on the floor.
When he’s done he collapses onto the bed, weak, shaky, but oh so grateful. He clings to me, desperate.
“What do you want to say, love?”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
“For what, boy?”
“For making me cum.”
“And what else?”
“For making it…” and he pauses, because this part is hard. And therefore oh so much sweeter to hear. “For making it a frustrating one,” he growls low.
“Mmm, yes.” I smile. He nuzzles me. Nuzzles me some more. “Shhh, it’s okay, I know what you want. I’m going to let you have it today,” I say as I put my hand on the top of his head and push it down.
♦♦♦♦
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