Back home, I had a troubled night, my mind buzzing from recalling the powerful climax that I had delivered to Laura. Just thinking about it again caused my entrapped penis to swell, resulting in pain. Then, when I did eventually drift off to sleep, I was awoken in the early hours by my morning glory struggling inside my cage, forcing me to get out of bed and take a cold shower to dampen my ardour. How was I going to cope with this on a long-term basis, which was what Laura had in mind?
It was a couple of days before I heard again from her, and my frustration was growing. The message took the form of summons to present myself at her flat at 6 PM that evening. I hoped that she would be seeking oral sex again and that I would be rewarded with a hand job.
As soon as I was inside her flat, after the briefest of greetings, she ordered me strip naked, and she then performed an inspection of my body.
“You're developing a bit of a paunch,” she decided. I looked down and she was right. “And your arm muscles look puny. We need to get you to the gym more often, don't we?”
“Yes, Miss,” I agreed, trying to disguise my resentment at the prospect of being forced to exercise.
Laura then turned her attention to my chastity device, pulling it and testing the security of the padlock. “No problems?” she enquired, with a suppressed smile.
“My willy hasn't got used to it yet, Miss, and still thinks it can become erect.” I tried to make light of my predicament because I didn't want her to think I was complaining.
“Too bad, but it will soon learn, I'm sure.” She paused, then furrowed her brow and stared at me, adding, “You weren't thinking of giving up, were you?” She made it sound as if I had a choice—and, of course, I suppose I did have a choice. But, no, I didn't want to give up, at least not yet.
“No, Miss. As you've told me, it's for my own benefit. Masturbating is not good for me.”
“Exactly! Besides, we're both making sacrifices, aren't we? Were we?" She noticed my puzzled countenance. “Don't you know how much I long to have you inside me, sweetheart, your penis pumping away like a piston in a racing car, stimulating me, exciting me, making passionate love to me?” she asked, incredulously.
I knew Laura was teasing me, and, not for the first time, she was expressing herself disingenuously. Nonetheless, what she was saying excited me and my penis was swelling at the thought of it penetrating her, causing a painful grimace.
She picked up on my facial expression and gave me a coy grin. “We both need to learn self-control, poppet. No pain, no gain! Your mother must have told you that. But we can still have some fun, so follow me.”
I did and, for the first time, I entered her bedroom. She had a double bed with a metal rail headboard and footboard. The duvet had been removed, revealing the bottom sheet. But what caught my eyes were the leather restraints attached to each corner of the bed. I felt a combination of excitement and nervousness, which increased when she ordered me to lie, face up, on the bed.
I trusted her, so I put up no resistance as I fell back and spread my arms and legs in anticipation of being restrained. Deftly, she secured me in position and a couple of subtle tugs confirmed to me that escape was impossible.
She had said nothing, but stood to the side of the bed, where she could be clearly seen. She was dressed in tight blue jeans, which accentuated her pert bottom, and a sheer cream shirt through which I glimpsed the outline of her bra. Effortlessly, she kicked off her shoes.
Then, flirtatiously, she licked her lips and then proceeded to undo the top two buttons of her blouse, pulling the garment apart to reveal the top of her pristine white bra, delicately edged in lace. She proceeded to slowly and seductively undo the remaining buttons, revealing more of her breasts. Finally, all buttons undone, she slipped the top off, revealing her bra in its entirety, firmly cupping her shapely boobs.
Then, gazing at me and pouting her lips, she undid the top button of her jeans, and began to gradually lower the zip until the top of the matching lace of her white panties came into view. By now my mouth was watering but my penis was struggling to contain its excitement. She paused for a few seconds for me to take in the scene and then pulled the zip all the way down and wriggled out of her jeans.
Standing in front of me, dressed only in her bra and what transpired to be a skimpy thong, she wiggled her boobs and swayed her hips, all the time looking into my eyes. Then she reached behind and dexterously freed herself from her bra, waggling her bare breasts. Her final act was to plunge her hand into her knickers to probe her sex. Removing her fingers, which glistened with wetness, she leaned over the bed and placed a couple of fingers near my lips.
I could smell her arousal, and I desperately wanted to taste it. I tried to lever myself up to get closer to her fingers, but she taunted me by moving them away. And then, her little game played, she allowed me to suck them. I was in heaven.
She had got me very worked up and she was also extremely excited. Waiting not a second longer, she tore off her panties and athletically sprang onto the bed, straddling my body so that she was looking at the headboard. Predictably, she lowered herself so that her vulva covered my face.
I knew what I had to do, and I set to work, my lips and tongue exploring her labia and vagina, tasting her divine nectar, which flowed freely into my mouth, aided by gravity. Soon I was toying with her clitoris, causing her to squirm and moan in delight. In her growing excitement, she found it difficult to keep still, but she always wished to remain in contact with her. Sometimes she pressed down on me and other times she lifted herself up a little, forcing me to reach up to keep the stimulation going. I pleasured her to the best of my ability and it was self-evident that she was enjoying the attention. It didn't take long before her moaning became louder, before morphing into expletives. Then, suddenly, she screamed out as a thunderous orgasm wracked her body. I thought I was going to suffocate as she rode me through her climax.
Exhausted, I had completed my task and I felt that I had serviced her well. I just had to hope that she also thought I had met her expectations, and she had not been disappointed.
After sitting on my face for a couple of minutes to regain her composure, she levered herself off. Nothing was said, but her verdict on my performance was delivered when I saw her reach into the drawer of her bedside table and extract a key. It was for my chastity device and, seconds later, she had undone the lock and was yanking the cage off from its swollen inhabitant.
Instantly, my organ stood rigidly to attention. I could see it from my prone position and it was glistening in precum. She noticed as well, and gave me a grin before unwrapping a condom and gently pulling it over my erection. “We don't want a mess on the ceiling, do we?” she explained, giggling.
The condom in place, she wrapped her fingers around my shaft and seductively stroked it up and down, touching the sensitive glans as she went. Despite the desensitising effect of the thin latex, I was very soon on edge. She knew how to tease, and she expertly gauged how close I was to coming. Time and time again, she brought me almost to the point of no return before loosening her hold, leaving me thrusting against the frictionless air. Then she would again rub her fingers sensually along the length of my erection, pausing at the glans to entice me to come, before again backing off.
I was desperate to empty myself of my load and I began to wonder if she was just teasing and wouldn't permit me to climax. But I was wrong. After many minutes of playing with me, she applied exactly the right pressure, at exactly the right place, for exactly the right length of time for me to reach the point where ejaculation was a certainty. She continued to massage me as I experienced one of the most powerful climaxes of my life. Semen explosively spurted out like lava from a volcano, pulsating into the end of the condom, stretching it, and pushing back on my glans, almost back into my urethra.
Even as my ejaculation was nearing completion, she continued to fondle my now ultra-sensitised glans, massaging me so that I was drained of the last drop of jism. It was an amazing sensation, and she had been correct when she had previously told me that she did a good hand job.
After taking a couple of minutes to recover, I saw that my penis was beginning to go limp, and weight of semen at the end of the condom was dragging it down. Laura carefully peeled off the protection, not losing a drop, and commenting, “We can't let this go to waste, can we?”
A wave a nausea passed through me on hearing those words because I knew exactly what she was expecting. “Have you tasted spunk before, Stevie?” she asked.
“Oh God, no, Miss. I'm sure it would make me throw up. Please don't make me drink it. It'll make me ill.” I was gripped with a sense of terror at what lay in store.
“Rubbish! Men expect women to swallow it all the time, and they don't get ill. I reckon it's a health food.” The smile she was trying to conceal told me that she didn't quite buy into that. “Besides, the government encourages us to recycle!” Her faint smile turned into a broad grin.
“I'm sure I'll vomit if you make me, Miss,” I pleaded. “Please don't, please!” Did I have a safe word I could use? No! We had never discussed one—but neither had we discussed bondage or me consuming my jism.
She stared at me sympathetically. “I know what, as this is your first time, I'll make it more palatable for you.” With that, she picked up the thong she had wearing all day, and placed it alongside my head, the small gusset uppermost. There was no pantiliner and her secretions had been absorbed by her panties. I was sure that she had prearranged this and, on getting dressed that morning, she had planned how my day would end. As I lay there, restrained, I was comforted by the scent her heavenly juices.
I watched as she emptied the contents of the condom onto the crotch of her thong and rolled the garment into a small ball, before saying, "Open wide, sweetie!"
Reluctantly, I did so, and she pushed the sodden knickers into my mouth. “I want them cleaned,” she instructed, “so start drooooooling and suuuuucking.” She dragged out the words, and then taunted me by sensuously licking her lips, while smiling, her eyes sparkling.
I gagged a couple of times, but using willpower, I managed to overcome my fear and I stopped myself from ejecting the soiled garment from my mouth. The prominent taste was that of my semen, but I felt her intentions were well meant, and the blend with her nectar was rather like sucking a sweet in an attempt to take away the taste of an unpleasant medicine.
“Keep sucking,” she encouraged, eagerly. “Move your tongue around to extract all the goodness. You need to get used to the taste, poppet.” It was evident this was to become a regular occurrence, but not one I could ever see myself relishing.
However, I did what I could to absorb what was on the crotch. Helpfully, she was still stark naked, which was a useful distraction. So much so, that my penis was starting to stiffen again.
She chose to ignore my arousal, and continued talking, explaining that I mustn't expect to receive a hand job every time I pleasured her. “It'll be no more often than every two weeks, Stevie. And longer if you've been disobedient or not met my expectations. Understood?”
I nodded, which was all I could do under the circumstances.
“Goooood boy,” she remarked, making me squirm. “After all, this is not a relationship where we are on equal terms, but I guess a bright lad like you has worked that out.” Yes, I had, very much so.
Eventually, she decided that her undies must be clean enough and she signalled to me to open my mouth before she gingerly extracted the sodden item. “Nice job, poppet,” she remarked, after examining them.
She then went into the kitchen, returning with a bag of ice cubes to shrivel my penis so that she was able to reattach my chastity cage. “Go and take a shower,” she instructed. “Make sure to squirt water through the cage to clean it thoroughly. While you're doing that, I'll get dressed and cook dinner.”
Not for the first time, the rest of the evening was spent doing things that “normal” couples do, including playing a game of Scrabble. At 11 PM I left behind this surreal existence to return home for the night. I was experiencing things that were beyond my comprehension—they were mentally and physically testing, but I had no regrets that Laura had decided to befriend me. I was a lucky man!
oooOOooo
Another week or so passed by, and Laura and I were seeing each other almost daily, often spending time at her flat or else going to restaurants, pubs or the cinema. My relationship with her was cementing together fast. Clearly, it wasn't a conventional relationship, but what was developing suited us both and we were spending more and more of our free time together. Love between us was blossoming, though neither of us had yet described it as such.
She continued to tease and embarrass me at every opportunity. Invariably, she would expect me to pocket a tampon for her (“Just in case I'm early,” she would explain) and a spare pantiliner (“I like to stay fresh!”). She began to expect this service even if she was carrying her capacious handbag and I was too infatuated with her to risk objecting.
Occasionally, we saw each other at university, when Laura wasn't busy with lectures or lab practicals, and my head wasn't buried in scholarly tomes in the library. Sometimes, there would be others present when we met but, fortunately, none of our friends yet suspected there was anything unusual in our relationship. Nevertheless, I was always on edge when we were with company.
Yet, I had still to give her a cuddle, let alone explore her body with my hands. After overstepping the mark at the cinema, and being made to write a grovelling letter of apology, I had been cautious about initiating physical contact. However, now that I had pleasured her using my mouth, and she had given me a wonderful hand job, surely she would not object to me putting an arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer to me. How wrong I was!
We were in her flat, and it was an innocent gesture, or so I thought, no different to what any two friends might do. I simply placed my arm around her back and rested my hand on her shoulder.
“What do you think you're doing, Stevie?” she yelled, pushing me off. “Stop groping me!”
“Sorry... sorry, Miss,” I replied, “I wasn't groping you.”
“That's what it seemed like. Your hand was making its way to my boob! You wanted to cop a feel!”
“No, no, I didn't!”
"What?! You don't want to feel my breasts?" She had once more chosen to twist my words.
“Of course I'd like to feel your... your breasts, but that wasn't what I was doing. I respect you, Miss.”
“What would your mother say if she knew you went around touching up women?”
“Well, she... she wouldn't be happy, Miss, but I wasn't doing that.”
“You must think it's okay to paw me whenever the fancy takes you. To molest me! Yes?”
“No, Miss, you misunderstand me.”
“I understand you perfectly, Stevie. You want to exert male dominance over me. You're reverting to the classic male phenotype, thinking you can take advantage of a woman whenever the fancy takes you.”
“No! That's not what I was doing. I'm sorry, Miss. It won't happen again, so please forgive me. I...”
“You said last time that it wouldn't happen again, but it has. I think you need to learn a lesson, don't you. What do you suggest?”
“Sorry... I don't know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. How do I teach you a lesson that women are not sex objects to be abused by men?”
I guessed she was winding me up, but I also knew that this episode would not conclude until I had agreed to accept some punishment. “Er..., I could write you another letter of apology, Miss.”
She snorted, dismissing my suggestion with contempt. “That would be a waste of time. The last letter didn't achieve anything. You need a more physical lesson, don't you think?”
I could see where the conversation was heading. “Er... perhaps I need to be spanked, Miss? That would teach me a lesson.”
“It might do, but I've a better suggestion! You should be caned. This is a second offence, after all.”
“Caned?!” I couldn't believe what I was hearing. A spanking would be painful, but it also had erotic elements. But a caning sounded as if it would be sheer pain.
“Yes, caned—what do you say that?”
“I've... I've never been caned. Surely it would hurt, Miss?” What was I saying?
“Good grief, of course it would hurt! It wouldn't do much good if it didn't hurt. You can be so dim sometimes. Do you accept that you deserve to be punished for what you did to me?”
Well, obviously I didn't. A caning was disproportionate to the “offence”, if it could be called that. But, needless to say, I replied in the affirmative. “Thank you, Miss, yes, I deserve to be caned.”
A smile broke across her face. “My thoughts, exactly, poppet. Get your clothes off, all of them! When I come back, I expect to find you naked, and touching your toes.”
It surprised me—yet didn't surprise me—that Laura should own a cane. I imagined I was not the first boyfriend she had punished in that way.
With nervous excitement, I quickly stripped naked. I knew from the previous spanking that this was going to be a painful experience, yet my manhood seemed ignorant of what was to happen and was already pushing against its restraints.
She had gone to her bedroom, and returned carrying a fearsome looking rattan cane. If I was nervous before, then now I was nearly shaking. It didn't help that I was stark naked and she was fully clothed. I felt very vulnerable.
Smiling, and within sight of me, she brought the cane heavily down on the seat of an armchair, sending up a cloud of dust. “As this is your first time, I'll go easy and just give you three strokes.”
Three strokes! She moved around to one side of me. I braced myself, and I felt her rest the cane across my buttocks and then raise it. Seconds later I heard a swoosh, followed an instant later by what seemed like a knife cutting through my flesh. Instinctively, I screamed out, “Aarrgghh!” But the pain had not done with me because that initial sharp spike was soon replaced by an intense throbbing. I gulped and breathed heavily, riding the pain.
“Good boy,” she assured me. “You took that well.”
Very soon, she placed the cane on my bottom again, this time a little lower. Then there was the familiar swoosh as the instrument landed a second time. Again, I screamed out. I wasn't sure I could take a third. I started to stand up, but she pressed down on my back.
“Only one more to go, poppet. Don't spoil things by standing up, otherwise we'll have to start again, won't we?”
The third stroke was perhaps the harshest. I struggled to retain my stance and process the pain. Tears were welling up in my eyes. But at least it was over, although I suspected this was the first of many such occasions when she would choose to misinterpret some innocent gesture on my part and would decide I merited being caned.
“Stand up, poppet,” she instructed.
I stood up straight, being careful not to rub my tender bottom as I knew she would not approve of that.
“Did that hurt?” she asked, unnecessarily.
“Yes... yes, it did. My bum's throbbing, Miss.”
“Hmmm, yes, you have three distinct stripes so it will hurt for a while. Just give it a few days and you'll be as right as rain again. OK?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Now, do you think you need some quiet time to reflect on your behaviour, muffin?” she enquired, looking at me.
“Er?”
“Where could you have some quiet time, eh?” she said, winking and encouraging me to think.
The penny dropped, and I knew what she wanted. “Shall I go and face the wall, Miss?”
She nodded her agreement, adding, “And...? And what?”
“And put my hands on my head, Miss?”
“Gooood boy! You're learning, so there's hope for you yet. Spend the time reflecting on how you might improve your behaviour towards women. We'll talk later.”
Red-faced from her condescending remarks I adopted the required position and stood there while she sat relaxing in an armchair. She could see me, but I couldn't her. It was probably half-an-hour before I was told to step away from the wall and get dressed.
“So, what have you learnt today, poppet?” she asked.
“Er..., I've learnt that I must not touch women inappropriately, Miss.”
“Good boy! You must wait for a lady to take the initiative, sweetie. Your mother should have told you this. You're not a cave man, expecting to have your way with a woman whenever the fancy takes you.”
What she said was blatantly untrue of me, but I knew better than to argue. “No, Miss. Sorry!”
“We'll say no more about it, but I will be very disappointed in you if it turns out you've not learned your lesson.”
She had made it clear that any contact between us was her call, not mine. Yes, I did pleasure her with my mouth, something she thrived on, but apart from holding hands with her and giving her pecks on the cheek, I had not otherwise touched her skin.
“May I ask a question, Miss?” I asked, tentatively.
“Yes, of course you can, sweetheart. What is it?”
“Have you ever been caned?”
She chortled, “Good grief, no! Only naughty people get caned, and I'm never naughty.” She gave me the sweetest of smiles, as if to confirm that she was innocence personified.
