After ten minutes locked in heaven, Malissa lifted her bum from my face. It was her doing; I’d happily have spent the rest of my life trapped in there.
“This is like my dad buying me a 99 from Mr. Whippy when I was a kid and having to watch it melt.”
“Don’t try to hold back. It won’t impress me today.” She fell onto my cock with her mouth and gave me a wonderful, no-frills blowjob. I came in minutes. It seemed like pints of the stuff. I was expecting to have it transferred into my mouth and be ordered to eat it, but Miranda swallowed the lot. Only stopping to ask me if I was too sensitive to carry on.
I thought it was fairly obvious, as I was doing my best to escape the attentions of her tongue and lips. “Yes, can I have a few minutes?” She just giggled, said, “No way, Pedro,” then carried on while I squealed like the little kid when the big kid stole his lolly.
When I stopped trying to snap the ropes holding me and Miranda had me bone hard again, she picked up a pump bottle of lube and sat on my tummy, facing me. She touched her waxed lips, and they came away wet with her juice. She giggled again, said, “Well, maybe not then,” and dropped the pump bottle on the floor.
Holding back will impress me no end now. Then she set up a slow rhythm of short grinding strokes, I could do very little to match her. Just lie back and think of England, baby. This is a bonus for you; I was determined this wasn’t going to happen until I got you home.
Miranda ground out two orgasms for herself before mine started to rise. Miranda sensed I was getting near. If you cum before I squeeze another one out, you will be taking your balls home in a jam jar, you bastard. It was a close-run thing, and I blew my second load deep into her pussy while she was still squealing.
Miranda was very near passing out; she lay on me for a good five minutes with my cock softened but still inside her. Finally. She said, “Is it a leap year this year?”
No love next year. But I can ask you.
No. I’m forty-seven years old. Your bearly thirty, I’m mean and selfish; I take and don’t give. You will probably hate me in six months.
You have bought me a pair of nice trainers, a pair of jeans, a tee shirt, a chastity belt that must have cost thousands, a chastity cage that cost hundreds, a tee shirt, and a pair of ladies knickers. Add to that a Costa and a toasted sandwich. In return, I bought you a glass of pispoor white wine! OK, you’ve taken every drip of cum I have to offer for the moment, but you gave me the best slice of honey pie I’ve ever had, so how does this mean and selfish work then?
It doesn’t matter; I’ve got your collar for as long as I can be yours. I don’t care if you won’t marry me as long as I’m your submissive.
What if you were one of my submissives? Keith. Could you share with me?
Ooh, err
Do you think you have the sole right to my pussy? What if I locked you in a cage with that nasty spiky belt and made you watch someone else make me cum?
I don’t know, mistress. I—
There is someone else, but it’s very different.
I think I began to cry. I couldn’t believe this; I thought I’d found the one for me.
I told you I was selfish. I love you both, and if one of you asks me to choose, I will. I swear I will choose the other.
“Is it Duncan?” I asked.
No, you silly boy, it’s a girl. I’m bisexual.
I was still tied to the bed. My cock had softened, but I was still inside Miranda.
Does that make a difference, baby? I think it does. That was a question; it requires an answer.
I don’t know!
It does, and I think you know. As soon as I said it was a girl, you got hard again.
Yes mistress. It makes a difference.
No, it doesn’t, Keith. It makes no difference at all. I’m your master. I decide when you cum, how frequently you cum, and how you cum. If I put this collar on you, then you become my property. Like this van, I don’t ask it to take me on my trips. I don’t let my Jaguar do that either. I pick the one I want to use.
If I want another man, I will take one, and if you truly want to be my submissive, you will be pleased I’ve found someone else as good as you. They will have to be as good as you; I cannot see any man being better. I will concede one thing to you: while you wear my collar, I will never collar another man or want to collar another man. If I did take someone, it would be for a fuck, just a fuck, nothing else. Have you anything to say?
I don’t like the idea of another man inside you, mistress; it will make me very unhappy.
Then why, since we started talking about this, are you absolutely rigid inside me now?
I didn’t have an answer.
Do you have anything more to say? Shall I turn you into a virtual eunuch like Phoebe has turned Skinny Boy? At night, he is locked in his cage, home or away, and listens to Phoebe masterbate or, if she gets lucky, makes love to someone else. I’ve made love to Phoebe with Skinny Boy looking on several times. I’ve watched Phoebe use a 12-inch strap on him.
I gasped at the poor bastard.
“He loves it; it’s his only pleasurable relief these days.” Miranda laughed, “I’ve got a strapon!”
No, please, Mistress, not that.
You’re not only hard; I can feel your cock throbbing inside me. It’s a wonderful lie detector, Subby Boy. I thought you’d like it. Men never admit it, but you’re not on your own; lots do. I’ll be gentle with you. I won’t buy a foot long just yet, not for a week or two. Miranda laughed at my reaction. She instinctively knew exactly where my buttons were and precisely how hard to push them. She just knew.
And then my bastard dick really dropped me in the shit. Without any other stimulation than Miranda contracting her kegel muscles, I came again, and I came fucking hard”.
Well, that ends that argument. Miranda laughed at me. It wasn’t a nasty laugh; it wasn’t at me; it was at my realisation that she knew more about me than I did. My dick was so soft now that she couldn’t hold it, and I just slithered out.
Now she jumped off me and went to one of the lockers on the wall. She pulled out a little purple velvet bag. The same colour velvet that my chastity belt came in said, “I need you to ask me to put your cock in this, and I need you to ask now, properly!
Please, mistress, lock my cock up.
Who’s cock. She gave my balls a slap. Not too hard, but hard enough to ensure my attention.
Your cock, mistress, please put your tube on your cock.
It’s your tube, silly; I bought it as a present for my boy; the key is mine, though. You are forbidden from ever touching it. If you ever feel inclined to even touch my key, just a touch, and I’ll beat you unconscious with my bastard cane.
Three months ago, I bought this. You have part of the set already. I’ve been so looking forward to using it to help me control this monster cock I found.”
I thought my dick was going to be too big for it, but the ring she had bought for me three months ago was no accidental purchase; now it came into play. Miranda offered the tube up to my cock. In the bag was a stainless steel wire with a ring on one end and a hook on the other. She engaged the hook end of the wire in my reverse Prince Albert piercing, using the wire to hold my cock head still while she pushed the tube neatly over my shrunken cock.
It was definitely hers now, and I was along with it. As soon as it was confined, it started to try to grow. Oh no, you don’t, you little bastard,” she said to it. You stay in that cage now until I need your services. There was a hinged ring. She slipped it behind my sack, and when it closed, I felt it lock together with the tube.
I suppose now you think I’ve been planning to trap you for three months, don’t you?
Err, yes, mistress.
Well, you are very wrong. Do you remember 15 years ago when you were in a nightclub in Manchester? You and your friends had just beaten the Kent Colts to win a big final.
“Err, yes, mistress.”
“You were very drunk, but you still managed to get it up for an old married fat lass,” I think you called her.
“Ohh shit”
Don’t worry; you were right. That description fit me perfectly, then. I don’t know if you remember, but you came on my tits when I gave you a blowjob. I wanked you off, and still, despite being pissed out of your stupid teanage head, you still fucked me to orgasm twice.
It was the first time I’d ever orgasmed. You burned my world to the ground.
I’m sorry, Mistress. I didn’t—-
Mistress placed a finger on my lips. Shhh. You woke up my sleeping inner slut that night. Six weeks later, when I couldn’t get my cunt of a first husband to even diddle my clit, I left him. It’s not a nice word, but he was a cunt. He convinced me I was frigid and that I was incapable of getting an orgasm. I told him about you. I told him you fucked me properly, and I screamed in the car until someone came to check if I was OK. Then you got on the coach with your friends and went back to Leeds. I went to just about every rugby club in Yorkshire until one day I saw you watching. You weren’t even playing, but I knew who you were then.
I’ve watched you play dozens of times. More so since you moved to London. When I married my second husband, I married for money. He married for eye candy. I was a trophy wife of sorts. He didn’t fuck me either, for a different reason: he was gay, a gay politician in the family values party. I was his validation. You can find lots of alleged happy couple photos in press libraries.
I was happy, after a fashion. I had money. I was getting fucked, but not by him. Not once was I discreet; I played the game. Then, when he told me he had a year to live, I started to go to rugby matches again.
I used to watch you and fantasise about you. I used to fantasise about your dick. You have no idea how that feels inside a girl. When I sat on it just a little while ago, I didn’t think I was going to be able to take it all. I know it’s silly, but when I was a little girl, my mom called it my penny. I still call it Penny. For the first time in fifteen years, Penny has gone to sleep a happy girl. Penny has friends, though. Katy Clit and Lola Lips That’s where Phoebe normally comes in, so I either give her a call on the Lez Line and you and Skinny Boy can watch, or you start lessons in cunt munching now.
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