Enjoying My boy

Literotic asexstories – Enjoying My boy by DeeFisher,DeeFisher
It was late as we entered the foyer of the apartment building and called for the lift. Having been out for dinner we had found our way to the canal-side and strolled for a time. I’d forgotten how swiftly the clock moves when spending time with Tom. Whilst not the greatest conversationalist it wasn’t difficult to enjoy the urban twilight with him, hands interlaced and our walking interspersed by occasional long, lingering kisses on the waterside. We had clocked up a couple of miles before realising we needed to call a taxi, lest we really overstretch the evening. Besides, my feet ached in the heels I’d chosen, never expecting to have stayed out for so long.

The ding of the lift brought me back from my reverie and I allowed him to usher me through the door. In the enclosed space the scent he wore – something by Atelier Materi – became more heady and I smiled at him as I pulled him in close for another kiss.

“I’ve had a lovely evening, thank you for spending time with me”, I tell him as I break away to push the button for my apartment. He smiles, his slightly smaller stature meaning that his face tilts marginally upwards as he gently removes his palm from my face.

“You are most welcome, it’s always wonderful to be out and about with you” he replies politely, and we turn to the closing door, nestled closely together in the small lift. It’s only three floors to my apartment and we spend it in comfortable silence, my mind already turning to our imminent arrival. I’m amused, mulling over the image we present in public – a relaxed and gentle couple prone to protracted gazes and soft handholds. Appearances rarely convey the full truth, however, and already my mind is swimming with the potential fun we might have once secluded privately.

At my front door I pass him my key and wait for him to release the lock. The threshold of my hallway beckons, a lamp already illuminating the plush interior and the shimmering gold of damask wallpaper – I always did have decadent taste. Tom moves inwards and I follow, closing the door behind me before shrugging off my coat. I let it drop knowing that it won’t hit the floor… or it better not.

Tom catches and hangs my coat in the hallway armoire and I move past him into the lounge. I hear him place the door key in the pot on the sideboard and then his footsteps following behind me. I take up residence on one of the two armchairs, my short dress riding up beneath me as I settle into the padded green velvet. Tom fetches a glass of water from the kitchen and places it on the coffee table beside me before sinking to all fours in front of me.

“Your footstool, Mistress” he says, eyes downcast, his jacket removed but still in shirt and tie. I love a man in formal attire and I feel a smile tug at my lips as I lift my legs, one heel leaving a slight scuff on his shirt as I stretch out a little before crossing my legs at the ankles, their weight entirely balanced on him.

“You’re right, my feet ache after that walking. I wouldn’t have worn these shoes if I’d known we weren’t just dining then returning.”

Tom leans away, moving my legs from his back to his lap before slipping each shoe off, kissing them before neatly storing them under the table. He turns his attentions to my feet, picking my left foot to start with, pressing circles around my ankles and then under the ball of my foot. It’s blissful, just the right side of tickling, and as the friction increases he starts to move up my leg to gently smooth up my calf and back down again before returning to my heel. My right foot finds its way to his crotch and I nuzzle my toes against his trousers, feeling the rippled steel of his chastity cage beneath them. The physical reminder of my ownership of him sends a deep, needful burst of pleasure straight to my clit. My boy knows this, of course. He may wish to please me by rubbing one of my feet, but he knew full well where my neglected foot would travel, and what it would find.

He continues for a while before delicately switching limbs, placing my left leg over his shoulder this time as he lifts my right from his crotch and into his hands. A deep intake of breath and I relax into the chair while my boy works his magic, relaxing yet stimulating – a paradoxical delight. His fingers knead and stretch, pushing and circling until the restraints of my heeled shoes are a distant memory.

Eventually he dips his face to the inside of my ankle.

“May I?” his breath is hot there, his lips hovering over my skin. Once over the threshold of my house there is a rule held in high regard – no lips on my skin without express permission.

“Yes, you may. But first”, I mull over my options before reaching down and grabbing him by the tie, pulling him sharply up and closer to me before running my fingers over his jawline. “Tie and shirt off, you are inappropriately dressed I think”.

I watch as he removes his tie, neatly folding and placing it on the floor. He’s purposeful and methodical, my boy, and I like to watch the cufflinks snap through their holes before he puts them into his trouser pocket. Each button undone is a step closer to excitement, his perfume echoing in the air again as he removes his shirt. A hairy chest – my favourite – and not too slender a torso… his physique is delightful, a real treat for my eyes.

Tom twists round to open the draw beneath the coffee table and I kick out, slamming the draw shut and nearly snapping his fingers as I do so.

“Ask for it, where are your manners? I told you to take your shirt and tie off but nothing else was instructed”

“Please Mistress, my apologies. Please may I wear my collar?”

“Not good enough”. My boy has some intoxicating words in his vocabulary but sometimes he doesn’t volunteer them without encouragement. A shame.

“Please, Mistress, this boy begs for a collar”.

I put my foot back on his crotch and push down, pressing hard into his groin. Heel down now, crushing that chastity cage into his body then sliding it down. I imagine the discomfort and feel that thrill again, a gentle burning developing between my thighs.

He pants a little, although only briefly. “Mistress, I’m so sorry. You deserve a boy ready for Your usage, I am lacking. Please, I beg You, could You consider collaring me for Your pleasure?”

“Better. You know I like it when you’re polite.” I look down at my kneeling boy and put my foot back on his crotch. “How is my favourite toy feeling right now?”

“Sore, Mistress, as You know it would be while I wear Your jewellery on it. I’m trying not to get hard, but it’s pulling on my balls as I get excited, it’s tight and really squashing me. I’m swelling uncomfortably as things get tighter”. That heady mix of factual accuracy and conversation really does make me yearn for him, and I love the contrast of his sexual message juxtaposed with such formal communication. A shared fondness we both enjoy.

“Do you like the cage I make you wear?”

“I love it Mistress, thank You”. His eyes lift and meet mine, he’s telling me the truth. He isn’t masochistic but some level of permanent discomfort really seems to entertain him, a reminder of me when we aren’t together.

“Good. I like that. Now you may get your collar, and fetch cuffs – single cuffs, not a pair of joined handcuffs. Bring me lube and a butt plug too, you can choose which one. And I want a carabiner – just one.”

I watch as he rises, goes straight to the bedroom and returns with two leather cuffs, silicone lubricant and a steel carabiner. In his mouth he holds a plain yet quite sizeable plug. He kneels, places the items on my lap then retrieves his collar from the coffee table draw. It always lives there, close to hand, often the first thing to go on when he comes to my house, the last thing to be removed.

“Hands”. His arms are offered up, palms upwards, while I buckle each cuff in place in turn.

“Turn round, hands behind your back”. I notice a slight flicker on his face. “Were you about to pout?”

“No, Mistress. I know how much You dislike a boy who pouts or frowns”. There’s a tone in his voice however that lets me know that hands behind his back isn’t really where he hoped I’d put them. He knows too that I will hear this tone, he likes me to hear that slight defiance without being so obvious that he might earn punishment. I enjoy it too. I admire his back for a moment, hesitating on purpose for a little longer than is comfortable for him, letting him feel my closeness as I increase his vulnerability. I plant a delicate kiss on his neck as I buckle his cuffs in place.

“That’s good then,” I say as I eventually clip one cuff to the other, his hands in the small of his back, “because you’re right, I don’t like a sullen boy.” I lean in, the collar now in my hands, the soft black leather boasting a slight stuffed padding along top and bottom. Lifting it around his neck I buckle him into it then pull him by it slowly but firmly as he leans further back on his haunches, still facing away from me.

I stand up and with his collar firmly in my hand, bend him over until his face presses against the carpet, his hands behind his back. If I’d not held him, he would have faceplanted the floor no matter how good his core strength. He coughs, just once, but it lets me know that he trusted me completely to guide him down and had leaned into his collar rather than bracing his body.

“Spread those legs a little, I want to see you.” He shuffles, no doubt feeling a slight burn on the knees from the carpet until I’m rewarded with a view of his perfectly clean arse, and through his legs those swollen balls dangling from beneath the cock cage. I apply lubricant to that most intimate of places on him then work a finger inside, ignoring the muffled squeak from him as I probe. On all fours is always my favourite way to play with his arse, as my finger-pad naturally rubs over his prostate as I reach and stretch. The timbre of those muffled noises lowers and I continue longer than is strictly necessary before removing my finger and pressing the tip of the buttplug to his arsehole. I add another squirt of lube and begin to push, using a gentle but persistent thrusting motion until he relaxes enough to settle back onto the toy’s girth. Soon enough it lodges itself inside him, the base an attractive black hook shape that I manoeuvre to align with the crease between his buttocks. I can’t resist, I give him a teasing slap before hoisting him back to vertical. As I stand behind him I reach and push my finger into his mouth and wait for him to clean it, before I settle back into the armchair.

“Now you can use your lips on me. I want to orgasm on them, and just them – no hands, no toys.”

Tom turns, ungainly with his hands tethered. He has to move each leg in turn repeatedly to prevent himself from topping over, hemmed in by the coffee table and my armchair. The manoeuvre is ugly and contrasts against the visual appeal of my boy in his collar and I’m reminded how much I enjoy this – how horny just seeing him slightly hobbled makes me. I place one leg on the floor, behind his bent knee, the other over the velvet fabric of the arm on the armchair, splaying open. I lean forwards to dip a finger behind his collar and pull his face straight in to my crotch, my dress and underwear preventing direct contact. For a while I simply enjoy the hot, wet breath through those two layers – the black satin of my knickers and the stretched jersey of my dress – my hand now behind his head while I feel my boy wriggling somewhat breathlessly against me. I wait until his breathing slows before releasing him, lifting my dress and hitching it around my waist, then reposition myself so that he can begin in earnest.

“Mistress, Your boy does need to breathe from time to time and I think you might enjoy it more if I can get… closer… to Your cunt?”

“Don’t be cheeky and get to work.”

“Yes, Mistress, You’re not going to remove Your knickers, Mistress?”

In response, I pull him close again and stroke his face, along the side of his forehead and past his ear. “No, you’re going to have to manage with what you can. I want you to work for it, I think it will be fun.”

My boy has life easy when it comes to pleasuring me. All my life my orgasmic abilities have been like a bottle of champagne, only a slight shake and I will pop my cork. This way he will have a harder task on his hands – or his tongue, as his hands were going to remain firmly behind him. I wriggle down a little, a kindness on my part as I know he will get back ache leaning forwards without being able to brace himself.

My boy begins by kissing along the edge of my underwear, up one side, across and down the other hem until the sweep of my buttocks prevents him from dipping further. He takes his time. His cheeks softly pressing against my hidden slit with each individual kiss starting to increase the low-grade burning that has been present since we arrived home and I smile, even with his hands tied my boy knows how best to please me. He reaches as far as he can travel then turns back again, kissing along the hem again but in the opposite direction this time. He knows better than to raise his eyes, they stay downcast and submissive. His nose now, nuzzling into the fabric held so closely against my folds as he leans his face into me, his head stroking my inner thighs. I can feel him inhaling my scent deeply and picture his cock trapped within that cage, the increased discomfort he must feel with the steel preventing his erection. A gentle woman would stop, or release him from that device, but gentle I am not and I move my hand down to trace his head and ears softly, showing my approval.

Softly at first he begins to lick along my slit, the fabric of my panties clinging to his tongue with each lap at my cunt until my knickers saturate. The hot wetness of his mouth joins the wetness of my own juices through the fabric before he then blows onto me, cooling me. Then the pressure of a hot, fat, squashed tongue against me almost painfully slowly from arse to mons now, then more air softly directed over my lips, cool again. He sets up a cycle of this and I feel my eyes close, my shoulders dropping as this rhythmic cycle sets my clit throbbing.

My hands steal upwards to cup my breasts – no bra, just my strappy dress covering them – my nipples hardening as he turns me on. My hip aches a little in this off- kilter position and I shift my weight in the seat. My boy takes this as a cue to change and he begins to lap more swiftly, working his tongue into the fabric, opening me beneath those panties as they become a hindering second skin. Wet fabric now lines the folds of my cunt – my labia slightly exposed on either side, my clit fully dressed but swelling and aching beneath the sodden satin. I consider how my boy’s shoulders must be burning with his arms tied behind, far worse than my hips I’m sure, and this thought triggers another squirm. I contemplate releasing him so that he can circle my thighs with his arms to pull me close… a thought quickly shelved as I notice how tight my nipples feel as I contemplate his discomfort.

I begin to ache, somewhere deep inside my cunt. She’s a greedy beast and already wants something inside her, hard and thrusting. Later. Right now my boy is going to work and bring me off with his oral ministrations and I push the thought of sweaty conjoined bodies back further into my mind.

His tongue snakes insistently, moving down from my clit and along the edge of the elastic repeatedly until it finds a slight purchase, level with the entrance to my cunt. Seeking, my boy deftly pushes under and I feel the flesh of him directly against mine. I shiver, that subtle change in texture having a spectacular effect on my arousal. Pushing insistently with his tongue he can’t move the fabric all the way to the side but the tip slithers sufficiently underneath to run over my labia. The fabric nudges upwards too, the elastic settling tightly against the side of my clit with a slight pinch. I gasp, this direct pressure is enough to push me much closer to the edge, close enough to squirm on his face. Tom notes this, of course, and repeats his technique on the other side of my knickers. It takes three attempts but his tongue finally slips under the other edge of my panties and the elastic coarsely slips against the other side of my clit as his tongue reaches under. This is enough to bring me rapidly to the edge of climax, my eager body never unappreciative of such efforts, my already breathless hunger drawing to sharp focus. The tremors of my impending orgasm shiver over me as I feel him nipping at the fabric, tongue then lashing as finally he has the freedom to flicker over my swollen, pink clit.

I pant and lift my hips to meet him as the sensation of my climax finally bursts, washing over me from that tiny, buzzing little bud. He holds his head firm, tongue out and flat against me and I can’t help but thrust my hips up and down, setting natural pace with the waves that break over me, head thrown back as a guttural moan escapes my lips. Clawing at the armchair I squirm on his face. Only as my pleasure subsides does my boy return his tongue to his mouth, his eyes now daring to lift and check that his Mistress is pleased with him. He nuzzles against my thigh as I shift and settle back into my seat.

“Do You want me to continue, Mistress?”

“No, that will do for now.” I stroke his face with genuine affection for a while as I catch my breath, enjoying the way he presses his face to my palm. I contemplate slapping him, I’d like to see how startled he would be as he relaxes, but think better of it. There are better ways to hurt him, more satisfying ways.

“Let’s get you out of your cage. I want to play with my toy. Be a dear and crawl to my bedside table, return with my keys”. Tom turns, and waits as I unclasp his hands so that he can do as he’s told. I watch him roll his shoulders upon release, the flex of the neck as his shoulders move forwards. He briefly squeezes his upper arms before setting off, on all fours as directed. I watch his arse as he crawls off, the snake of his hips and sway of his buttocks. I stand and slip my sodden knickers down and off then lift my dress over my head to leave me completely naked. A mirror shows me what my boy will find on his return – curves, ample breasts with pert pink nipples, skin that has been smoothed with tuberose scented creams. I hear him come back to the lounge as I bend and lift my panties from the floor, dropping them onto the neat pile of his shirt and tie.

“Lie down” I say, and my boy lies flat on his back immediately. His cock is swollen, the chastity cage held away from his body, his balls somewhat swollen with the pressure being forced backwards through the ring of the cage base. I take the little key from his hands and straddling his torso to face his feet I deftly twist the tiny release before easing the cage front from his cock. Indentations from the cage crisscross his penis as it unfurls, and I grab him roughly, knowing that as the blood flow begins to flood in, after such entrapment this will cause him discomfort as much as pleasure. The base-plate – a cock ring with prongs upon which the cage sits – makes a pretty sight. It can be tricky to remove if a boy is fully hard, and I can see my toy is swelling rapidly. Avoiding the prongs I deftly smack him full force over the scrotum, without warning, and beneath me he bucks. He knew I would do this, or some other painful trick, but he can’t help but react and I do it again, hard, and am rewarded with another grunt and shudder. He does not verbally complain.

Gathering my left hand around the base of his scrotum I tighten my grip and squeeze, forcing his testicles down until his scrotum begins to become taut. I can hear him whimper, softly but it was there, and then I pinch that delicate skin, pinch and twist and pinch. Using my forefinger and thumbnail I mark him, tiny blanching kisses that then flush to red, before smacking him sharply again. A fierce intake of breath from underneath me, and I repeat, noticing how my cunt is smearing his chest with my juices. That hairy chest, just the right texture to tease my clit again, refreshing my hunger.