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."