I Have An Idea Ch. 05

She cradled his face in her hands and kissed it softly from eye to eye to lips to nose to chin to ear and each cheek. "I'm so sorry. I'm so very sorry. Next time wake me up!"

"Please," Jim begged, "please don't apologize. It ruins it. I feel like I did something amazing for you. I feel like I was punished and that I did it. I did a good job and if you say you're sorry, it makes me feel like I did something wrong."

She withdrew, physically retreated a step and stared at him, studying his face. It flooded through her, the thought, the feeling, the overwhelming realization. He's mine. He belongs to me. He wants to belong to me. He's . . . he's my slave now. I've turned him into my slave.

She swallowed and tried not to let it dissolve her into a giant puddle of arousal, begging for him to ram his cock through every part of her.

Self-control.

She sighed and smiled and hugged him. He kissed her belly softly and moaned with pleasure, his hands finding her ass and gripping until they almost hurt.

He loves my ass. I bet I could control him with it, just the sight of it.

She blushed and pushed him away.

"Okay, are you feeling better?"

He nodded heavily.

"Good, because we're not quite finished here, are we?"

He gulped, his eyes flitting up to meet hers.

"You owe me an apology and a thank-you."

He nodded. "Yes, Ma'am.

It nearly killed her to watch him lower himself to his still throbbing knees, but she bit her tongue, feeling herself aroused beyond belief. He was suffering for her, because she said so.

It gave her ideas.

* * *

She sat stunned, feeling abandoned.

'What do you mean?'

Her friend, her mentor, her relationship savior-texted her back. 'I just don't have the experience to help you any further.'

'What kind of experience do you need?' Her friend, her savior had made the first contact. She had reached out to Ella, after noticing her comment on the Divine Tantra forum.

'You were asking about when does it stop? What's next? I told you everyone has their own stopping point. Well, my husband and I stopped about where you are now. I mean, we didn't stop, but it was like our plateau. We're happy with where things are, but the way you're describing things makes me think you want to take your relationship further. I just don't have that kind of experience, but I know someone who does, and I think she can help you.'

She crossed her arms and fumed. She was about ready to quit the whole site and conversation and everything. Except that she still felt she needed advice and didn't know where to get it. She'd done a little research and all the sites seemed to involve dressing up leather or latex and harassing her husband in degrading ways while beating the shit out of him. She could not fathom going down that road. 'I don't understand why you're just running away from me like this. You're the one that talked me into it all.'

There was a frowny face and a reply. 'I promise you I'm not running away. I'm not leaving you. We're friends. We'll always be friends. You've made me feel so wonderful because I've been able to help and it's gone so well. I'm so happy for you. I'll still be here, I just want to pass your name to someone who is even more experienced than me. In fact, she's the one who contacted me and saved my relationship. Please . . give her a chance. I promise. She will amaze you.'

Ella was uncertain, and more than a little hurt, but what could she do?

It only took a day before she got a text from her new mentor.

She wanted to not like her, but she was likeable. She wanted to disbelieve her, but she was so knowledgeable. They chatted like old friends for almost an hour, about the Divine Tantra site, about relationships, about men, about shower curtains, about children, about women, about their mutual friend. . . .

Begrudgingly, Ella had to admit she liked her new friend. She had a different voice, a different style, but it was obvious she knew what she was talking about, and she said things that made Ella's head spin.

Ella brought up her fears and concerns of what had happened when she accidentally left Jim kneeling while she fell asleep.

Her new friend was unsympathetic. 'He could not be happier with himself.'

Head spinning, Ella replied, 'But . . I hurt him.'

'Not in any serious way. You said there has been no lasting damage. It's taught you two valuable lessons. One, you need to be cautious about your treatment of him. Whenever he's in subspace like that, he may find it difficult to tell you he's being hurt.'

Ella thought about the term, subspace. She knew what it meant even without having to ask, but it was still a clunky, foreign word in her brain.

'Two,' her new mentor continued, 'Jim has told you he likes pain. He wants to suffer for you.'

'I don't know that he is actually telling me wants pain. It was an accident. I screwed up.'

'You certainly did, but that is exactly what he is telling you. I would recommend setting up a regiment of weekly pain trials for him. It will let him suffer for you, bring him deeper into submission for you, and generally make him more pliable to your wishes.'

Ella's cheeks burned, her face felt hot and tight. 'Pain trials?' She wanted to ask what in the Hell her friend was talking about, but there was a division in her heart, an absolute contradiction of feelings. She was both repulsed and aroused by the idea of purposefully causing Jim to hurt.

'It can be anything. There are stress positions you can make him adopt. Those are easy and they require little effort on your behalf. You ask him to assume a position, let him feel how hard it is, how much it hurts, then you gently, sweetly ask him how long he thinks he can maintain it for you. Set a timer. Whatever he says, hold him to it, then when the time is done, tell him it would please you if he continued longer, but that he can stop now if he wants to. You'll be amazed. It always sends me into supreme Topspace when my little slave-hubby works so hard to please me far beyond the time he originally promised. Plus, it has toned up his body so nicely. Yum.'

Ella felt almost sick with desire. As exciting, as much as it made part of her tingle, it seemed so cruel, so wrong to subject Jim to such a thing. 'I see.'

'Or,' her friend continued, while Ella silently pleaded with her both to stop and continue, feeling overloaded, 'you can just reduce him to a little puddle of submission by giving him weekly spankings, good hard spankings, not light fun things, spankings that remind him of you for the next few days, every time he puts his pink bottom down on a chair. You'll be amazed at how well behaved he becomes. lol'

She truly did not know what to think about it all.

She truly did not know what to think of her new mentor.

She truly did not know what to think about her sopping panties as she thought, 'I could never do that,' which was followed by the though, 'But I want to.'

* * *

Jim had stopped sitting on the couch. Ella wondered if she had somehow ordered that. Was that what she wanted? Had he interpreted her intent that way? In some ways, Jim was getting so good at reading her, he was actually responding to things she didn't know she even wanted.

After a long thoughtful period, mostly while watching him fixing her purse with a rivet kit, on his knees in the living room, she realized how excited she was. He felt his place was beneath her, not beside her.

He knelt before the couch or he sat on the floor. Sometimes she would pat his head or stroke the hair on the back of his neck like a house pet. She would drape her legs over his shoulders and blush with fire in her cheeks when he sweetly turned his head and kissed the inside of her knee, pressing his nose into her skin and inhaling.

His fantasies, his behavior had become alarmingly submissive.

At her new mentor's request, she began to draw his fantasies from him. She'd always been interested, had always asked, but now she pressed, now she forced them from him, coerced them from him under extreme duress. After stroking him, bringing him to the edge of orgasm time after time after time, she had gazed him square in the eyes and compelled him to start talking. In his extreme agony and ecstasy, all of his little dreams, hopes, fears and desires had simply come spilling out of his lips.

He dreamed of being her slave. He dreamed of being locked in a collar with her holding the chain. He talked about pictures he'd found on the internet that spoke to him. He dreamed of being tied up and hurt by her, for her pleasure, for her amusement.

Her dreams were not quite so intense, but they were being fed by his fantasies. They were certainly more decadent than they'd ever been.

When he was on his knees, naked, hard, head bowed, cheeks flushed, she could feel the waves of submission flowing off of him, gathering and charging her. When he became still and quiet, he shuddered with every soft word she spoke.

Every time she thought she'd found his bottom, he seemed to go deeper for her. Every time she thought she'd attained the most control she could have over him, he gave her more. It was intoxicating and she was becoming a willing power-holic.

She ran her fingers through her hair and he shuddered. "Why do you call me 'Ma'am'?"

It took him a moment to gather his thoughts and the strength to speak them. "I . . . don't know what else to call you, Ma'am."

"Hmm," she smiled, sauntering around him, her legs and her heels so close to him that they penetrated his every waking thought, "Ma'am makes me feel like an old woman."

He knelt in utter silence.

She wondered aloud. "What would you like to call me?"

He shuddered.

She stopped before him, placed a finger under his chin and turned his face upward. The look in his eyes melted her. She wanted him in a way she had never wanted a man before. She wanted to consume him, to swallow him whole, to have him inside her, consuming her. She wanted him to belong to her. Utterly.

He blinked rapidly. "There are . . . sites that I've looked at. Forums and other places."

"Send them to me."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Tell me about them."

"They're not harsh like you said you don't like. There are a few forums with women, married and housewives and other women. I've been on there, talking about us. They have asked me if you would join, and I'd like you to, but on there, the men call the women . . . Mistress."

She took a firm hold of his chin and rubbed the tip of her nose with his for a moment. "You've been talking about me, about us?"

He nodded. "Good things, amazing things, but looking for advice, yes, Ma'am."

She gave him a stern look. "I most certainly will join, and I will read every comment you made and until I do, you are not to touch those sites, not a single . . . stroke." She ran her fingernail down the length of his nose, emphasizing her instruction. "I don't want you second-guessing yourself, changing your posts until I have had a chance to read them."

He nodded as much as her firm hand would allow, his eyes bright and sparkling. "Thank you."

"And about this Mistress business. We'll see. That sounds like a privilege to me. It sounds like something you have to earn. Perhaps, when I locked your cock away and take the key, perhaps that will be kind of like a collar for now."

His eyes glazed over with hope. "I'd . . . I'd love that . . Ma'am."

She raised one eyebrow and smiled when she saw him melt under her gaze. "I said . . . perhaps."

She sauntered away to the window and gazed out at the Sunset. She felt him behind her, like a rock of molten lava, the heat, the energy, the need, the lust filling the shrinking room.

"Jim," she whispered quietly, "what if . . . ." She could barely make her lips form around the words, but the buzzing energy of her power drove her to try. "What if . . . what if I wanted to hurt you?"

After a short silence, his barely audible reply came. "I . . . want that, too."

If it were possible to have an orgasm that was entirely situated in the brain, in the heart, in the seat of emotion, she had one then.

"I have ideas about that," she told him softly and he shuddered with pleasure.

* * *

She had long talks with her mentor. Her long talks led her to things she had not yet thought, to consider things she had not yet considered, and to have ideas. Lots of ideas.

She had made a decision. She had not told Jim about it. Not yet. She was sticking her foot in the water to see if it would scald her or soothe her.

Jim hated laundry. It was the one thing he found a way around, her laundry and his own. With her new mentor's guidance, she decided to try an experiment.

First, she teased him. She took him aside on a Sunday, after their discussion of how things were going, which was uneventful. They both were happy with where things where. He'd asked when he would be allowed to cum. She told him he would cum when she decided it, and not before, but that she didn't have a date in mind. Did he want a date? He did, but he didn't. At least it was something to look forward to. She chose to compromise. Some time in the next month, which could mean next week or not until the very last minute of the very last day of the month, he would be allowed to cum, on her terms only, and she could change that time or change her mind whenever she wished. He told her it had been five months so far, since he'd touched himself, since he'd had an orgasm.

They'd had a little ceremony to celebrate his chastity belt.

Dinner, candles, drinks, and him naked as they played with it, fitted it, adjusted it.

Then dangling the little brass lock, like a golden trinket, before his eyes, she stood before him grinning. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, flushed. "Yes, Ma'am."

She opened the lock and fiddled with it. "Are you sure you're sure?"

He groaned and nodded, his voice now a whisper. "Yes, Ma'am."

She felt a thrill when she inserted the lock into the little place on his little chastity belt. Before she closed it, she gave him a long, intimate look. "Last chance."

He groaned quietly, and shuddered. After a moment, he nodded.

Click.

They both heard it, both felt it, the thrill, the seal, the deal, the meaning.

She pushed his button (and her own). "Now . . . you're mine. You're little willy belongs to me." She tossed the tiny key across the room in the general vicinity of her purse. His eyes tracked it, was certain she'd never find it again.

It was such fun and she had stayed turned on the entire day. She half wanted to unlock him right then, right there, coat his cock with numbing cream, slap on the condom and have him please her. She chose not to, but enjoyed the lovely feelings of control which seemed to surge through her all the time now. It was no longer significant to feel that surge. She felt it all the time; it was becoming almost routine; and undercurrent of electricity. Less of a thrill, and more a warm, reassuring pulse.

How would she ever live without it?

For the first two weeks, he woke up off and on in the middle of the night, groaning, but never complaining. She would catch him coming back to bed. In the morning, he admitted to standing before the freezer with a bag of frozen peas pressed to his crotch. He smiled when he said it, but she worried a little.

Eventually, he stopped waking up. He knelt before her and she could see his head spinning, his chastity belt filling up, the pain in his eyes as his cock attempted unsuccessfully to grow. His cock had learned its lesson, he told her. It had learned not to grow aroused at night any more. It had learned to grow aroused only when she wanted it to.

Her heart thudded in her chest; her cheeks burned. She couldn't been more in heaven. He had pushed her buttons in a big way, and now she was going to return the favor.

She was going to treat him like a toy, something with which she could play.

Her little experiment started innocently enough.

She paraded around him in a shirt and panties. He was busy, scrubbing the toilet. She shook her head at that. He didn't mind scrubbing toilets, but he didn't want to put her clothes in the washer.

She heard the little telltale signs of his little cock in its little cage giving him a lot of strife. She tried not to let him see her grinning.

"Come here, please," she ordered and he dropped what he was doing and joined her in the living room.

She handed him her items, polish, ridge filler, file, clippers and so on. He held up his hands and she placed each in its place and told him to keep them where she placed them. He was on his knees, naked, waiting patiently. Sitting in her shirt and panties, she started with her left pinky, clipping, filing, pushing back the cuticles, using the cuticle cleaner, the cuticle cream, waiting between applications, sticking her toes under his chin. "Blow." She buffed, applied the ridge filler, stuck her toes up by his face. "Blow." She applied the color. Why was she straining her legs to lift her toes up so high? She placed them on the floor with her toes away from the carpet. "Blow." He fell to his hands and knees dried her toenails. She applied the glossy top coat. "Blow."

She sat back to marvel at her cute red toe nails.

She left him kneeling with her items placed carefully in his raised hands sporting an erection.

She busied herself in the kitchen, putting on the kettle, choosing which tea she wanted to put in the tea ball, waiting for the water the boil while she leaned against a counter. After a long while, because a watched kettle never whistles, she turned off the fire and poured hot water into her cup, watching as the tea ball let out clouds of swirling brown.

She brought her cup of tea back to the couch and was pleased to see Jim still in position. She sipped and smiled at him. "Do you like the way I did my nails?"

His arms were trembling slightly, still holding up her items. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Do you like the color?"

He nodded, his hands lowered for a moment before he strained to lift them back into position. "Yes, Ma'am."

She pouted. "That's it? Just, 'yes, Ma'am'? No compliments?"

He smiled and blushed. "They're incredibly sexy, Ma'am."

His erection had drooped, much to her dismay.

She stood and turned to give him a close up of her bottom, and slipped her panties down.

She peeked at him, enjoying the lust in his eyes and his stiffening cock.

She smiled and brought her panties to his mouth, whispering softly, "Open."

His lips parted and he took her panties into his mouth, letting them drape, letting the soft material rub against his chin. He could smell her on them and it made him lightheaded.

She sat and wriggled her toes beneath his cock.

His eyes twisted with pleasure and he moaned quietly.

In a tone that was barely a tone, she spoke and he listened. "Do you like having my panties in your mouth?"

He nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Mmhmm, I thought you would. Can you smell me on them?"

His cheeks turned pink. "Yes, Ma'am."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really? What does it smell like?"

He moaned and smiled and blushed deeply. "It smells like . . . like you. It smells like heaven."

"Smells like me?"

He nodded.

"That's quite a compliment, smelling like heaven. Could you be more specific though? What exactly does it smell like?"

He swallowed. "It smells like . . . your. . . ." He was too embarrassed to say it.

She leaned forward, expectant, her raised eyebrow raising more. "Like my what?"

He pressed his lips together until they turned white. "Your . . . ."

"My special sexy place?" She giggled.

He breathed with relief. "Yes, Ma'am."

She tapped him on the nose with her finger. "Look at me."

His eyes snapped up and gazed deep into hers.

"I have a chore for you. Would you like that?"

He nodded. "Yes, very much, Ma'am."