I Have An Idea Ch. 06

"Do you feel a little ridiculous?" Ella asked, smirking. She couldn't help herself. She was on a high. She had him. She had him right where she wanted him, and he knew it, and he loved it, almost as much as she did.

His chuckle was short lived. "I feel . . . more than ridiculous."

She raised an eyebrow. He couldn't see it; his head was bowed and he was trembling. "Explain."

It was an order, and it thrilled them both. She hadn't gotten past the guilt of controlling him, but she was enjoying pushing his buttons now. She'd never felt in her life felt anything quite like it. It was an electric current that ran between them: she sent him a charge and he caved into shaky silent submission, which sent a charge back to her. His reaction, his utter submission, was like a mellow burst of lightning from the center of her gut out. Her nipples woke up. Her insides melted, and everything wet knew right where to drain.

"I feel humiliated."

She felt her throat bob. Worry overwhelmed her. Had she taken it too far? She gave a little tug on the leash and watched his cock bob, watch him scoot forward on his knees. The leash was attached to a small ring on his chastity device. She wondered how the little metal cage could withstand his swollen cock; his flesh pressed up against the bars, straining. It was penis prison for the very naughty. Every now and then she could see the whole package throb. Every now and then a long drip would leak from the tip and she could pretend to fuss at him for it. It was yet another button she'd discovered.

"Jim," she started to say, started to apologize, started to spring forward and remove the leash and free him from the cock cage, "maybe we should--"

He shivered. "I'm so . . . totally turned on . . . Mistress."

It exploded within her, from her belly, from her heart, in her brain, pure pleasure. It was like an orgasm, but without the physical convulsions of ecstasy. She was high on him again, on them, on what she was doing to him, on what he was allowing to happen, on what they both wanted to happen.

She whispered because her throat was too dry to work; every thing liquid in her was draining into her panties. She felt the matting of the cotton gusset pressing against her wet swollen lips, barely hidden beneath her short, leather skirt. "Good boy."

He shuddered with pleasure. He parted his lips to speak, but nothing came out.

He was just like her, too aroused to think straight. They were in tune like never before.

She swallowed and tried to get a hold of herself. "Turn--turn around now."

He shuffled on his knees until the leash grew taut. She grinned and gave him a little slack.

"Arms behind you."

He complied, and the fact that he complied made her face hot. It almost seemed involuntary, as if she were in direct control of his body, bypassing his thoughts. If you could've told her six months ago that they would be here doing this, she wouldn't have believed it.

She wrapped rope around his wrists, trapping his arms behind him. They'd considered handcuffs, but Ella felt rope was more romantic. That made her giggle. It shouldn't make sense, but it did. Her friend, her mentor from the Divine Tantra site had sent her links, video instructions on the safety and "how to" of rope bondage. It was because of that website that they had come to this. They'd been on the brink of a break up; now, they couldn't get enough of each other. They'd suffered through awkward, resentful silences; now, they communicated without speaking, through longing gazes and shuddering bodies.

She tied off the knot, sank her hand into his hair and jerked his head back, resting her chin on his shoulder, smelling his sweat, inhaling his maleness. She whispered and felt his trembling start up again as if by her command. "Got'cha."

He stuttered. "Y-yes, Mistress."

She let him go, watched his head quickly snap forward again, back into position, bowed, all nice and worshipful. She sauntered around him, swinging the leash like a jump-rope. "So," she asked, her tone light and musical, "how are we feeling about it all?"

It took him a few moments to collect his thoughts. "Are we--are we having a discussion?"

"Discussion" was Ella's term for when she asked him to be honest and confess what he liked and what he didn't. His likes far outweighed his dislikes, but he had a few of the latter, like asking for the inclusion of keywords for when she texted him at work, so he could let her know when he was free to talk.

She considered it. "Yes, Jim, we're having a discussion, because I'm about do something with you that could be very demeaning, so I'd like to gauge your reaction."

He bowed his head, shuddering at what demeaning thing she or her mentors from the Divine Tantra website had cooked up. "I'm feeling like you could push me much harder. I think you're afraid you'll push me too hard or that you'll hurt me, but I also know you said the other day that you felt responsible for making sure I was safe and happy and enjoying everything, because I might be feeling too submissive to tell you or make a good decision, so I respect that."

She understood very well what he was saying; it was what he'd been saying for awhile now. Desperate, hungry, filled to the brim with lust and utter devotion, he was saying, "I want more."

She jerked his leash and watched his little cock cage bob in response. His head popped up, his eyes catching hers. She grinned and leaned down, patting him on the top of his head. "Good boy, but it's not about what you want, is it?"

Through his eyes she could feel the connection, the longing, the erotic current. She felt like she was a big bad she-wolf that wanted to devour him whole. His eyelids blinked once in slow motion. "No, Mistress."

She could remain this way forever, looking deep into his eyes, getting lost, feeling the compulsive desire to go inside him, to penetrate him, overwhelm him, consume him from the inside out so he would be hers and only hers and forever hers, her property, her "thing", her worshipful object.

She undid the knot on his wrists, unraveled the rope and pointed to a spot beside her. "Hands and knees. Here."

He scrambled forward on all fours, feeling the cool air of the apartment on his naked backside.

She jerked the leash and he let out a soft, little yelp. "Face forward."

He turned, first the wrong way, getting the leash tangled in his arms, then the right way. He knelt, breathing heavily, leaning against her, enjoying the sensation of her silk stockings tickling the hair of his arms.

She looked down and whispered softly, "Didn't I say hands and knees?"

'You never have to yell or demand,' her mentor had told her through an online chat. 'You never have to nag or remind or feel like his mother. You can whisper the softest whisper and he will jump to obey you.'

He dropped to all fours and started to apologize, but she cut him off. "I'm sorry, Miss--"

"Hush. I don't want to hear another word out of you until we're done with your training."

That struck him. Training? What was she training him to do?

He felt her warm hand on his ass. It traveled up his backside and rested on his neck. He let his head sag forward, closing his eyes, enjoying her touch, wincing at the pinch of his cock cage as his erection strained. He risked asking a question. "Mistress, may I ask something?"

She played with the hair on the back of his neck and slipped her fingers up along his scalp, tussling his hair, combing it idly. "Yes, Baby."

"What training?"

She grinned. He was about to find out.

She had been given homework, books to study, techniques to hone. She was about to use them.

She gave him a gentle tug on his leash and softly commanded, "Heel."

His head went light; he realized at once what kind of training he was about to suffer.

She held his leash tight, and he felt in his cock, the metal cage jerking him forward. He had no choice but to follow her, but he had trouble finding her pace right away. He was either too quick or too slow. Either way caused discomfort as the leash tightened and jerked his cock cage.

She stopped at the end of the room, pulled his leash tight, forcing him to crawl around her. She counted silently to ten, let him relax a bit, then tugged his leash again. "Heel."

She walked him back toward the kitchen, feeling him trying to match her pace, drifting behind, getting ahead. She kept the leash just tight enough so that it grew tight when he failed to stay with her. She was doing well, though she felt a little silly, until her mind wandered, mused upon the fact that there was no veil covering this. Her intentions were well known now: she was conditioning him, pure and simple.

When she had first introduced him to the Divine Tantra theory, she hadn't told him he was being conditioned. Perhaps he'd figured it out. He was certainly no dummy. He could spot a woman's manipulations a mile away. Most men could. If he had known, he hadn't said anything. Though she hadn't said it directly, she had been offering him a choice: When you're in control, you don't want me. I'm an appendage, a possession, a toy that you've played with and lost interest in and it makes us both unhappy. Let me be in control now, and let's see what happens.

It took four times going to the end of the room and back before he succeeded. The first time he matched her pace, feeling the leash loose the entire way, he hurried around her and waited by her side, performing the perfect "heel". He chuckled at his own success, unable to help himself, daring to whisper, "That was a good one."

She had given him an order to be silent, and she knew she should enforce it, but she couldn't help herself. She patted his head, let her hand dangle beside his cheek, enjoying how he moaned and brushed against it. When she rewarded him with a "good boy", he practically fell over, trying to lean against her and get control of his shuddering. She giggled as he righted himself.

There was a reason he enjoyed her attention: it had been nearly six months since she'd allowed him an orgasm.

But conditioning meant repetition. "Let's see if you can do it again."

He did.

Lots of repetition. Suddenly his success was fleeting; his goal had changed. He had managed to pace her with just the occasional "off" step, but now he wanted to keep the leash from growing even the slightest bit taut. He judged it by whether or not he let it touch his shoulder. If it grew taut between his legs, made contact with his belly, he knew he'd failed. He wanted it to dangle freely, and every time he took too large a step and felt the leather graze his skin, he silently cursed himself.

The conditioning was working. He lost track of how many times they walked back and forth across her room, but he was no longer thinking about the leash, about her, about her pace; his body was doing all the work. He hurried around her and waited patiently for the next tug of his leash, then jumped forward, utterly conscious of the whisking sound of her black silky stockings, the creaking of her leather skirt, the quiet rustle of her blouse, overwhelmed by her beckoning perfume.

She began to refine and tweak his performance, and every time she did so, he had a moment of lightheaded euphoria. She gave his naked bottom a little swat when he was at "attention" and whispered the word, "up". He found himself straightening his posture, arching his back to get his ass up. She gave him a little tap on his shoulder and he found himself pulling his shoulders back. She flicked him on the top of his head and he found himself rising to meet her demand.

Then, just when he was starting to reach his goal, she changed things up. She remembered the lessons from her homework well: 'When your animal has begun to perform in the manner desired, introduce the next task, to keep its interest and focus.'

She gave his leash a little bounce and whispered, "Sit" with such a quiet and demanding tone, he hesitated. It took him a moment to register the surprise of how insistent her tone had become, how demanding and certain he would obey. She reached out, grabbed him by the collar and jerked his head down until he got the message, repeating her command, "Sit!"

He gulped as she positioned him. She pushed him back onto his knees so he was sitting on his heels, then gave his face a sharp stinging slap, repeating her command again, just as quiet as before. "Sit." It was classical conditioning: positive and negative reinforcement.

She added it to the routine, commanding him to heel as she walked him to the other side of the room, having him follow her as she turned, then bouncing his leash with the "sit" command.

When he had the "sit" command nearly perfect, she added "beg". He thought they'd been practicing for at least an hour, but he couldn't be sure, because he never got within eyesight of a clock. Still, his knees were burning. His palms were raw from the carpet and his back and shoulders ached miserably. He kept thinking he'd complain; he'd tell her he needed a break, but for some reason he didn't.

He thought back to the time she had him kneel in the corner as a punishment. She'd accidentally fallen asleep and he'd spent hours struggling silently, wondering if he should wake her up or simply join her in bed. He hadn't. He had remained in the corner while his knees burned and ached and throbbed. It was somehow a matter of pride. It was something he was doing for her.

After awhile, he realized almost with a start that she'd stopped giving him verbal commands. He was responding entirely to the movement of his leash. It was crazy, but it was true. In a matter of an hour or so, she'd successfully conditioned him like a house pet.

They hadn't spoken a word to each other, but he was feeling utterly at peace and in tune with her.

She sat on the couch and bounced his leash, watching with some amusement as he assumed the "sit" position.

She stared at him for a long while, before grinning and saying almost with a purr, "What do you think?"

He blinked, swallowed deeply and for a moment wondered if he could even speak anymore. "Not that this isn't really hot, you doing this to me, training me like a dog . . . but I was wondering if there was a reason, other than just turning me on?"

She uncrossed her legs and parted her knees. If he dropped his eyes, he would be able to see right up her skirt from his position. He kept his gaze on her face, resisting the temptation. He'd failed her once and had spent the week with a blistered bottom.

"There is a reason, and it was a good idea. I can tell by the look in your eyes."

He nodded, blinked slowly, licked his dry lips. "May I ask the reason, Mistress?"

She reached out and ran her finger down the length of his nose, giving it a little tap when she was done. He dropped his eyes. "I'm told a man's worst obstacle to serving his Mistress is his ego. Do you agree with that?"

He grinned, not having to think about. "Yes, that or his pride."

She cupped his chin in her palm and giggled. "You don't have much pride kneeling there naked in a dog collar with your willy all trussed up. Do you?"

He blushed and laughed. "My pride has been severely compromised."

She leaned forward and took his face in her hands, gazing deep into his eyes. His eyelids wavered as he grew drunk on her perfume. "My friend from the DT site suggested obedience training to help you with your ego problem."

He grinned, learning toward her, silently begging for a kiss. "Obedience training or dog training?"

She applied her wet lips to the tip of his nose and draped her arms loosely around his neck. "Well, you are wearing a collar."

He chuckled. "I guess I'm lucky it's not a shock collar."

She grinned and leaned back. "That's interesting that you would suggest that."

His eyes widened; his jaw dropped. "I was--I was kidding."

Ella giggled. "My friend at the DT site is teaching me all about you, you know? I can just hear what she would say to that. She'd say, 'he will say he is kidding, but he is secretly wishing for it'."

They had both spent time on the Divine Tantra website. He posted questions and updates on the forum while she entered the private chat room and got ideas.

He placed his hand on his collar and remembered the night he'd received it. She'd remarked that it would've been better had they done it in front of all their friends, but she knew they wouldn't understand. She wasn't sure she understood, but she liked strapping it around his neck. He blushed like a school girl and acted like a school boy with a crush on the teacher. Later, she caught him staring at it in a mirror, running his finger over it as if trying to convince himself it was real.

"Well?" she prodded and gave his leash a quick tug.

Almost without thinking, he moved to his hands and knees.

She giggled. "Ready to heel?"

He blinked vacantly. "No, I--I thought you were going to stand."

She grinned. "That conditioning stuff works pretty well."

He laughed. "It wasn't that. I thought you were signaling me that we were going to practice some more."

She smiled and moved to the edge of the couch. "Mm-hm, if you say so."

Ella stood and with a deftness that defied male logic, unzipped her skirt and let it drop to the floor. Jim breathed heavily as she kicked the skirt away and moved toward him, running her fingers through his hair, playing with his ear, touching the thick collar around his neck. With a quiet tone, she began talking to him. "Maybe you'd like a shock collar."

His stutter made her smile. "I don't--I didn't mean--"

She whispered and slowly pulled on his leash until it was nice and tight. "Then we could condition you to all sorts of things."

He made the effort to get to his feet as the leash pulled his cock cage upward, but she pressed him down with one hand on top of his head. "You said before," she continued as he began to whimper, "that you wanted to suffer for me. Do you remember?"

"Yes," he panted, "when you left me kneeling in the corner."

"You didn't want me to apologize."

He nodded. "Because it would've ruined it. I needed to do that for you."

She pulled harder on the leash, hearing his breath catch in his throat. His winced and peered up into her eyes. "Do you still want to suffer for me?"

He gazed up at her, long and hard. "More than anything in the world, Mistress."

She pulled on his leash until she was sure he was about to cry for mercy, then released him. Hurting him wasn't a turn on. Seeing him in pain didn't make her hot. Knowing that he was enduring it because he wanted to please her, because he loved her, because he didn't want to disappoint her . . . that made her melt.

She released his leash and watched him sag, heard him sigh with relief. After a moment, she pulled him against her and cuddled, giggling as she listened to him inhaling the scent of her wet panties. He pressed his nose into them, threw his arms around her legs and nuzzled ever closer.

"I have concerns about all this," she finally admitted.

He nodded without ever removing his nose from her soft panties. "Me, too."