I Have An Idea Ch. 09

Ella rested her head on his chest, snuggled up and cozy, feeling stretched and well used. She was in heaven. She listened to Jim's heart, heard the rumble of his voice and turned so she could gaze up into his eyes. They twinkled like stars, full of joy and love and adoration. "Hmm?"

He smiled. "Thank you. That was unexpected."

He'd had a quick orgasm to start with, an appetizer, six months in the building. After a short recovery, he'd worked himself up to two more and now he was exhausted.

She closed her eyes and squirmed even closer against him. "You've been a good boy. You earned it."

He chuckled and the rumble of it in his chest made her happy in ways she couldn't define. "Thank you, Mistress."

It was the first time he'd used the term where it wasn't laden with desperation. The need was gone, well satisfied, stripped down to its bare bones, and its bare bones was pure love.

He took a deep breath and watched her head rise and fall. He debated with himself. Was it appropriate for his Mistress to rest her head on his chest? Did it put her in a submissive position? Shouldn't it be the other way around?

Did it matter? She was still a woman, and still needed the love and strength of a good man, but more importantly, it was what she wanted. His job was to tend to her needs, and if this was where she wanted to be, then it was his job as slave to fulfill her desire.

While he carried on his silent debate, she carried on hers:

He's becoming my Slave, she thought. Not my boyfriend, my slave.

Is this what she wanted? She loved him, had loved him from the first moment he'd smiled in that easy, relaxed way of his. All she'd truly wanted was a way to keep him, a way to be happy and still have him around, doing the things he did, touching her, speaking the way he did, all manly and good. Was this the only way for them to be together? Why did it seem she was having more difficulty with it than him?

His hand gently petted her, smoothing across her hair as if she were a lazy kitten snuggled up against him.

A rolling wave of happiness cascaded through him. Even after the sex, the amazing orgasms, he realized how good it could all be. Why couldn't he have done this on his own? Before giving her control over their relationship, over him, he'd been selfish and lazy. If only he'd known how happy he could be serving her, even without the Mistress / slave set up, he would've done it ages ago. It was his ego and his pride that had stood in his way.

His ego and pride had taken a beating lately, for the better he thought. He allowed himself to be reduced to her toy whenever she chose. At least once a day, sometimes when they were getting ready for work, sometimes when they'd returned home, she snapped her fingers and he dropped to his knees. Kneeling, head bowed, arms behind him, submissive and strangely happy to be have her attention once again.

He'd missed a few of her finger snaps at the beginning. He'd been so engrossed in his duty, washing clothes, dishes, cleaning her shoes, taking care of bills, that he simply hadn't heard them. She'd punished him with corner time, stress positions and spankings. He improved quickly and drastically. He learned to always keep one ear open for her snapping fingers. It taught him to keep part of his mind focused on one of her desires, even when he was fulfilling another. The days of tuning her out while he drove or watched TV were gone. He was proud of how good he'd gotten at it, and it didn't help that she rewarded him, conditioned him as always, with a long stroke of his cock or a kiss or a warm hand on his shoulder or the back of his neck. Although, it was the warm, rewarding tone of her voice that penetrated him the most. One "Good boy" from her was like a thousand Suns going supernova in his heart.

She'd become frighteningly skilled at conditioning him. It was amazingly effective, and he'd become astonishingly receptive to it, soaking it in like a new medicine.

She reinforced his obedience with leash training. He crawled beside her on hands and knees, naked, while she whispered commands, barely audible. She did it with the leash and without. She had him obey silently by the pull of the leash alone. Heel. Sit. Beg. Up. Down. He'd learned more positions, but he didn't remember them all, and that was insidious, because his body knew them and adopted them without him thinking.

It didn't help that she occasionally turned his ass red beforehand: a harsh spanking with a paddle on his poor bottom while he remained as still and as quiet as possible per her quiet repetitive instructions. It softened him up, she said, and she was right. It zapped him, put him into an incredibly deep submissive state, and the obedience training was so much more powerful because of it.

He loved the smell of her dirty clothes. She'd conditioned that it into him as well. He was overwhelmed with arousal and joy whenever he did her laundry. He loved the smell of her feet. He now begged to give her foot massages, to shine her heels, taking long drags from the inside of her shoes, worse than a cigarette. It was an addiction. She'd created an addicted to her and he loved her for it.

She took him shopping, picked out his ties, his shirts, his suits, but there were no boxers. There were panties. Panties reminded him where he lived and with whom. Panties reminded him of his owner. He found deep shame when he slipped them up his legs. They were too tight, too soft, too silky, and she insisted on a certain variety, the girly ones, the cute ones, the sexy ones. Panties were her way of keeping her hand in his pants all day long.

She texted him at work. 'How are they feeling today?'

He texted back. 'Tight.'

' :P Are you ashamed of them?'

Under his desk, his erection grew. His secretary dropped off a file and gave him a quick smile. 'Deeply,' he texted back.

'Good boy.'

His erection found a new high. There were days where she texted him twenty times or more, teasing, humiliating messages. By the time he arrived home, he was in a molten mess, begging to please her. She did it on purpose. She was enjoying it. She arrived home smiling, blushing, expecting him on his knees. She could tell when she'd done a good job, kept him on pins and needles the entire day. She could make him shudder now with a grin.

He remembered when just one text from her made him feel nagged and suffocated.

Once, when she was drunk, she'd teased him mercilessly. Edged--brought to the edge of an orgasm time after time with no fruition. Restricted by her words her alone, by her command, by her desire. Kneeling, naked, chastity device removed, arms behind him, he was to remain as still as possible and remain soundless. No gasps, no moans, no begging. Just her and her hand and her eyes gazing deep into his.

It was the most intimate connection he'd ever experienced.

She stopped and freshened up her lipstick, which had been mussed by frequent kissing. He watched the glistening red go on her lips, watched her stretch her lips to accommodate the bright red color, watched the tube slip over her lips, slick and perfect. His cock had begun to twitch then. She wasn't touching him, hadn't touched him for several minutes, but it twitched and bobbed and a long stream spilled out.

She'd blushed, surprised by his reaction. She gave him a quick shocked expression, followed by that sly grin that made him worry. Without another thought, she grabbed his chin, forced his lips into a pucker and applied the lipstick to her mouth.

He remembered thinking, "Please, no--", but it was too late. She'd accidentally (maybe) begun conditioning him to love lipstick.

She'd already given him a foot fetish. Now she was turning up the heat and giving him other fetishes. The mere fact that she could do that to him made him swoon with deep, submissive pleasure. She was changing him, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

She lifted her head from his chest, swept his hair back with her hand, and smiled at him. "We should talk about your concerns, now that you've got a clear head."

He chuckled at the pun. "You've certainly cleared my head tonight."

She giggled and patted his cheek. "You're easy."

He leaned down hoping for a kiss and found her lips wet and inviting. She blushed and smiled and he felt his heart catch fire once again. Somewhere down below, the monster was waking from its nap. "I'm whatever you want me to be, Mistress."

Her eyelids wavered slowly, flirting with him, showing how she pleased she was. "I've been doing things to you, things that I thought you might not like."

He shook his head. "I don't know what to think anymore."

She frowned a little. "I'm so afraid I'm going to . . . break you. I mean, not break you, but take it too far, do something that you end up hating me for."

He felt the grin sit on his face. "I've never been so turned on in all my life. No other woman has ever made me feel-- I can't even describe it. All day, every day, Ella. You drive me crazy. I know there are things that I think about later and can't believe I'm doing, but I don't want you to stop."

She nodded, gave him a soft smile and retreated into thought.

"Are there--" he wondered. "Are there things you wished you hadn't done? Are we taking it too far for you?"

She shook her head. "I worry about how I'm changing some. I feel a lot more aggressive at work and everywhere else."

He ran his finger over her soft cheek. "Does that bother you?"

She shook her head. "I don't even know I'm doing it. Someone pointed it out the other day. I'm trying to be a little more careful with it now."

"Would it be such a bad thing if you became more assertive?"

Her face flushed with a pretty blush and an embarrassed smile. "I don't know. I'm not sure what other people would say though."

"What difference does it make what other people say. I mean, I know, in an office you have to be concerned with how you're perceived, so I get that. But outside of office politics, does it matter what anyone thinks? It's how you feel that's important, isn't it? Do you feel that you don't like the changes you've made?"

She reached up and pulled his chin down for a kiss. He let out a quiet moan and couldn't help laughing about it when they lips parted.

She giggled, too. "I can't believe how good that feels. A kiss shouldn't feel that good, should it?"

"It drives me over the edge every time, Ella, Mistress."

"It's your reaction that does it for me. Sometimes I really feel like some kind of Goddess."

They grew quiet for awhile, alive and warm in each other's arms, then Jim cleared his throat. "Mistress? May I have permission to kneel for you?"

She shook her head and squirmed closer against him. "No, I like you here."

"Yes, Mistress . . . but I have something to say . . . and I'd feel better if I could kneel while I said it."

"I said no."

His chest was tight. The thoughts swirling through his head were alarming, thrilling. She was the Mistress though, and Mistress was always right. "Yes, Mistress."

After a minute, her quiet voice piped up. "So? What did you want to say?"

He cleared his throat again. "In the past year . . . you've pretty much taken away all my access to my own, uh, pleasure. You've locked it away and re-focused all my thoughts, and I mean ALL my thoughts, back toward you. You are almost all I ever think about these days. You've treated me like a dog, made me kneel and heel and beg, screwed with my head so that now I get ridiculously turned on at doing your laundry and giving you pedicures and just being in the same room with you. You've made it so I get even more turned on when I do something for you and you don't even thank me. When you ignore me like that, it . . . it drives me wild."

She swallowed deeply and separated herself from him, pulling herself up to face him. "Maybe you should be on your knees for this, after all."

An enormous smile broke out on his face, and a moment later he was at her feet in the kneeling position she had taught him. He held it perfectly. All those hours of training had worked wonders.

"Mistress Ella, I have come to love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone. For the first time in my miserable, selfish male life, I feel like I can put someone else's needs ahead of my own. I don't want . . . I hope you don't want to go back. I want to go forward."

She felt tears spring into her eyes. She wiped them away, barely able to stand the sight of him; he was too beautiful. The love, his, hers, was overwhelming. It had filled her to the brim and was spilling over. She sniffled and tried to smile.

"You think I'm weak, that I can't handle this, well I can."

She put her hand on his cheek. "No--"

"You think you can break me, so go ahead and break me. I'll break for you and get put back together any way you want. This isn't a game anymore. This is serious. I'm not just in love with you. You ARE my Goddess. I worship you. I think I don't want to be a cross dresser. You've proved that I want to be whatever you want me to be. I love wearing panties now. It's crazy, but I do. I'd humiliated if anyone found out, but I don't care if I'm humiliated, because even that turns me on now. I'd be humiliated for you. I will give you anything, Mistress, anything you want. I don't care anymore. You made me love the smell and feel of lipstick. If you want me to dress up in women's clothing or tie me up or whip me or . . . whatever, I want that, too. I want to do and be whatever you want, Mistress. You made me this way, and I let you, so it's not your fault. Don't think it's all your fault. I've loved every step. You made me want to be your slave."

His eyes flashed up and met hers. "I want to be your slave. I mean that. Not a game. Not playtime. I know it's not about what I want, but I would like to turn our FLR into an WLM."

Every part of her that was female froze. Was he asking--

He leaned down and kissed her toe. "Control my mind if you want, control my body. I can take it. I want it, if that's what you want. You don't have to decide right away . . . or ever. I know better than that. You've taught me better than that. If you're not ready now or never, that's fine, but I'm letting you know that I'm willing to go as far as you want to take me. I want to go as far as you want to take me."

He placed his hands around his collar. It was so comfortable, he'd grown so used to it, he sometimes habitually felt for it at work, and missed it. When it was on, it was easy to forget. "This isn't something I wear as a fetish. This is you. It's you on me. Jesus, Ella, I don't know to say this any better."

She was in shock and in heaven. She was wordless, which was good because she wasn't sure she had the ability to speak. While part of her soared with indescribable feelings of utter joy, another part of her roiled with worry. "Go--" She pointed to the corner. "Kneel over there. I have--I have to think."

He smiled. This wasn't a punishment. He was still learning that. Sometimes punishments were just that, sometimes not. She had spanked him, squeezed his cock into a small cage and aroused him until the pain lit up his poor brain, but he had not been punished. She had put him in the corner, put him in stress positions until his legs, arms and back trembled with pain, but that hadn't been a punishment. The only punishment he received was when he failed to please her. When she frowned at him for real, glared at him or got an angry tone in her voice that was like being in Hell.

"Yes, Mistress, and for the record, I just came like four times, so my head is pretty clear." He risked catching a tear on her cheek with his lips, a quick kiss, then went to his corner, took a deep breath, having no idea how long he'd be there, and tried to be patient. She'd come around. He was certain of it.

"I have an idea," she said, and watched him shiver.

* * *

'Where does this all end?' Ella texted her friend from the Divine Tantra forum.

'Where do you want it to end?'

'Don't give me that. You know what I'm asking.'

'I do know,' her friend texted, 'but I can't answer what you already know.'

'Jesus, he wants to be marry me.'

'Half right.'

Ella blinked and sipped her coffee. She'd sent Jim out on errands. It was the first time in a long time that she felt she needed her space. Even now, she felt a little tinge of guilt. Why couldn't she shake the guilt? Should she even be wanting to shake the guilt? Maybe the guilt was there for a reason.

'What do you mean?' Ella asked.

'He wants to be you slave, Ella. He said that. You heard him say that. You told me he said that. He wants to be married to you because he feels that makes him more yours. Do you see?'

Did she want a slave? Did she want Jim to be her slave. 'I don't know if he was in his right mind when he said that.'

'He'll never be in that frame of mind again, you know? It's too late for that. He's a submissive. He's YOUR submissive. Even if the two of you broke up, he'd find another Mistress to serve. I'm sorry, but it's Pandora's Box and the two of you opened it. And, I suspect, you'd need to find someone to replace him, someone to serve you because you've come to love it and need it.'

She closed her eyes and cried quietly. 'I didn't mean for that to happen.'

'You wanted a happier, more fulfilling relationship. It sounds to me like you have it.'

Without another thought, even as tears trickled down her cheeks, she pushed her fingers down past the waistband of her panties and felt how wet she was. 'What does it mean if I want him to be my slave, my real slave, not a play slave. What does it mean that I want to do things to him, change him, bend him, break him? What does that mean?'

She got a smiley face, which oddly made her smile. 'It means that you're a Mistress now. When you're ready to accept that, you'll be opening another door for the two of you. I know you want to know what's going to happen, but I don't know. I can't know. He's your slave now, whether you like it or not. He's begging you to take full control of him. He needs that. You know he needs it. He's telling you that. You can only hurt him and yourself and your relationship by not following the road you've chosen.'

Ella typed back. 'It's too much for me to think about right now.'

Her friend replied, 'So think about it later. No one said you have to eat the whole cake at once. Take nibbles. Take as much as you're ready for, and don't feel pressured to go farther than you want. If tries in even the smallest way to goad you on, he's failing as a slave, but it doesn't sound like he'll do that. He gets what being your slave is all about, I think. No matter what, enjoy the ride. If you thought it was intense before, you have no idea.'

She was tired of feeling divided all the time. Part of her was whispering, "What have I gotten myself into?", while the rest of her shouted, "You know what to do. He's yours. Take him."

The sound of the lock made her jump. The sliding door opened and in walked Jim, her slave. His eyes met hers. His brow furrowed when he saw her face. "What?"

She grinned. Poor Jim. Poor, poor boy. You have no idea what's in store for you.