Bareback Pompoir and Celibacy

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Uh huh," the young man responded eagerly.

"Good. Now, just remember, you need to stay perfectly still. No touching, no thrusting. I'm going to do all the work."

"Yeah, 'kay," he agreed, nodding vigorously. He watched as she undid the satin belt of her long, sheer black lace kimono. She turned away from him so he could watch her slip her thumbs into the waistband of her matching black panties and pull them over the curves of her hips and her shapely derriere, then let them fall to the floor. She stepped out of them and turned to face him again. The robe was open now to reveal the neatly trimmed triangle of dark hair on her pubic mound, but still draped over her full, round breasts. Her areola were clearly visible, hard nipples pushing against the gauzy fabric.

She got on the bed, and then swung her right leg over his thighs, straddling him. His cock, rigid with excitement and anticipation, twitched and rose up off his belly, and she closed one small, soft hand around it and stroked him, twice, three times.

"Perfectly still," she reminded him, and he replied with a whimper. "Maybe put your hands behind your head."

She rose up then, and guided his knob to her sex, positioning him, then slowly began to ease down on him. They both gasped but he managed to remain still, moaning as he watched his shaft disappear into her, feeling the warm wetness engulf him. She was obviously ready for him, and she emitted a deep sigh of her own as she came to rest, fully seated on him, feeling him all the way up inside her.

Then she just sat there, motionless, gazing into his eyes for what seemed like a very long time. He resisted the urge to put his hands on her hips, to move her up and down on him. Finally, his eyes widened and he let out a little gasp.

"You like that?" she asked. He nodded.

"Tell me what you feel."

"I can feel you, squeezing and releasing me," he replied. "With your ... pussy."

"Uh huh," she affirmed. "And that's just the beginning." She closed her eyes and placed her hands on his broad, hairless chest.

A moment later, he gasped and blurted out, "Oh, wow."

"What?" she challenged him. "Use your words."

"It's like ... you're squeezing me ... at the bottom, and then in the middle, and then at the top," he said with admiration.

"Mmm hmm," she replied. "That's called the elevator."

"Wow," he said again, while remaining admirably still. "I didn't know ..."

"This is pompoir," she stated. She raised her hands and put them in her hair, drawing it back so it fell over her shoulders, so her breasts pushed against the sheer fabric that was barely concealing them. "Also known as the Singapore Grip. But I think the French term is more erotic."

He just nodded again.

She put her hands back on his chest and raised herself off of him ever so slightly. A moment later, he gasped again. "Jesus!"

"What?" She demanded. "Talk to me."

"It's like ... I can feel you, like, sucking me up into you."

"Does that feel good?"

"It's incredible," he said, closing his eyes.

"You can do better than that," she chided him.

"What? I'm holding as still as I can."

"No, I mean, I want to hear you describe what it feels like."

"Oh. Geez. I mean, it's hard for me to find the words."

"Try."

"God," he sighed. Finally he ventured, "It's like ... you're giving me a massage. It's like your pussy has hands and fingers."

She smiled. She rather wished he had referred to her sacred chamber as her vagina, but, he was young. He was beautiful, and plenty big enough, and very very hard. You can't have everything. She decided to reward him anyway.

"Good boy," she said. "Aren't you glad you aren't wearing a condom?"

"Oh, God yes," he agreed. "So much more sensitive."

"For me, too. It's like I can feel every vein. And I can definitely feel the crest of your corona ..." she rose up on her knees a bit more, and leaned back just a tad. "Right ... there."

They both remained motionless for a moment, as she positioned herself with his prominent ridge right against the back of her pelvic bone, and made herself pulse around it. He studied her face as she closed her eyes in concentration, or ... something else. She bit into her lower lip, and her neck tensed, causing her robe to fall off her shoulders, baring her lovely breasts and gathering in folds around her elbows.

"Oh, yeah," he said, almost smugly. "I feel that."

She slapped a hand down over his mouth, as if to shut him up so she could ride out her orgasm in silence. As her expression softened again, she released her grip on his face and pulled down his lower lip with her forefinger, letting him suckle it.

"That was intense," he managed to say around the finger in his mouth.

"Pompoir isn't just to give the man better orgasms," she said, breathlessly. Then she took him deeply again, and put her hands on his shoulders, around his neck, her thumbs on his jawline.

"Now for the piece de resistance," she smiled.

"Oh my God," he blurted out a moment later. "How can you ... you're twisting me."

She arched her eyebrows and smiled, unable to hide her delight at his amazement.

"God, I'm ... I'm gonna cum," he gasped.

"Yes," she said. "You are." It wasn't permission. It was a command. And with it, he finally lost control, and she didn't object when he thrust himself upward, crying out as he twitched and convulsed and pumped himself into her.

Eventually, she slowly lifted herself off of him. His cock slipped out of her and flopped wetly onto his stomach, somewhat less rigid now but still long and thick, and glistening with their milky secretions. She scooted back and sat down on his thighs.

"Well, was that everything you had hoped for?" she asked. It took me a moment to realize that she had turned her head and was addressing me, instead of the young man that she was straddling.

"Amazing," I agreed in a raspy voice. My tongue was dry. I must have been watching the whole scene with my mouth slightly agape.

"Well, congratulations," she said, dismounting her young steed and drawing her sheer robe back up over her shoulders. He watched her get up off the bed and stand facing me, a confused look on his face. He seemed to have forgotten that I was there. "You've realized your fantasy. Or, at least half of it."

"Half of it?" I repeated, my mind in a bit of a muddle.

"Uh huh," she confirmed. "Or maybe I should say your obsession. You're the one who got all quivery about a story called 'Bareback Pompoir and Celibate Paypigs.'"

"I ... um ... don't think of myself as a paypig," I protested, hesitantly.

"No? Who paid for the room? And for this sexy black lace peignoir that Dylan just enjoyed me in?"

Well, I was going to object, I like getting you gifts. That's not the same as being a paypig. But I held my tongue.

She stepped across the room and took a seat beside me on the little red velvet settee. I wasn't used to her being so close to me. Her body was warm and she smelled of perfume, body lotion, and sex.

"I do think It's amusing that you protested the 'paypig' part, not the 'celibacy' part."

She put her hand on my thigh, over the white terrycloth bathrobe which she had allowed me to wear, probably more for the young man's comfort than for mine. I glanced across the room at him. He had rolled over on his side and was propping his head on one hand, watching with curiosity. I wondered where she knew him from, what he understood. He understood voyeurism, I guessed. At first he had tolerated my presence, then he had pretty much ignored me. Now he seemed intrigued.

"How long has it been now since your last orgasm?"

"Three months."

"That's pretty good," she said, and quickly looked back at Dylan, who was smirking in disbelief. "But I don't know if it qualifies as celibacy."

My cock, already hard for the past half hour under my robe, suddenly surged. I wasn't caged. She sometimes would lock me up for a few hours at a time, for amusement or the visual appeal, but we both knew that a cage itself wasn't what prevented me from having orgasms. It was her ability to convince me with her words and her eyes that she wanted me to resist, to deny myself.

"What ... would qualify as celibacy?" I ventured.

With the right word there, I might have erupted spontaneously, but she probably knew that, and so changed the subject. "I knew when I saw the name of that story that it would drive you crazy. It's just so ... how did you describe it?"

"I think I said, um, it's 'cuckolded and denied' with both extremes amped up, a hundredfold," I recalled.

"That's right. "Not just cuckolded, but cuckolded with sex that is exquisite. And ... very, very intimate," she said, winking at Dylan.

I twitched, but picked up the narrative. "And the cuckold pays for the date. And his denial is ..."

"Total," she finished for me. Then she leaned in and whispered in my ear, "Absolute."

She leaned away, against the far arm of the love seat, giving me the best view yet of her perfect, lace-covered breasts. "Yes, I knew as soon as I saw that topic that that's how you would react. So I commented there. And you responded just the way I knew you would. And now here we are."

Yes, here we are. Just me, and my domme, and some smug young surfer dude over on the bed, his schlong still wet and no doubt still sensitive from being stroked and caressed and tugged by that magical body, the body that my goddess loved telling me I would never experience.

"You know, as soon as you admitted how obsessed you were with that story name, I knew that letting you know that I have mastered the art of pompoir would just reduce you to jelly. Am I right?"

Yes, I nodded. She was right.

"But you know, when I told you that we could act out this scenario, it never even occurred to you that maybe you could be the stud, and I could get some other subbie to be my celibate paypig."

I was dumbfounded. I realized she was right, of course. It had never occurred to me.

"In fact, I think if I had offered you the choice, you still would have chosen to be the one sitting here with your hands in your lap instead of the man I was riding."

Well, that's not quite fair, I thought. Our entire kink relationship was built on

tease and denial. But now I had to wonder whether she might be right. All I knew was, I was here now, experiencing the fantasy, and she was making it ten times more intense than I had even imagined it.

"Not only did another man get to make love to me while you sat here on this loveseat; I demonstrated the art of pompoir. For him. And you got to watch. And listen. You'll never know how it felt, but you got to see it and hear it. I really think you ought to thank Dylan for letting you have that experience."

Seriously? Hell, if anything he should be thanking me, I thought. But I looked at her, and she was nodding at me with wide eyes. I sighed.

"Thank you, Dylan," I said quietly. "For letting me watch."

"No problem," he replied.

"No problem." God I hate that phrase. When I thank a twenty-something waiter for my meal and he says, "No problem," I want to say, "Well, I sure hope it wasn't a problem for you!"

"And now," my domme was saying, "I want you to submit ... to being my celibate paypig."

"Totally." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Absolutely."

I saw her glance quickly over at the young man on the bed, and followed her eyes. Dylan's smirk had become a leer. His cock was hard again. Suddenly he was enjoying participating in my emasculation.

Then she looked back at me with her dark-lashed eyes and mouthed, "Permanently."

I heard myself whimper. Of course, our games were entirely mental, and my submission was entirely voluntary. Her desire to keep me orgasm-free didn't require Superglue in the lock of a chastity cage. Or surgically altering me. But suddenly I could imagine that I had had my last orgasm; that I was going to accede to her request that I forego all future ones, for her. I could also imagine that this erection she had given me was never, ever going to subside. I felt like her power over me was such that if I verbalized it, it would become real.

"Oh, sweetie," she said sweetly. "I know it's hard. I can tell you want to say yes. You want to promise me your celibacy. To surrender all your orgasms to me. But you're all hung up on the permanent part. Don't think about forever. Just think about not cumming today. And then tomorrow, one more day. And then the day after that ... one more day."

She tilted her head toward me so her dark eyes were looking up at me through her luxurious lashes, which she then batted dramatically.

"Okay?"

I took a deep breath, and said, "Okay."

"Good boy."