I Have An Idea Ch. 03

She smiled and let hand wander to his crotch, her other hand wrapping around the back of his neck. She whispered and tapped his zipper to emphasize her words."Meaning for the next thirty days, I can make up whatever rules I want, whenever I want, and you have to follow every . . . single . . . one."

* * *

'Good, but--' her friend texted her, '--you still let him choose the start date. The month period should've started when you said, and not when he said.'

'Well,' Ella messaged back, 'I didn't want to be a bitch or anything.'

She got a smiley face for that. 'By the end of this, I think you'll find that he wants you to be more of a bitch than you'd ever guess.'

That could not be true. Why would any man want his lover to be a bitch?

Her mentor messaged her. 'You're on your way now. Now is the time to do what we discussed, and remember your motto, be conscious of your contact.'

Ella shook her head. She couldn't wrap her head around it, but she had to admit, everything was working. Not in a million years would she have guessed she'd be planning such a manipulative game. It went against everything she'd been taught as a girl growing up.

Every girl growing up learned two things: don't be a bitch and don't be a slut.

She had the strange idea she was breaking both cardinal rules.

She was "conscious of her contact". She resisted the urge to snuggle and cuddle up against him, to hold his hand, to kiss him, and started planning the moments he got "rewarded". When he said something nice, maybe he got a touch on the hand or arm. When she caught him doing the dishes, she'd press her body against his arm and let her hand settle on the crotch of his pants, giving him a little pat. Some times she just gave his bottom a pat as she passed. When he opened the door for her, she gave him a special smile and said thank you. To get a kiss he had to be a "good boy" all day. And every few days, she'd sit him down, reach into his pants and have a "discussion". Her voice would be low and teasing, full of sly smiles and soft suggestion.

She made sure she spritzed a little perfume on herself before she cuddled next to him on the couch. Gazing into his eyes, fresh lip gloss, her hand wrapped firmly around his hard cock, she asked, "Have you been a good boy?"

His cheeks flushed. He swallowed. "Y-yes . . I think so. Haven't I?"

She nodded and grinned. "Hmm, for the most part."

"Wh-what can I do?" he asked, sounding on edge and desperate.

"Have you touched yourself?"

He sighed heavily. "No . . not much . . Wednesday . . a little."

"I see. So you've been naughty." She gave his cock a long gentle stroke, making each one lighter than the last, until her fingers were like feathers on his sensitive skin.

He groaned miserably. " . . . didn't mean to--"

"But you did, and I thought you'd been so good." She gave him a cute pout. "I was so looking forward to giving you a little squirt."

His face twisted with need. He reached for her lips, but she only gave him the quickest of kisses. He breathed heavily. "Please. . . ."

She slid her fingers lightly up the underside of his cock. He was in his stripper position, hands curling into fists, uncurling, nails scratching the back of the couch.

"I'll do anything," he pleased.

She gave him a few quick strokes, then a few more, until he began to writhe on the couch. She gave him three, then stopped, then four, then stopped, keeping pace with his moans. To get a little pleasure was almost worse than none at all.

"But, I don't want anything. I want you to be good. See? As long as you give yourself pleasure, you rob me of the pleasure of giving it to you."

He nodded, nodded some more, and kept nodding, his moans getting ragged.

She continued, watching him squirm, listening to his erratic breathing, and realized she was really starting to enjoy this. She didn't know what had changed, but torturing him was starting to turn her on in a big way. "Don't you want me to give you pleasure?"

He nodded, gasping, "Yes."

She leaned close and whispered in his ear, stroking his cock a little faster. "Don't you want all of your pleasure to come from me?"

He nodded, his breathing strained, his face twisted with need. "Yes."

She let go of his cock long enough to tap his nose. "Don't you want to focus all your pleasure on me?"

He nodded; he couldn't stop nodding. "Yes, please."

She giggled and slid her hand down his chest, resting it at the base of his cock. It twitched once. She whispered softer. "Say it."

He turned his head to nuzzle against her neck, kissing her where he knew she loved it the most. It elicited a long moan from her, which made him moan even louder. "I . . want to focus all of my pleasure on you."

She smiled and felt her body temperature rise. "Mmmm, all of your pleasure should come from me then?"

He panted. "Yes . . all--all of my pleasure should come from you. You're the only thing in life that should give me pleasure."

She let her hand settle softly around his cock. It was hot in her hand. She could feel his pulse through it. "And my pleasure should come first?"

"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, your pleasure comes first. Your pleasure is the only thing that matters." He nibbled on her neck, noticing how her body shuddered. She leaned away slightly and he followed, losing his grip on the back of the couch.

"Hands," she reminded.

He blinked, surprised, confused, the word "Huh?" on his lips, then he realized his mistake. He snapped back into position, but reached for her again. She gently pushed him back, smiling, blushing.

"My, my, you're getting a little too hot."

"Oh, God, please, Ella!"

She pouted and ran her finger around his lips, giving his chin a little tap. "You don't get to cum. Remember? You touched yourself on Wednesday."

He collapsed in on himself, his head lolling backwards. "I . . I don't think I can stand it though. It's been two weeks."

She grinned and swung her legs up in his lap. She'd stripped down to her panties. His eyes such longing. He longed to touch her legs, so soft, so smooth, so female. "More like a week and a half," she corrected. "But that's still a record for you, huh?"

His breathing was strained. He nodded. "I can't stand it, Ella."

"Well, I suppose we could do that thing we did before."

He looked at her. "What thing?"

She giggled and wiggled her toes, watching as his gaze shifted. She felt so heady, almost lightheaded. How perfectly seduced he was; just the smallest motion of her body made him moan and squirm with desire. "That thing where we let you cum without an orgasm."

He closed his eyes, his face wrenched with agony. "Oh, God . . okay anything."

"Oh, not today," she laughed. "I was thinking Saturday."

He turned to her with a solemn expression, his eyes wolfish with hunger. "I can't make it to Saturday."

She hopped up from the couch and headed into the kitchen. "Don't move. I've got just the thing."

He tried to relax, but couldn't. Instead, he stared down at his cock, so hard, so needy. He squirmed, feeling antsy and overwhelmed. He heard the crush of something frozen and looked up to see Ella standing before him, smiling, holding a bag of frozen peas.

"Let's cool you down a little, shall we?"

He groaned, nearly in tears and gave her his saddest nod.

* * *

She hadn't meant for it to happen; it had just kind of gotten out of control. He kept offering things and she kept accepting, dangling the most desirable carrot in the world.

It was getting out of hand. She should stop it, before he got wise, got angry, before he'd had enough and stopped it himself.

Being a slut, dressing like a slut, she'd learned as a little girl, stokes the fire in men, enrages them, turns them into demons, devils and rapists.

Being a bitch did the same.

Was it the breaking of these two taboos that so turned her on or was it him?

He cleaned her apartment, swept, mopped, vacuumed. He cleaned the mirrors, did the windows, took her cars in for repairs, cooked, did the dishes, lit candles and incense. He drew her baths with rose petals, laundered the sheets and made her bed.

By the end of the thirty days, he was acting more like a servant than a boyfriend. He cuddled, snuggled, talked to her deep into the night, gazed into her eyes as if he were a lovesick teenager.

God help her, she loved it. She was addicted to it.

By the end of the thirty days, she was floating on a cloud.

He hadn't had an orgasm. Not one. He'd learned in the last few weeks not to touch himself, not to tempt himself. Porn had stopped calling his name.

Porn, which had so beguiled him in the past, exhausted him, left him with nothing left for her.

The pivotal moment had come late in the night. . . .

Her cell vibrated on the night table. Sleepy, still half in dream, she slapped at it and noticed it was 11:00 P.M.

"Hello?" She sounded like the Cookie Monster, her voice gruff and irritated.

"Hey. You're . . . sleeping. Of course you're sleeping. Shit. I'm sorry." He sounded wide awake.

"Jim? Is everything okay?" She sat up in bed, turned on the lamp.

"Yes, sorry." There was a long silence.

"What's going on?"

"I'm . . . I'm having a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"I was going to pay bills, but I started looking at Tumblr."

Tumblr. Pictures. Lots of them. She blinked and wiped her burning eyes. Barely aware of what she was saying, she asked, "Did you cum?"

Later she would realize how much the game had taken over their lives. "No," he said, but he sounded uncertain, "not yet."

Again, the advice of her mentor returned. 'He's going to fail. When he does, you can't get mad. That's one of the few rules you have to follow. Don't. Get. Mad. Here's what you do instead.'

She laid back down and spoke to him in dulcet tones. "Are you looking at pictures, Jim?"

She heard him swallow, a loud, noisy clack of the throat. "Yes."

"What kind of pictures, Jim?"

He breathed heavily into the phone. "Really good pictures."

She laughed. "I mean, naked pictures?"

He breathed again. "Yes."

'Remember, it's not his failure; it's your opportunity.' She hadn't been entirely sure what that meant when her friend had first said it, but as she learned of the step-by-step plan, it all became clear.

"Describe them to me, Baby."

He sounded surprised, suspicious, confused, caught off guard. "They . . . I mean . . . it's not just one. It's an endless stream of beautiful. . . ." He was afraid to confess anything further.

She grinned and whispered, remembering the plan. Soft, sexy, sweet, adopt the voice that is the combination of a nurturing mother and a sex phone operator. "Beautiful girls, Jim?"

He was panting. "Yes."

"Beautiful . . . naked girls, Jim?"

He moaned. "Yes."

'Opportunity?' she'd texted her mentor. 'How is it an opportunity?'

That had earned her another smiley face. 'It's when he's most vulnerable.'

She gave him a sexy little moan, a little hum of pleasure. "Is there one you like? One that stands out?"

He confessed. "Yes."

"Describe it."

"It's . . . a girl with red hair. Dyed red hair, you know, too bright to be real. She's walking down a hall, away from me."

"Oh, I see. Is she completely naked? No heels? No sexy clothes?"

"No," he continued, sounding as if were in some kind of trance, "no clothes, just her and her perfect ass."

"Describe her ass, Baby. Tell me what it looks like. Tell me what turns you on so much about it."

"It's just . . . perfect. So soft and round and smooth, and she's holding her hair up and you can see just a little of her tit and the back of her neck and the muscles of her back and those little dimples in the small of her back, right above her perfect ass."

She snuggled in the covers, rolled around until her nightshirt had rolled up uncomfortably. Rather than pull it down, she found herself slipping out of it. She almost didn't notice her hand resting on her belly, right above the band of her panties. "Mmm," she whispered, "what if it wasn't her, hmm? What if it was me? What if it were me walking down the hall, naked, holding my hair up?"

He moaned quietly. "God yes."

She was truly surprised. In a strange way, she'd always subconsciously assumed he looked at porn because the women were so much more perfect and beautiful than she. She half expected him to resist the idea, but her friend had been right. 'Re-focus his desires on you.'

"What would you do if it were me in that hall? Teasing you, walking way, playing with my hair?"

His breathing became rhythmic. She realized it was keeping time with his hand. "I'd . . . chase you down. Get you. Get my hands on you, wrap my arms around you, get my hands on your tits, bite your neck, get you all wet, hot and fuckable."

Her hand was in her panties, exploring. She kept thinking about the phrase he used; it ran through her head again and again like a perverse mantra: wet, hot and fuckable.

"Mmm," she replied, her finger finding something wet and warm, seeking out her most pleasurable of spots, "what happens when you've caught me, when you've got me where you want me, when I'm all wet, hot and fuckable. What then, Baby?"

'Re-focus his desires on you.' It wasn't just working; it was almost as if it couldn't not work. What she'd once doubted was so clearly a recipe for success, she wondered why she'd ever hesitated.

"I'd . . . get you over the couch. I'd bend you over, get my cock between your legs. I'd get it inside you. I'd fuck you and keep fucking you."

She could hear the unmistakable thap of his hand in the background. "Mmm, bent over the couch, all wet, hot and fuckable, and you've got yourself all hard, and you're fucking me. I like that."

He uttered something unintelligible and it panicked her for a moment.

"Fucking me is sooo good, Baby . . . but we do have rules, don't we?"

The phone went dead silent for nearly half a minute. "Oh, God, no, please, Ella."

"Mmhm. What are the rules, Baby?"

He groaned. "No touching myself. No cumming without your permission."

"So?"

He panted, an uneasy pant, the pant of a tiger pacing back and forth in his cage. "So, I called you like you wanted, because I was tempted."

"You did. That was a good boy."

"So," he whined, "don't I get some credit for that?"

'Whatever you do,' her friend had insisted, 'do NOT let him cum. He will tell you he wants it, needs it. He'll say anything, do anything if only you'll just let him, but afterwards, he'll hate you for it, for not being strong enough to resist him. Stay strong.'

'Are you sure?' she'd insisted right back. 'If he really wants to--'

'Stay strong.'

'He's going to hate me for telling him no.'

'He won't. Trust me.'

'But . . how do I tell him no??'

Smiley face. 'Use your power, girl! Be strong!'

"Let me get this straight," she asked him, putting her friend's theory to the ultimate test. "You looked a bunch of porn and started fucking your hand, and you want credit for that?"

He swallowed, loud and blatant. "But I called you. You promised you wouldn't get mad. You said--"

"I'm not mad, Baby. I promise. I love you. I love that when you were tempted you called me right away and let me know, and haven't I been nice for this whole phone call?"

"Yes."

"I didn't fuss at you. I went with it. I let you imagine fucking me over a couch, getting me all wet, hot and fuckable."

He gave her a little whimper. "Yes. Thank you."

"So, here's what you're going to do for me, Baby. Are you listening?"

"Yes, Ella."

She paused. His voice. It sounded so strange, so . . . obedient, so submissive. Her hand thrashed in her panties. Was this really turning her on that much? Almost without realizing it, the crescendo descended upon her with all the force of a hurricane. She bit her lip, squealed into the phone and was overwhelmed by the crashing orgasm.

He waited quietly, patiently, and when she was done, he asked softly, "Did . . . did you just cum?"

She laughed. "Ohh, that was a good one! God!"

"You came?"

She giggled harder. "Mmm, yes."

"But," he whined, "that's not fair."

She cuddled up with the pillow and basked in the tiny little convulsions still rolling through her, polishing her from the inside out. "Baby," she whispered, "there's no rules against me having an orgasm, remember?"

"I know, but--"

"You've given me plenty"

"Yes, but--"

"And my pleasure comes first, remember?"

Sounding hopeless, forlorn, he replied, "Yes."

"Mm, so would you like to know what your punishment is?"

"Yes." It was a barely audible whisper.

"You're going to shut down your computer and you're not going to start it up again. Not once. You've lost your PC privileges for the week. Then you're going to get that bag of frozen peas and cool yourself off."

After a moment, he whispered with the tone of a shamed 5 year old, "Okay."

"We'll discuss it on Saturday, after our date. Your thirty days are almost up."

That seemed to pick up his spirits a little. "I can't wait."

She smiled and yawned. "I know you can't, Baby."

After a short silence, he said, "Ella?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

She shook her head. The world had turned upside down. No, the world had been upside down all along, but it took her friend from the DT site to open her eyes. "I love you, too, Baby. Oh, and Baby?"

"Yes, Ella." There was that tone again; the way he spoke her name.

"Next time, get tempted earlier in the evening, will you? I love playing with you, but I have to get up in a few hours."

She could hear his smile. "Yes, Ma'am."

It was a joke.

Right?