Shy Guys Make Good Boys Pt. 02

Author's Note: Sorry part two took a while to post. It took a little more editing work than I thought.

The content warning is the same, that it's a femdom romance. Thank you for being patient with me and, like always, I hope you enjoy and have fun :)

My Mistress, goddess that she was, had insisted that our next date be, indeed, a date. Given that I truly hadn't intended to thwart her previous attempts, I had been playfully obedient and chastised during our interactions.

Boy toy, you're meeting me in bloody public and I mean it, do you understand? You're taking me to the midnight release of this movie and you're meeting me at the door. You're not even allowed to come to my car because I don't trust either of us anymore.

Of course, Mistress. I'm sorry for flaunting your trust. But I'd been unable to resist a tease, too. Mistress and I had discovered and spoken about how I enjoyed her commands for things outside of the bedroom. Do you have a date dress preference?

Her answer had made me grin in pure bliss. All those years of dates where I worried about when to hold a door open or when to wrap my arm around a girl or what would be dress appropriate, all those years of fear that my subservient behaviors would irritate my date were finally... gone, at least for the moment. I had spent so long afraid that my asking for guidance in the smallest ways would come across as my being clingy or needy or irritating, except Mistress didn't think any of those things. No, Mistress' answer made me grin with playfulness because this is what she thought.

See, this is why we have to meet at the door. This, right here. Because if you come to help me so much as fix my hair beforehand and bow your head in that cute, hot way after I command you to clasp my necklace and kiss my neck then you'll end up tied at my knees instead. Filthy boy toy, yes. I want you to wear your cock cage, tight boxers, those blue jeans with the shredding, a belt, a black t-shirt, your collar, tennis shoes, and your black Batman jacket because I like that one and you're going to wrap it around me in the middle of the movie. And you're going to be romantic about it. Oh, and you'll give me the keys to your cock cage at the door. Actually, scratch that last bit and hold on to them yourself but you'll ask if you have to leave to piss.

It'd made me feel like I was floating in ecstasy, being told all of it outright like that. I strained against my cage in arousal for a moment where she had me wear it rather often now, but I was becoming mildly used to the sensation. It was uncomfortable, don't get me wrong, but the control made me thrill and after a few days without her permission to orgasm, my skin was getting that crackling sensation of electric heat. It was this body buzz that made me feel almost drugged and the longer she made me go, the more often I felt that energy, that burning, hot need in my blood stream. Her denial was my aphrodisiac and she gave me a lot of it. It hadn't been her explicit command that I was not to orgasm without being on my knees at her place, but after my last experience leading up to a date with her, where she'd made me please her and lick my own cum off her hand, I was getting the impression that my orgasms would be allowed when I served as her boy toy.

Of course, that might very well have been my own perverted hope, when I was discovering a certain masochism within myself, when I was realizing the depth of my submissive nature.

Thinking of it made me antsy, which was how I ended up at my favorite coffee shop a few days after our last date. Once upon a time, I had craved to have these submission experiences even while I'd been afraid of them, but I had been safe with the knowledge of how shy I was, when I was not the type of person to seek out someone to share my kinks with... or even to share them when prompted, for that matter. To find myself discovering these things was disconcerting and the depth of them frightened me, a little. I know that sounds weird. It's just kinky sex, in some ways.

Except it wasn't. I didn't know how it was different. All I knew was that it comforted me to feel my collar, to toy with its O-ring. It comforted me to feel the uncomfortable weight of the cock cage even if I had the keys. To add to my humiliation, she made me wear a key on a chain down my shirt, with a copy at home, one in my wallet, and one in her possession. I don't trust you shy types anymore, love, even with that, was what she'd said and it had made me grin.

All of that was more than the flirting, too, though. It was the security of knowing it was okay to enjoy this, the security of how she loved telling me how to dress, right down to my hair style. It was pure bliss for someone like me, but even better? She turned it into sex, too, and it was fulfilling for her. That was the part that frightened me the most. How happy it made me that she flirted about it, that she enjoyed it, and she took her pleasure off of me obeying. Even better, that she took her pleasure off of my denial.

I had to take to writing in the coffee shop every time I considered these things, when it made me restless with energy. I couldn't even write my male Dom stories anymore and I had a feeling that I knew what that meant. My muse wanted to tell this story right now and she wouldn't let me be about it until I edited it and told someone else her current song. I sighed, glancing at my phone. Maybe I could show it to a select few instead of my usual places or mainstream publishing. Maybe I could make a different pen name.

That was always a fallback option. The only problem with that was it would mean longer between publishing something I usually wrote when I was busy editing this story that wouldn't leave my mind alone and I hated displeasing people, even it if was to make them wait. I hate displeasing them with a story they might not like, though, either.

Damn it. So much anxiety.

I gave in and wrote, figuring that either way, nothing was going to get done if I didn't write anything.

There's a song by Fleetwood Mac called Rhiannon. It always reminded me, like Sherlock Holmes' Irene Adler, of Mistress. What's entertaining about this fact was how much it would come to remind me of Mistress the more I learned about it. See, initially it was just the lyrics of the song, when I had always been in love with Fleetwood Mac anyway. "Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night and wouldn't you love to love her?" The music to it is graceful and calming, while the lyrics are something truly beautiful.

But then I would end up looking into the song in one of my nights of denial, when my cage was my comfort... and my torment. It turns out that Stevie Nicks got her inspiration for Rhiannon when reading a book about a witch. But there's more to the story.

Rhiannon is also a name that means "great queen" and she's a goddess in Celtic mythology. Of course, now if you look these things up, you'll find those minor goddesses to have a sovereign in everything when the original beliefs are unclear. But one thing seems clear about her and that's how she was associated with riding a great horse.

I ran a hand through my hair, thinking of Mistress' coffee table and the picture there. This was where I'd gotten most of this inspiration from, if I'm honest. I didn't know the story about the picture and I wanted to ask her about it when it felt okay to but in its depiction, Mistress stood small and regal by a black thoroughbred, holding his reins, her hand gently petting his muzzle, and a smile on her face. To me, the horse looked massive, but logically, I had a feeling that was because of how small Mistress was. She looked... Jesus, she looked elegant in the outfit for that photo, another reason why I wanted to ask about it. That hadn't been a casual riding day picture. Beyond that, when had she worked with horses? We lived in a large city and I knew it wasn't there.

Of course... It also made my fantasies run rampant and my muse was having a horny field day, using everything she could gather inspiration from.

This comparison was more fitting than I would have ever braced for. You see, Mistress was nothing of a sadist, as that was merely not her fetish. No, her touch was that of exacting control, but she didn't need pain to get that. She was far too refined and dainty for something as direct as outright violence, force, or pain. She broke me to her bit and bridle with nothing but soft coos, knee high boots, and a very different kind of torture.

"Look at how far you've come, little plaything. How nervous you were at the beginning of our month together." She traced a delicate fingertip across the bondage bridle over my head and I shifted, my eyes lowered in addictive fear. "Do you know that I've never actually been into pony play? I didn't expect to end up down this path with you when we started, when it just didn't do it for me. And yet... After I figured out how to calm you, it just seemed so fitting. To think that all I had to do to make you bow this whole time was to geld you."

I moaned behind my bit gag, shivering while she laughed in appreciation, cupping her soft hand between my legs. "Gelding". It didn't mean castration, no. For Mistress, it referred to the long term chastity cage she had fitted to me. It had been a month since I'd known the freedom of getting hard without metal bars making it uncomfortable for me. I "pranced" nervously before Mistress, knowing what would come with her pleasure that day. She dressed me in my reins when she wished to ride me nice and hard and she had trained me well by then. Sure enough, she paced away and came back with her favorite strap-on harness, a large dildo that had made me choke in terror the first time I'd seen it. But Mistress had merely pet me soothingly before she'd stood back and used her riding crop on my balls, pacing around me in her shining riding boots. "Eyes on the floor, plaything. Show your respect to goddesses. And remember why you wear that cage. It isn't about you. It's about Mistress and I'm not giving you a choice in taking this. I promise to be gentle, though, baby. I want you to be an assfucking slut, when I want to ride you hard and often."

The feeling of writing these things with the cage was something I was becoming fond of. It made me throb and the result was pain in the most exquisite form. I shifted in my chair, glancing up to take a drink of my latte and smiling when my twisted little foray was all the more delightful in public with the cage I wore. I hid a grin in another drink when I touched my shirt where the key hung around my neck, the key I wouldn't use without permission.

It had only been a couple of days, but after the orgasm Mistress had given me, my skin crackled so easily with the slightest amount of denial. Jesus, she'd been drenched against my mouth and the orgasm she'd had while riding my face and using me as her cock toy holder, her boy toy to get off on and keep locked, had been something I couldn't get out of my head. The way she arched, clasping her tits and throwing her head back, made me shiver with desire. With the cock cage, being aroused had taken on a whole new meaning. It was in my blood, a fire and need. It was in my thoughts, in the way I would see her name on my phone with a message and feel the metal beneath my jeans with all the more awareness. It was all over my skin, an intense static electricity that made me see so much as a female's curves and feel an appreciative desire... for her. And I didn't know how that worked, but I knew it was true.

The thought that she owned my cock right now? Fuck me, I couldn't think about it or I'd wake up like a fucking mutt, filthy and starved. I'll teach you to crave pussy over your own orgasms. I loved to repeat those words in my head over and over again.

It was these thoughts and the terrifying nature of my writing fantasies that made me close my writing app in the coffee shop and consider a different alternative to release some of my suddenly uncontrollable sexual energy. I was writing about her keeping me in chastity for a month while taking her strap on for hours to please her and that was something that made me as painfully aroused as it terrified the ever loving fuck out of me.

So I broke. I took a breath and curiously looked up fetish clubs, thinking that maybe I could learn a little more. There was the internet and forums and stories, sure, but somehow the thought of seeing these things in person or seeing other people who played kinky games sounded, for the first time, like it would comfort me. I went through a few different names that came up online. Needless to say, there were definitely some interesting ones that came up with my search, a benefit and side effect of living in a large city.

But I found one that was obviously the most comforting to see. For one, the safety emphasis alone made me feel pretty good about it. There were some of the others that came up as places more like dance bars, a shady kind of them, and they seemed... Let's just say it didn't take long for me to feel not so good about their state.

The one I ended on wasn't loud about its status, if that makes sense. It reminded me more of Mistress actually, in the sense that it knew what it was, but it was also thorough about things like safety, privacy, and exclusivity. There were nights where it welcomed new players, there were safety classes listed, the website showed pictures that, again, let you know what this was, but was also not overly conspicuous. It was tasteful, actually, as weird as that sounds. My favorite picture was a black and white one that depicted a blindfolded male submissive. He was shirtless, but was wearing blue jeans and his hands were chained wide apart over his head. A bit gag forced him silent and he wore a thick, spiked collar.

Another man stood beside him, the camera having caught him approaching the chained submissive, and the Dom held a coiled whip in a hand that looked all the more powerful for the implement it held.

So hot, even while both of the people involved were clothed. So sexual, even while both players kept their anonymity, the photography having been that clever. When it was painful to get hard, the picture made me shiver and take a breath.

I had the distracted thought that I was torturing and teasing myself for my Mistress and it made me smile. Another thing she had said was that she'd teach me a different meaning to being a good boy. I felt like some of that meaning would involve teasing myself in these ways when she enjoyed my denial and arousal. I found myself hoping for her phone calls at night, where she would make me talk filthy to her until I was in pain and she was calling my name or a degrading endearment when she came so hard that she made a satisfied purring sound at the end.

The only thing about that was my oral fetish hated the thought of her wasted cum when I could be lapping it up like her slut. After being made to suck her cock gag to taste her, I hated the thought of not getting to.

I shook myself from the stray thought line, thinking that this was why I should get out a little. Some blend of her effect and my fear made me bold enough to try the fetish club. Maybe seeing other people do it... I don't know. I was hoping that it might settle me.

I had this strange sensation of being tamed and soothed to my collar, or of being slowly but surely corralled. Maybe my vision is tainted by such perfect hindsight however. It's entirely possible when I can look back and see what happened and how thoroughly it happened. It seems... romantic to look back on it actually, like seeing my own "fall", if I wanted to place it in dramatic terms and create that atmosphere. Heheh. It's my favorite part about telling stories, to be able to toy with the wordsmithing and spin up however dark I'd like the romance to be, when factors of force and control make it so much fun.

Of course, the truth is my Mistress didn't mean for this. It was all purely my submission.

It's almost more romantic that way, though, isn't it? I don't believe in destiny or anything like that, but you could say it was "destined to be" and it does just sound like so much beautiful fun, like something Tolkien might say about Aragorn and Lady Arwen.

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The place was named Sulfur's. To be honest, I didn't know what I was doing, but the pictures I'd seen had made something as basic as jeans seem acceptably erotic for the atmosphere. Given that I didn't much care for dressing up, I'd worn what Mistress seemed to prefer me in, as she was a more socially knowledgeable person than I was and I trusted her tastes. I fixed my tight workout briefs (otherwise, I'd learned, the lock of my cage would rattle), ripped designer jeans, cleaner shoes, a black shirt, collar, and of course my chain with its humiliation key. It made me feel a little mischievous again, especially when I considered that this was a place where people would recognize something like a collar. I was rather fond of mine, too. It was studded and my chain necklace hung loose beneath it.

I almost left at the door, even so, but there was too much background fear riding me and a sharp shock to my system seemed like it would be a distraction, if nothing else. This was the type of place that a guy who didn't much like people doesn't expect to find himself in and there was something enjoyably surreal about the entire thing. So I kept going with it, wondering if this was a good or bad path of my life.

The door guard smiled at me and I looked down, by force of habit, when he spoke first. "Definitely one of the new ones."

I blushed. "Seems like it can't be a good sign to have it that obvious."

"Nah, it's just from experience. You definitely need to be careful, though."

That made me meet his eyes. I took his pen to sign in when he gave it to me. "H-how so?"

His grin made me pause and then blink, so that I paused with a realization of shocked pleasure. "That face with a collar and no tag? On the one hand, at least the collar is something. On the other..." He inclined his head in a suggestive gesture so that the sensation of shy pleasure increased, even if I didn't lean the way he did.

"Thanks for the warning."

"If you need help, just let me know."

I shifted back, wondering how to take that, wondering about my sexual orientation for a moment. Gay or bisexual guys seemed awfully attracted to me at times, even if I couldn't get into them. I just couldn't get excited or feel much for a masculine touch, you know? Arguably, I had sucked a cock toy recently and that made me throb in my cage, so that I absently touched my necklace with the pleasure it gave me to have been emasculated for her. Oh, be real, Ryan. If you weren't locked in a chastity cage, you'd have hit your bedroom wall with the force of your orgasm off fantasies of her fucking your ass with a torturously huge strap on. Yeah, alright, there was that too.

The inside of Sulfur's stopped my sporadic thoughts and made me blink with the sudden realization that the fetishes were all right there. Some of them were...

Some of them were even my own. Well, variations of my own, at any rate, which was all the better in some way. These were people who might be interested in the same dynamic that I was interested in, but they had their own spin on it. They shaped their own way. It fascinated the data scientist in me, you see, with the sociological thoughts that Mistress had given me over the course of some of our conversations. She had once said that kinky relationships followed a continuum and evolution in much the same manner that any other relationship would. Of course, Mistress had gone on to say that she was definitely biased but she was more interested and fond of seeing kinkier relationship evolutions. How two people in love became polyamorous for instance. I know a couple who found out they couldn't have kids. They ended up in our circle of kinky friends because they said they had a lot of love to give and adding another person to their relationship was how they coped. It was kind of cool to see, even if it isn't something I would be interested in having.