Come Again

He’d been on “at will” chastity for over a week, mostly at his own counsel, though three days before he was due to see me, I emailed him in response and said,

“I love it when I can occupy a man’s mind without ever having even met him. Dare I make myself even more present in your thoughts and order you to refrain from masturbating or any orgasm/release until directed otherwise?

Yes. I think I do.

Please consider yourself in chastity to me until we meet. You are honor bound.”

When he arrived at Salon d’Orleans, I immediately locked him in a chastity cage. “So that you don’t forget,” I told him.

Later, he’s blindfolded and wrapped in rope on my bondage bed. I’d been using his immobility to inflict all kinds of sensations: fingernails pressed into his nipples, stinging kisses from the violet wand, igniting blue circles of flame on his skin. I smiled seeing his cock grow and shrink with the pain and pleasure of it all in its cage. I pressed a vibrator to the cage to intensify his erection and the feel of the points of intrigue that dug into it. I leaned in close to his ear.

“I’m going to keep you in this cage for as long as I have you. While we play. While you sleep in bondage tonight. In the morning. Perhaps I’ll even send you back where you came from, still locked up,” I said, the vibrator clacking against the hard plastic of the cage. “Because I control your pleasure. I decide your release. I hold the key. ” He groaned ecstatically. I looked at him, feeling intensely powerful. Keyholding goddess. In control.

And then he shuddered and came in his cage.

I yelped in surprise.

This, uh, wasn’t the plan. I was so glad he couldn’t see my face while I tried to figure out how to respond to all the different emotions. I was bemused: all powerful, keyholding dominant. Ha! I was definitely annoyed: he should have warned me he was close, but he was also a new play partner so he wasn’t familiar with my scene communication preferences. I was shocked: I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone orgasm in a chastity cage. Didn’t think it could be done! I was also pragmatic: experience has taught me this is a harder disappointment for the bottom and any punishment I might think to give him wouldn’t come close to the beating up he was silently giving himself right then.

So what to do?

I untied him methodically and without speaking. When I finally did speak, I was surprised by the “Domme-y” tone to my voice. “Stand up, go to the center of the room and get on your hands and knees,” I commanded sternly but quietly. I fitted the humbler over the cage. “This is called a ‘humbler,'” I told him. “I think it’s appropriate. Now, crawl to the bench.” He complied.

Taking my singletail from the rack, I moved towards him, swinging. He winced at the bites and licks on his unwarmed ass. “You realize you’re being punished, yes? Do you know why?” Still with The Voice.

“Yes, Mistress. Ugh! I think so. Because I came against your orders. Ow!” A few dozen more strokes and I put down the whip and sat on the bench in front of him. “Rise up and look at me,” I ordered. He did. I saw his face: pained, confused, submissive, uncertain. I gave him a slight wink and a half smile that said, This is play.

“Since clearly your desire to come is stronger than my control, that’s what you’re going to do,” I said, removing the cage. I spread a wee pad over the rough, jute rug underneath him and scattered peppercorns on its surface. “Kneel here and bring yourself to orgasm. Now.” He gingerly placed himself on the pepper and looked at me while he fisted his cock. Minutes later, he shot again.

I put him back in the cage and we went out for a quick bite to eat. It was late. Once back at the studio, I ordered him to orgasm a third time, this time feeding him his come. As promised, he slept in the chastity cage with the large points of intrigue. “I want you to feel me gripping you all night more than I want you sleeping,” I told him.

In the morning, I unlocked him from the sleeping cage and put him back into a very tight rope bondage body harness and tethered him to the bed. An inflatable leather hood compressed his head, covered his eyes and mouth. I took out the Venus.

“Come again.”

He did, his body strained agonizingly against the ropes. “That looked like it hurt,” I told him. “The thing about a machine, though… it doesn’t care. It doesn’t care if it hurt. It doesn’t care if you came. It’s just going to keep sucking, relentlessly. Come again.”

He moaned in resistance. I played with the speed of the suck: maddeningly slow to demandingly fast. “I’m going to sit here until you come again. I don’t care how sore you are. How exhausted. How overstimulated. We have nothing but time. I will milk you dry.”

When he came this time, he screamed. The Venus continued to suck anyway. Machine.

“Mercy,” he whimpered. “Please, Mistress. I can’t take anymore. Please. No.”

Mmmmm. Yes.