'Madam, Me and It' - Part IV - Follow up Sessions

Follow up Sessions

So, there is the threat, should I be absent, to charge one of my credit cards. Do I use that to justify to myself the forthcoming visits? More likely my regular attendance is due to the fact that being with Madam is heavenly for a man of my penchants. A controlling dominant shaving and massage followed by an exquisite climax...

Four visits... five... Madam reveled in the inexorable stretching of my scrotum, commenting with each session how all women should require body modification of the male.

“Perhaps I will brand you” she suggested on one visit.

Such taunts came only after the straps were well tightened. She knew the thought added quite the thrill. Had she chosen to mark me, I was helpless to resist. I would be so marked, bearing forever the symbol of her authority. With my erection serving as a barometer, other scenes were verbally sketched. Madam’s role play was accomplished, her fingers deftly etching on my flesh where she considered branding, piercing or in some manner altering to symbolize her supreme governance.

She was masterful. Each session was a little different, inducing a little more fear which she knew led to a little more thrill.

But then came more than an incremental enhancement to the psychological/emotional exchange. While feeling the winch slowly tighten, the stretching never to end, I felt hands about my hood, lifting to cradle my head. This shocked. And the apoplexy was well in excess of my reaction to the verbal sadomasochistic innuendos.

If Madam’s hands were at my head, whose hands turned the winch? 

“Who is it?” I blurted in disconcertion. “What’s going on?”  

Madam laughed. A wicked laugh. Then she lowered her face. I felt her breath through the cloth of the hood.

“Do not be afraid of It. My pet is obedient.”

“Who is it?”

“It has no name.”

The winch stopped. Despite my apprehension, the sense of comfort, being under total control, returned. Then, while Madam’s hands continued to cradle my head, her voice remaining proximate, the lubricated hand once again began to work a shaft firmer then ever. The unknown, the intrigue, of being restrained and exposed to someone unseen... ‘It’... brought forth another level of depraved delight.

“Did you really think that a woman of dominance would stoop so low as to masturbate you?” Madam inquired with a snicker. “It takes great glee in forcing you to ejaculate.”

The hand, gifted I had come to conclude, began it’s magic. By now my reaction was ingrained. The horror of not knowing who or what masturbated me brought no physical retrenchment. Stiff as ever, if not stiffer, I soaked up the slow controlling hand job. Madam, very much aware of my emotional dread, became enthused, my tumescent physical reaction defying my concern.    

“You have not before been fellated by It. The tongue and lips are equally talented. You’ll be sucked for hours and not climax. Did you know such can become a form of torture? Held at the edge for hours without relief? It knows exactly where the male organs are in the ejaculatory process and can withhold and withhold and withhold.”

I began to struggle against bonds I knew to be most ineluctable. Fruitless, I knew, but what other response was available?

“Say the word and It will accommodate. A blow job without end... nirvana for the sexually subservient male.”

Damn this woman. Who is It? More important... what is It? And the gender?.. Not to be divulged.

I remained silent. What should I do? There will be repugnance if It is a guy. The homophobia will sicken. But if female... and the tongue and lips are indeed as adroit as the hand? Nirvana indeed.

“Just a little tongue work, my pet,” Madam making the decision for me.

“No!”

“Yes. And remember only obedient boys ejaculate for me. Very naughty of you.”

The hand slowly smoothed downward to hold my penis shaft at the base. Then as Madam commanded, the tongue work began. The tip fluttered about most teasingly just at the underside of the head. Just where some 80% of male sexual pleasure is experienced. Exquisite... delightful... but frustratingly evanescent, for it quickly withdrew, the hand sensing a pending eruption which apparently was not to be permitted.

“That’s enough, It, Mr. Grieves has been naughty.”

And just as expected with a woman of authority... that indeed was enough. The tongue withdrew. The hand released my shaft. I just laid there feeling my incredibly engorged penis throbbing.

“Perhaps with your next visit...” 

I was sent home in great need.