Tie Me Chicago IX

As I sit back, eyes transfixed on the blank computer screen, the image of Eve appears. Always recalled as tall, a head taller than my growing frame. Blonde hair short, her numerous athletic endeavors obviating anything more stylish. Her posture is perfect, transformative years spent in training... gymnastics until her height precluded... later swimming, rowing, there were also stories of special classes in kick boxing, augmenting her aura, further alienating her from possible romantic interludes with boys deeming her to be physically daunting and superior.

The recollections resume where my mind turned off the memory tape, standing in a suds filled bath tub... naked... erect... hands obediently placed on my head.... blushing. Yet there begins the strange joy as surprisingly soft and gentle hands lave. My penis bobs... in celebration? In greeting? In invitation?

Eve laughs... a vengeful laugh? One of mirth? Is she enjoying me... or her new found power?

I want to lower myself into the water, cloak my nakedness in the foam of the scented bubble bath. But then again I don’t. My young mind is conflicted. So I stand and let Eve have her way, sensing the warm softness as her hand works, methodically but caringly, moving a little lower on my torso after each dunk of the wash cloth.

“You’re remaining nicely hard for me,” Eve notes.

Is it a taunt? Does she want me to soften? I just blush even more.

“That means deep within that you enjoy this, Matt. Despite your meanness, your sarcasm, your truculence, you enjoy pleasing and serving women... women like me. You need an authority figure, Matt. You want to be subservient, you just don’t let yourself.”

She lectures, her tone even, somewhat soft.

And her words give rise to thought. My father had died when I was a toddler, barely to be remembered. Initially I was helpful about the house, assisting my grieving mother, amenably performing household chores with little objection. Then came the hormonal changes of puberty. Yes, I discovered myself, down there, and when not stroking, I wished I was able to. Mood swings became quick and considerable. I became Matt the brat.

But now Matt the brat stands totally under the auspices of this woman of strength and determination. And stands naked... and stands erect... and stands relishing her touch... wishing that instead of the humiliation ending... that it continues... that her hand would lave lower. I so much need to be touched. Need to touch myself. Yet my hands remain in place, not to move, not to disobey.

Why?          

Reaching to my thighs, the free left hand playfully grasps a large tuft of my right buttock, squeezing firmly. It is a test, I realize, inviting me to protest as her fingers slowly tighten. I do not. I want that and the unspoken message is received. The soapy cloth of the right hand moves to work over my globes. Then there comes a pause as Eve reaches for a bar of soap. My gluteal cleft then becomes the center of attention, Eve smiling as with soap she lubricates between my cheeks. My penis bobs about with fervor.

“I know some things about boys... young or old, Matt. First that there is some nasty stuff that needs to be expelled. And second there’s a special place to be pressed to assure of its riddance. And afterwards, a boy becomes very calm, very docile, very eager to please and be good.”

With her words, I feel the thumb of her left hand press my anus. I am both alarmed and pleased when it slips inwards, the soapiness facilitating penetration. Then I find that indeed Eve knows some things, for the free fingers of the left hand slide forward and grasp my testicles.

I gasp with both the sensation and the sense of placing myself and my developing male organs under the control of a woman.    

She diddles and kneads, dropping the wash cloth from her right hand and reaching for the bath tub’s spray hose. Her penetrating thumb begins to caress as well, finding my prostate. With the intensity of the pleasure my knees begin to buckle and there is further tribute to her impressive strength as she holds me up with one arm, my weight shifting to my perineum. 

“This is going to feel very good, Matt. So good that I think you’ll want to show off for me... want to offer me that nasty stuff which makes you into a bad boy. But you’ll not spurt until I tell you. Be good. Obey me. It’s best for you.” 

With that, Eve turns on the flexible spray hose and adjusts the flow... slight and delightfully warm. She smiles, aiming the spray to douse my pubes, knowing of the ecstasy, knowing of the helpless but wonderful sensation in being penetrated... of having my little balls diddled... by a controlling woman!

When the warm wetness flows, circling about my pubes, avoiding direct contact where I most covet such, something within surrenders. More... please... at my penis tip!

Yes, take me, make me spurt, my mind reeling, silently beseeching. Instead her right hand just applies the spray, maneuvering about up and down, left and right, wetting my modest penis, but never the tip, glaring at my face, judging from my expression where my system is in the slow stultifying process of being masturbated by a spray hose.

“Want to come for me?”

I close my eyes and nod.

“No, no Matt. Open your eyes. It’s important for you to watch, fully understand what I am doing to you... for you. So on the count of three, I want you to thrust forward your hips, clench those little muscles, those used when you pee. And I’ll want you to squirt for me. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Present me with that nasty goo. Give it all to Miss Eve?”

As I nod again, she counts ‘one’. The thumb abrades with more vigor, the fingers squeeze my little balls, the warm spray is now directed at the underside of my upturned penis. It is divine.

Then comes ‘two’ and a teasing pause. I disobey, thrusting with my hips. I cannot help myself.

“No, no Matt, I am in control, you’ll come for me only when I decide.”

There follows an interminable interlude of silence. Finally comes the word ‘three’... and with it the quick withdrawal of her left hand and the misdirection of the spray hose. I am aghast, the pleasurable input summarily curtailed. But I also spew my seed into the bath tub, the mass making a hissing sound as it hits the suds. There comes a second less formidable spurt then a drool of clear viscous fluid.

Eve, now Miss Eve to me, smiles in satisfaction, a look of Schadenfreude in having me masturbated with no penile contact... no direct manipulation. The supporting left hand lowers, allowing me to finally submerse my naked form in the warm soapiness.

I am drained, my young organs giving all. I enter a state of ennui... cleansed, emptied. I have been a source of great entertainment I come to realize, the humiliation intense.

But it feels so good... and Miss Eve knows it feels so good.

“So Matt, you be a good little boy for me. And good little boys get a nice hot bath. Every Friday afternoon.”

Eyes closed, I feel her hand slip under the water, tweaking my nipples.

I am owned.