Cute Girls

Mr. Bear Ch. 3

Mr. Bear lay panting under me, each of his breaths puffing against my pleasure-dampened crotch. My own orgasm had been fairly intense, but not as much as his, I was pretty sure. Glancing down at his chest, I noted the ropes and puddles of creamy white semen staining his chest. Some of it had been rubbed raggedly over his nearly hairless chest, from where I’d coated the anal probe in his own juices.

With one finger, I traced my way through the cooling liquid, then brought it up to my mouth, giving an experimental sniff. Sea-tangy. A cautious lick made me think of Japanese seaweed wraps, the kind used to make sushi rolls, only with an underlying muskiness, and the faintest hint of sweet. It made me wonder if he drank a lot of pineapple juice at his chain of health clubs, since that was rumored to make a man’s semen taste less disgusting to the majority of the female population.

One more scoop and lick confirmed the fact that, while strongly sea-tangy, his semen actually wasn’t that bad. Twisting, I fished my notebook out of the picnic basket, replacing the doeskin flogger. As soon as the notebook was in my hands, I unclipped the pen tucked into the spiral spine, and started making notes right where I was, kneeling over his face.

[Subject: Mr. Bear (MB). Agreement: submissive, with monogamous sexual interaction.]

[Day Zero, October 31st: Initial interaction was a punishment for catching a very drunk MB peeing all over the ladies' room floor in a public location, and especially for deliberately urinating on my boots; punishment assigned was fifty lashes with a quirt. Forty were administered before MB climaxed precipitously, accidentally in front of a card; he said he enjoyed all of it, though he was still quite drunk. I gave him my card, and told him to call back in two days. Subject resisted temptation for three weeks. My vanilla friends who witnessed our meeting have had mixed reactions.]

[Day One, November 19th: MB finally made contact, made his interest in D/s scenes firmly known; I reminded him I still owed him ten lashes for the drunken urination problem, and when I guessed he was touching himself, ordered him to stop, and listed another ten lashes when he shortly thereafter failed to obey…]

Mr. Bear had finally started to recover. He didn’t protest in the slightest that I was still half-smothering his face with my cunt. Indeed, his hands caressed whatever he could reach of my thighs and calves, while he started licking me again. His tongue flicked and darted throug the soft, slick folds of my labia and mons, digging through the folds in search of my slippery juices. As I continued to write down the bare bones of our current encounter, he used the tip of his tongue to circle around the pointed little hood of flesh guarding my clitoris, then rimmed the opening of my vagina. Strong but gentle hands wedged under my thighs, pulling my flesh wide for each damp, teasing taste.

Since I was still tender and sensitized from my orgasm, I twitched now and again as his efforts re-aroused my desire. By the time I was finished writing, I was shuddering with desire, and had to wonder if the last few sentences were legible. Not that I cared all that much, given how good he was making me feel—damn, but this man loved to eat hairpie! Two orgasms, though, and I’d be putty in his hands with sated exhaustion; he’d be able to try intercourse, and if he got away with that our very first night, my control of our relationship would be seriously undermined.

It’s a curious thing about men, but if you give in to them easily once, they’ll assume you’ll give in to them easily every time, and then when you say ‘no’, they get all pissy about it. Especially if you give in right away. If you train ‘em right, however, firmly establishing your dominancy over them, then they’ll understand at the bone-deep level that being allowed to fuck a woman is a privilege, not a right. Something to be treasured dearly, not taken for granted.

So before I could orgasm—though I was uncomfortably close—I shoved quickly to my feet and moved away from his too-talented face. He groaned and clutched at my calves and ankles, wanting me back, but I pulled free determinedly. I didn’t dare sit down, not with my pussy so swollen with interrupted passion, so I walked over to the long counter with the two sinks, and set my notebook down. Checking my writing, I made a few corrections where the words had grown illegible, then fetched a washcloth and ran it under the sink, on the coldest setting the single-knob faucet could produce. Since it was late November, that was pretty cold. Wringing it out only just enough to keep it from dripping all over the place, I carried it back to my brand-new sub.

He had twisted over onto his side, propping himself up with his left elbow, while his right hand gingerly touched the end of the anal probe I’d inserted during the heat of his climax. “You shoved something up my butt!”

“I told you you’d have to give me a lot more than you initially thought, if you wanted me to be sexually monogamous,” I drawled. “Leave it in there.”

“But it—”

“Arguing with me will gain you a punishment. A different punishment,” I added, as my naughty blond bear’s eyes took on a speculative look. He studied me for several silent, contemplative seconds…and then pulled the anal probe out in one jerk, gasping slightly from the sensations it made as the slightly bulbous tip stretched his rectal muscles. It was almost the same look he had on his face when he’d peed on my boots the second, deliberate time at our initial meeting, streaked with satisfaction at his own brilliant cunning. When I glanced at his groin, his penis was once again rampant, almost fully erect. No doubt he thought he’d enjoy whatever else I’d do to him.

Perhaps he would, indeed.

“I’m being naughty, Mistress. A very naughty bear,” he rumbled, rolling onto his back again, dropping the probe and grasping his penis instead. That large, strong hand started stroking his meat firmly but slowly, contravening my earlier orders to not allow him to touch himself.

“Take your hand off my penis, Mr. Naughty Bear,” I ordered him. He complied, if a little slowly, moving his hand up his chest to rub at the semen coating his skin. “I take it you *want* to be punished?”

He grinned at me. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Why?” I asked, the cold-damp washcloth threatening to drip between my fingers.

He cocked his head, eyed me, then shrugged. “I’ve always liked my sex a little rough around the edges, but…damn, I’ve never felt anything that intense. I thought it was the booze, last time, but it wasn’t, was it?”

My mouth threatened to twitch up. His comment reminded me of that ‘Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear’ rhyme I’d learned back as a child. I let it curve up on one side. “Welcome to my world. For protesting against the anal probe, five demerits—I’ll go easy on you because it’s your first time; hereafter, it’ll be ten demerits per protest. For removing it against my strict orders, twenty demerits. For fondling my penis in my presence without my permission, ten demerits.”

“Are you going to whip me thirty-five more times, Mistress?” he asked, pushing himself up onto his knees before settling back on his heels and tucking his hands behind his head. “Shall I assume the position, then, Mistress?”

“You may assume the position…but do not assume that I will whip you,” I corrected him gently. “You do seem to like that a lot, so we must seek out other ways of punishing you. Otherwise it wouldn’t be a punishment, now would it?”

Disappointment clouded those light green eyes, then he shook his head slightly. “No, Mistress. What…what sort of punishment do you think would be suitable?”

I smiled, crossed the last few feet between us, and shook out the crumpled washcloth. Aiming it with a gentle swing, I dropped it with a wet splat around his outthrust cock. He gasped and almost doubled over in shock as the icy-wet square wrapped itself around his cock, slapping gently onto his balls.

“Oh, god, oh god…!”

I was pleased to note that, though his hands came out from behind his head at the initial shock, he forced them back behind his neck again, lacing them together tightly as he hunched protectively over his groin. While he breathed heavily, his cock wilting at such sudden coldness, I moved around him to the picnic basket, my heels clicking smartly over the white-and-blue tiles. Crouching, I pulled out the next toy I intended to use, and swivelled on my heels so that I faced his back.

“You are a very naughty bear, Mr. Bear. You lack discipline. Self-control. I will teach you what you clearly need to know. Now, take your hands down from your head, and put them behind your back.”

As he complied, I heard the washcloth splat softly onto the floor; apparently he was no longer erect enough to keep it up—literally and figuratively. Smiling in amusement at the mental pun, I took his wrists when he presented them, and clicked them into a pair of handcuffs. I could only click them once, but that was enough to hold them in place

“You can’t be ser—uh, I mean, are those handcuffs, Mistress?” he asked, carefully changing his accusation to a clarification.

“Yes, they are, Mr. Bear,” I agreed mildly, making sure they were snug but not tight around his proportionately large wrists. No need to cut off the circulation to his hands.

“May I ask why you’ve put handcuffs on me, Mistress?”

Was I in an indulgent enough mood to answer him? “Since you’re new to this, you might not realize why I’ve done so, Mr. Bear,” I reminded him as I turned back to the picnic basket. “Perhaps, if you give it some thought, you can earn a few merit points, and reduce your demerits a little.”

He mulled that one over, then asked, “Is there a reason why I would *want* to reduce my merits, Mistress? I mean, I kind of like what we’ve done so far. And you seem to be enjoying it, too, which is important, right?”

I smiled, and let it show in my voice as I purred, “I’m glad you’re beginning to understand that my pleasure is paramount, Mr. Bear. For that, you will have three merits, reducing your demerits to thirty-two. As for *why* it’s a good thing to want to reduce your demerits…”

Squeak. Squeeeaaaakk. Squeak-squik-squeeak. Squik! I played with the pair of clothspins in my hands, withdrawn from the gingham-lined interior of my portable toybox. These were old clothespins, the kind with the slightly rusty springs that made such wonderful noises when opened and closed. He craned his head, trying to look over his shoulder.

“What’s that noise, Mistress?”

It was tempting to put a blindfold on him, leave him guessing. But no, I wanted him to *know* what sorts of toys were available in a relationship like ours. Standing up, I moved around him, then bent over, allowing my royal blue merry widow to all but spill my generous breasts in his face. Since he was so much taller than me, I didn’t have to bend far to give him an eyeful. Now that the icy-cold washcloth wasn’t touching his genitals anymore, his penis twitched and started thickening at the view, just as I wanted. Behind my back, where my fingerless white lace elbow gloves disappeared, I squeak-squikked the clothespins again. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Try guessing, Mr. Bear. Guess what I have in my hands.”

He frowned softly, as I flexed the springs again, pinching and relaxing my grip on the wooden strips. “It sounds like…it almost sounds like clothespins, Mistress.”

“Congratulations; you’ve just earned two merits for guessing right! You’re a very good bear!” I praised him, and brought them around so that he could see. Straightening up, I sashayed around behind him, crouched, and carefully applied each one to his pinkie fingers. “Be very careful and do not remove them, Mr. Bear, unless I say they can, for it will be ten demerits for each one lost.”

Fishing out another two, I applied each one to his index fingers, then used another two to catch the soft flesh on the inside of his thumb, between the pad and the base. That was a sensitive spot, one full of nerves that, when squeezed by a clothespin, I had learned enhanced sexual stimulation. So were the soft folds of flesh at the base of his middle and ring fingers, when I pinched those as well with yet more clothespins. That made for a total of ten clasped to the flesh of his hands. Taking one more out of the picnic basket, I moved around in front of him, looking down at him from my position of power and control.

“I’ve started with your hands, Mr. Bear, because they are accustomed to being squeezed and pinched, and can endure feeling pain,” I enlightened him. “Using the clothespins on your hands first and foremost will also help distract you from what is coming next. You see, I’m not going to keep using the lash-strokes method, not when the merit-demerit system is a lot more flexible. Sometimes I’ll count out your demerits in a whipping, but not always, and probably not repetetively. Variety is the spice of life, after all.”

Kneeling slowly, gracefully, knees daintly together in my lace-trimmed dominatrix outfit, I held up the last clothespin, opening and closing the jaws. Squeaeeaeeakkk…squik-squik-squeeeek. Squik-a-squik-a-squik-squik squeeeeaaaak. Squik-squeak. God, I loved that sound. It made me wet just from hearing it. How long had it been since I’d been in his position, bound and helpless, hearing the squeak of spring against wood? Years, for sure. A truly good Domina doesn’t just know how to use her tools; she has tasted their pleasures for herself, as someone else’s sub. I much preferred being in control these days; the charge I get from having power and wielding it over my subs is exhilarating, so different from the everyday, obedient drudgery of my job…but the squeak of a clothespin can bring it all back, the sublimation of pain into desire, the submerging of free will into obedience and slavish servitude.

I wanted to give that pleasure to Mr. Bear. I wanted him to know how powerful it feels to lose all sense of power, how liberating it is to lose one’s freedom. What a relief it is to know that someone else is in control. I wanted him to know that I, too, knew what he was feeling right this moment, so I opened the jaws wide, and held up my hand, then clamped it along the outer edge of my palm, catching a good amount of my flesh in its wooden grip.

“As you can see, I am not a green or selfish Domina who has no idea what she is inflicting upon her subjects.” The tips of my fingers on that hand ghosted over the bared curves of my breasts, dragging the clothespin as well. “I want you to know that I know what you are going through right now. That is how much control I have over you, that I have experienced what you yourself are going through.” A pause, and I tipped my head with a little smile, looking down at his semi-erect shaft. “Barring gender differences, of course…”

“My hands are beginning to hurt, Mistress,” he told me, licking his lips. “I’m, uh, I’m not complaining; I just thought you might want to know.”

“Good. The pain in your hands will be a comforting distraction, this first time.” Picking up the washcloth, I made sure it was still cool, and deliberately wrapped it around his shaft. He sucked in a sharp breath, wilting a little once more. Pleased, I removed the cloth, unpinched the clothespin on my hand, and held its jaws open between us, letting him see the promise inherent in its gaping stance. Its potential to compress and inflict. “This is what will happen. I will apply this to your skin. You will count properly, “Thank you, Mistress, that is one; thank you, Mistress, that is two,’ until you reach thirty. Then it will be removed.

“If you ask me to remove it any point before you reach ten, I will add thirty more demerits to your tally score. If you ask me to remove it at any point before you reach twenty, I will add twenty, and if you ask for it to be removed before you reach thirty, you will receive an additional ten demerits. As this is your first punishment in this form, I will be kind and remove it immediately, insted of only once you reach the next tens-mark of whatever set you are enduring; your demerits will then be racked up against you according to what you failed to complete, and shall await another form of punishment.

“It is my hope that you will be able to endure your punishment like a man, but this will be a very intense session. So, to make up for the intensity, I give you permission to call out the count as fast as you can, provided that the numbers themselves are still understandable, however garbled the rest of it may become. Do try to remain coherent,” I cautioned him. “Even though you are being punished for your disobedience, you must always keep in mind that your role is to please me, in any way I ask that you can. Are you ready?”

Wide green eyes stared at the clothespin, then at me. He opened his mouth, drawing in a breath–probably so he could question me as to where the little device was going to be applied–but then subsided and nodded, sealing his lips tight against his curiosity.

“Very well. As soon as I take my hands away, you may begin the count.”

Looking down, I found his penis had engorged itself to near-erectness once again. Sighing, I applied the washcloth one more time, this time directly to his balls, so that he softened quickly. When he was quite soft, I grasped his foreskin on the upper side of his shaft—he was wonderfully uncut, giving me far more options than a circumcised man would have provided—and pinched the clothespin to the loosened skin. He immediately bit out a swearword as the springs clamped down on the tender flesh. Teeth clenched, he snarled out several more in pain, hunching over.

“Start the count!” I ordered him loudly. “Start it, or earn another ten demerits which will be applied to this punishment!”

“–Thank you, Mistress, that is one! Thank you, Mistress, that is two— ThankyouMistressthatisthree, thankyouMistressthatis*four*, thankyouMistressthatisfuckingpainful*five*!” he half-shouted, rattling out the count as fast and hard as he could. With each count, he started rocking back and forth, trying to contain the pain. Gasping out each number, he made it to twelve before swearing briefly again, then to seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, with each one his voice rising into falsetto pain range—he was rocking so hard now, he stopped counting, clenching his teeth, his jaw, his whole head and shoulders, everything all the way down to his stomach. It made me wonder for a moment if I’d gone too far.

Forcing a gasp of air, he resumed the count at twenty, half-barking the numbers, the rest a drooling jumble of words. When he got to thirty, I reached in and grasped his very shrivelled shaft, stilling him as he gasped and whimpered at my touch. With my other hand, I released the pinch slowly, gently. He gasped again, choked, and started crying as blood came back to his foreskin, sobbing with the lingering agony and its release.

I wasn’t unmoved by his tears. Moving around behind him, I gently removed each and every set of clothespins from his hands, replacing them back in the picnic basket. Moving around in front of him again, I guided him down onto his side on the towels, then onto his back, helping him stretch out his legs. He didn’t want to do that; he wanted to huddle around his assaulted member, still sobbing from the extreme, intense punishment, but I managed to get his knees apart and down. Kneeling between his legs, I bent low over his thighs, licked my lips, and said, “I am very proud of you, Mr. Bear. Not once did you beg for me to remove the clothespin from you. Not once did you demand that I end your punishment. I’m not too happy about the excessive swearing, but I can understand that. Your bravery and fortitude pleases me very much, and for that, I will reward you now.”

With that, I picked up the half-forgotten washcloth, and squeezed some of its cold water onto his penis. He jumped at the touch of chilly wetness, whimpering deep in his throat as he lay there panting. When his shrunken shaft was wet enough, I tossed the washcloth aside, dipped my head the last few inches…and sucked his penis into my warm, wet mouth. He shouted an oath again, but this time, in shock from the sudden pleasure of all but being swallowed whole.

When fully erect, he was probably a good eight to nine inches in length and probably two inches in diameter at best, a little thin compared to others of that length, but definitely above the average six-inch/in and a half male, which made him nicely proportioned to his greater size. However, right after being foreskin-tortured, he had shrunk down to the smallest I think even he had ever seen himself get, maybe–*maybe*–three shrivelled little inches, still somewhat thick, but not nearly as thick as he could get. Within twenty seconds of having his tiny member swirled around the warm, wet, soft interior of my mouth, playing its limp state over and around the supple, gentle strength of my tongue, he had definitely surpassed the three inch mark.

Ten seconds after that, he was as large as I could maintain whole in my mouth without gagging, which was about four inches. As he outgrew what I could comfortably take without having to try and subdue my sensitive gag-reflex in an attempt to deep-throat him—something I simply couldn’t do easily, even back in my old submissive days—I started bobbing my head toward and away from his balls, slipping my lips down and up his shaft in a rhythmic caress.

In apology for the shrivelling agony he had suffered, I made sure to play my tongue lightly but thoroughly over the upper side of his foreskin, around and over the spot where I had applied the clothespin, using the very soft, nearly textureless underside of my tongue. Occasionally I would stop bobbing my head long enough to suck on the head and foreskin region of his penis, making him groan and whimper with pleasure. When he had reached the full expansion of his erection, I started flicking my tongue sideways, curling it up around the head, then swirling it around under the ridge exposed by his soft, stretched-out foreskin, marking figure-eights with my tongue. Sweet tangy salt invaded my tastebuds as my ministrations caused beads of precum to seep out of the little hole at the tip.

Pulling him free of my mouth, I licked his shaft in broad, slow strokes of my tongue, then shifted lower and licked at his balls, coating his lightly haired scrotum with my saliva until each testicle could be sucked lightly into my mouth, just as I had sucked in his penis. That made him gasp and twitch, groaning deep in his broad chest at the pure pleasure of being orally balled.

Swallowing hard, I licked my way back up his shaft, resting my forearms firmly on his hips, one hand steadying his shaft while the other grasped it firmly at the base. When I was ready, I deliberately yawned. Swallowing hard again, I repeated the yawn, then did the pattern one more time, finishing off with a wide-mouthed yawn and a purse of my lips over his saliva-slick head—and sucked him into my throat. Not into my mouth; into my *throat*. Swallowing him breathlessly all the way to the fingers circling his base.

He shouted, bucking up, but I firmly pressed down with as much of my weight as I could manage, focusing hard on controlling my gag-reflex. When he finally stilled, I withdrew, gut tight in the effort to control the natural urge to gag. A glance up the length of his trembling body showed tears leaking down the sides of his face again, this time from a delerium of pleasure. Licking my lips, I swallowed-and-yawned twice, pursed my lips, and gulped him down my throat again.

He didn’t buck up in surprise. He sobbed in pure bliss, gasping when I took my confining fingers away and tightened my lips around the very base of his shafted again. Twisting my head slightly, I rubbed his balls with my chin, then pulled off of him very, very slowly, sucking the entire time. By the time I reached non-gagging range, he was trembling, on the verge of cumming, so I reapplied the pressure of my forefinger and thumb to the base of his penis, reaching for the picnic basket. It was a bit of a stretch, and I had to release him from my mouth to grab the wicker box. Pulling it closer, I opened the lid and inserted my free hand, fumbling around through the contents until my questing fingers identified what I wanted.

Pulling the latest toy out, I deftly wrapped up his penis and scrotum in the penis leash, separating his balls to either side in the three-lobed figure-eight pattern the strap was designed for. Slipping the tongue of the leash through the tiny buckle, I pulled it just barely snug, then adjusted the lay of his balls in the straps, shifting the leather down a little lower on his shaft as I removed my other hand, and finally pulled the whole thing tight. He grunted, arching his head back, then rolled slightly onto his side so he could lift up his head and shoulders and look at me.

I flicked the tip of his dick with my fingernail “Bad Mr. Bear. I didn’t *say* you could move. Ten demerits.”

He shuddered and dropped back onto his handcuffed arms, panting heavily. A groan escaped his throat. I’d cut off the opportunity for the blood engorging his shaft to retreat, leaving him insistently erect. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take…”

That reminded me of something. Something I’d forgotten, something important. Shame on me. I crawled up the length of his body, straddling his waist, deliberately brushing my groin and inner thighs against his enforced erection, making him groan again. When my head was level with his own, I leaned over him and smiled. “I forgot to give you your safe word, shame on me. For my mistake, as I am a fair Mistress, I will reduce your demerits by five, bringing your current tally to five demerits. I shouldn’t have forgotten them, but then you shouldn’t have let me forget. But since you are new to this life, I will explain them to you now.

“I have two safewords, actually. The first one is an actual word. ‘Hold.’ All you have to do is shout *Hold!*,” I told him, putting enough gut-emphasis behind it that he blinked, “—and I will stop whatever we are doing. End it, remove all devices, cease everything, restore you to normal, the works. The other is a rhythm, and it’s the old Morse Code SOS signal—three short, three long, and three short again; that one is yours to use should you be in a position where you cannot actually say the first safeword. Thump your head, snap your fingers, flex your dick, and I will cease all activities.

“If at any time I do something that makes you fear for your physical safety, you can use the safe word to stop me, and I will obey; that is my promise to you. But you have to promise that you will think long and hard, when I try to take you past a boundary—is it really physically harming you? Or is your fear of the unknown and the suffering of a little pain blocking my attempts to help you reach the true nirvana that awaits you? Remember those two. ‘Hold’, and SOS. Use them sparringly at best.”

As he stared up at me, I bent down and kissed him. He responded with a moan, lifting his head up to deepen the contact. I treated him to some of the same talented tongue-action I had used on his shaft and balls, and found him treating me to a similar display of sexual interplay, with the same talented tongue that had licked the cream out of me. Dropping his head with a groan, he slowly opened the eyes he had closed. I smiled down at him. He knew how to kiss my mouth lips as well as he could kiss my pussy lips. What a talented little bear I had in my care!

“…Do you like what we have done so far, Mr. Bear?” I asked him softly, still smiling.

“God, yes!” His hips strained, brushing his cock against my bottom, playing with the hem of my short, royal blue slip-skirt. Frustrated that I wasn’t quite long enough in the body for him to prod at my cunt, he groaned and begged. “Will you please fuck me, Mistress? I want to feel you cumming on me, fucking your brains out on my…on *your* penis,” he corrected himself as I arched a brow. He squirmed under me, trying to inch himself high enough that he could give me a good, old-fasioned poke. My smile broadened.

“Your subservience pleases me. Two merits. That leaves you with three demerits to work off. I’ll let you know something of the scale system I use,” I added conversationally, hitching myself up along the floor even as he almost reached his intercourse goal. “It is harder to achieve merits than it is demerits; at least, in the beginning, when you’re still learning how to submit yourself utterly to my will. But if you earn twenty merits, I will give you a blowjob that will cross your eyes and make you cum like a vacuum hose. If you earn fifty merits, I will strap your penis in a tight leash so you can’t cum, and fuck my brains out, as you have invited me to do so, and then I will release you so you can orgasm. If you earn one hundred merits, with no demerits on your balance…then I will fuck *your* brains out. In fact, I will give you one night of pure, vanilla sex, in whatever ordinary, vanilla positions you desire.”

He stared up at me at that, no longer squirming. Twice he blinked, then finally drew in a breath and asked, “And if I want to be Dominant one day, Mistress? For just an hour or two? How many merits will I need to earn for that?”

“None, for now,” I had to disappoint him. “You have neither the training nor the discipline to be trusted with the toys of a Dom. I myself was a sub for two full years, and an apprentice for a year more, before I was completely free to assert my will upon the men and women who crossed my path.”

“—Women?” he asked, blinking rapidly at the idea. “You…and another woman?”

I smiled wickedly down at him, bracing my crossed forearms on his chest. Oh, yeah, every guy’s fantasy; two women going at it with all the lust and passion in them. How much more of an exhilarating taboo was it to think of two women in a D/s scenario, one sexually dominating the other? “Get that thought out of your head, my naughty little bear. *You* asked for sexual monogamy, remember? And I agreed to it. That means I don’t get to go down on another woman, not even while you watch…unless our agreement changes at some point in the future. But since you’re the one who asked for it, it’s up to *you* to change the agreement, which at this point I do not think you will do, just yet.”

With that, I pushed up from him, walked over to the sink, and spent a couple minutes writing down what we had just done. Leaving him handcuffed and penis leashed on the floor. When I was done, I turned around. He was still lying on his back, the small of his back arched up so that it took some of the pressure off the uncomfortable lump of the handcuffs, but his head was turned towards me, his eyes devouring everything about my royal blue clad curves. His penis, which looked fantastic in its tri-wrapped penis leash, twitched as his gaze played over my plump, curvaceous body.

“…You are so fucking sexy, Mistress.”

I smiled at him, warmed by the sincere compliment. “Such sincerity gets you two more merits…but all compliments *must* be sincere to qualify,” I cautioned him, strolling slowly his way, letting my low-heeled pumps clack deliberately against the tiles. “Lie on your side, my little bear. I have one more thing to introduce you to, before we call it a night.”

He did as I asked, twisting onto his right side. Since his arms were bound behind his back, that made him tip towards his front, pressing his cheek against the cool tiles where his body had come fully off the towels. “Is it a punishment, or a reward, Mistress?”

“…Neither,” I clarified softly. “It is merely an introduction. At some point, it may become a punishment; at others, will become a pleasure. For now, it is enough for you to know what it feels like, so that it will not shock you too deeply further on in our play.”

Kneeling behind his thighs, I picked up the discarded anal probe. Reaching into the picnic basket, I found the tube of K-Y jelly and used it to coat the rounded tip and twig-like shaft. Replacing the tube, I turned to him, glad to see he hadn’t looked behind his shoulder, which would have earned him a few more demerits than the one that lay on his tally now.

“This might be a little cold at first, but it is necessary for this experience to feel even remotely good,” I warned him, and pried up his left asscheek, baring his puckered little anus. Adjusting my position for better leverage, I pushed against his tight little hole. His buttocks clenched instinctively against the cold intrusion. I squeezed his left cheek hard, not about to let this resistance of his go unthwarted. “Relax! You are going to feel this entering your ass outside the pleasure of a climax, and you will feel it entering you *now*”

With that, I shoved it in, despite his resistance. He gasped, and I let it stop just in past the outermost ring of his sphincter muscles, but not quite all the way into his rectum. Deliberately forcing him to feel it stretching his anus. Then I pushed it slowly, deliberately deeper, watching his flesh re-pucker partway again as the narrower shaft started disappearing into his depths. When it was in to the hilt, I stopped the probe.

“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“…No, Mistress,” honesty forced him to admit. Slowly, I pulled it all the way out again, and he moaned softly, pushing anally to help it get back out again.

“It just feels like you’re having a good, satisfying shit, doesn’t it?” I asked him lightly. “Except you’re not doing any of the straining required for taking a dump.” He grunted an assent, then grunted again when I pushed the probe back into his ass, once again all the way, nice and slow.

I pulled it out again, letting him feel every inch of natural resistance as it slid and popped back out, then pushed it back in just far enough that the rounded head popped past his sphincter muscles. Adjusting his legs so that they were a little more bent, giving me a little more maneuvering room, I grasped the hilt and gently swirled the probe. He groaned out loud, clearly enjoying it. I straightened the probe, and pushed it quickly in about two inches, making him gasp again. Neither pushing in fully nor withdrawing all the way, I then frigged his anus with the shaft, thrusting it in short, swift strokes that travelled both ways about an inch, inch and a half. Rubbing the branch-thin shaft against his sphincter muscles, and the ball-shaped head against his rectum. Twice I angled it towards his prostate, making him jump and twitch.

Finally, I drew it out so that the head rested in the vise of his sphincter muscles, and twisted the head back and forth. A quick shove in, a fast yank out, twice more in this fast of an attack, and I popped it out and left him breathing heavily as I placed the anal probe on the tiled floor.

“Onto your back.”

Obedient, he rolled onto his bound arms, arching his belly upwards once more. Reaching down, I carefully freed the little tongue of the buckle on the penis leash, then flicked the straps off his penis and popped the head and about an inch or so more into my mouth, thoroughly tasting his precum-coated, hot, pointed mushroom of flesh. The tip of my tongue danced around the edges of the ridge defining his glans, scooping up every last sweet-sushi flavored drop. Apparently that was the next-to-last straw.

“Oh, god, I’m gonna cum…!”

With that, I withdrew my ministrations, releasing his shaft with a sucking pop. A groan of disbelief left his throat as I stood up over him, placing my hands on his hips, leaving his penis twitching without satisfaction.

“Please, Mistress—I’ve got to cum!”

It is another curiosity of men that, the more you leave them wanting, the more they’ll want you more. Satiate a man, and he might move on, looking for fresher, greener pastures…but deny him the full package, and he’ll stick around with the increasingly obsessive need to have it all. By denying him a second orgasm tonight, by leaving him in a state of extreme need, I was guaranteeing that he would keep wanting me. I was also taking the first steps to training him to cum on command, one of my favorite tricks. So rather than giving him relief, I instead stated firmly,

“Your last demerit shall be served out by your *not* cumming, tonight, Mr. Bear. You are not allowed to jack yourself off, or even to touch yourself. You will roll onto your side, and as soon as I have released you from the handcuffs, you will get up onto your knees, take the anal probe to the sink, wash it thoroughly while still on your knees, dry it off, and bring it back to me, all on your knees. Protesting will get you five demerits, as will delaying your task. Getting my notebook wet in the process will earn you twenty-five demerits. Now, roll onto your side.”

Groaning in frustration, he did as I demanded, rolling onto his right shoulder again. Crouching, I dug in the basket for the handcuff key, and released his hands. As soon as he was free, he twisted and pushed onto his hands and knees, then sat back, rubbing at his wrists. He looked at me, a little doubtfully, then when I arched my brow, picked up the anal probe I had set on the floor and started shuffling across the tiles on his knees. While he was doing as commanded, I packed up my picnic basket, putting everything neatly back into its place. There were still several toys left in the basket that hadn’t even seen the light of day, and more back home that I could incorporate into my plans. For that matter, if he had a weight room in this oversized house, the possibilities could be stretched out even further. What a wonderful evening this had become.

By the time he came shuffling back, I was seated in the chair again, my legs crossed daintly, my hands resting in my lap. Cool and composed, and completely in control. He stopped right in front of me and held out the anal probe, sitting back on his heels. “Your probe, Mistress, cleaned just as you asked.”

“Has it been cleaned thoroughly?” I asked him lightly, and he nodded.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Then kiss it, to show your thanks for how gently it was applied today.” He gave me an askance look, and I arched my brow. “You *said* it has been cleaned thoroughly. If this is so, then you should have no hesitations in kissing it, as I command.”

“…Yes, Mistress.” Bringing it to his lips, he saluted it. With three kisses, not just one. One for the rounded knob, one for the twig-thin shaft, and one for the hilt where my hand had grasped. Only then did he hold it out again. “Thank you for allowing me to know what this feels like, Mistress.”

Oh, I was definitely keeping him. What a natural! Taking the probe from him, I tucked it into the basket. “Assume the position, Mr. Bear. I will be right back.”

Obediently, he placed his hands behind his head. I started to rise, then sat back down again and nudged at his knees with the tip of my suede pumps, flashing a little of my pussy as I did so.

“Knees wider, Mr. Bear. Do not ever forget that when you are in the punishment position, your thighs are not allowed to touch my cock, nor the balls that hang from it.”

“Yes, Mistress. My apologies, Mistress,” he added, shuffling his knees further apart.

“That’s five demerits for forgetting. Maintain the punishment position,” I reminded him, rising and moving around his kneeling, vulnerable body. Striding to the sink, I checked the notebook lying open next to the sink, running my hand lightly and carefully over the pages. I was mildly surprised to find that not a single drop had been splashed onto it. Picking up the pen, I filled out the last of our session, and made the notation that he had five demerits unaccounted for. Closing the book, I slotted the pen into the wires piercing the spine, and returned to the edge of the tiled floor. Bending over, I tucked the notebook into the basket, pulled out the collar leash, then straightened. “Return the chair to its original position, Mr. Bear. You may walk to do so.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” Rising, he picked up the chair, moved it back beside the magnificent, oversized, four-poster bed, then returned to his original place, knelt, and resumed the punishment position without asking.

Goddess, I loved him. Stooping just a little, once more showing him the splendor of my cleavage, I clipped the leading leash onto his collar. Straightening, leash in hand, I looked down at him. “Pick up the basket, Mr. Bear, and escort me downstairs.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Wiggling around me on his knees, he picked up the picnic basket, then looked up. “May I walk on my feet, Mistress?”

“You may.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

Together, we headed downstairs. Again, my heels wobbled slightly on the cushiony carpet. We reached the front entryway, and I turned to face him. “Set the basket down, and resume the position.”

Nodding, he dropped to his knees at the edge of the carpet, set the basket in front of him by about a foot, and tucked his hands behind his head. I loved that stance; it made every muscle on his torso bulge just enough for hunky definition. Bending over, I flashed my curves at him one last time, unclipping the leash. Kissing him softly on the lips, I straightened up before it could deepen into anything else. “You will keep the collar with you, Mr. Bear, as a sign of my right to dominate you. Every time I come over here for a session, I expect you to be wearing it. Every time I come over for one of these adventures, you will greet me in the position, naked but for your collar, ready and willing to submit yourself to my desires. When we are through, you will escort me back down here and resume the position you greeted me in, to show that, even as I leave, you are still subservient to my every whim. And, each time I leave and each time I return, you will respectfully remind me of how many demerits or merits you have on your tally. So the current number is…?”

He thought quickly, and finally asked, “…Five, Mistress?”

“Very good,” I praised him, smiling. “Remember that number for the next time I return.”

Turning away, I removed my coat from the rack and shrugged into it. Facing him again, I took my time buttoning it up again, then drew on my leather driving gloves. I was glad I only had a short ways to go, since it was a cold night outside, icy cold; I might even have to scrape my windshield so I could see to drive, tonight. Winter was coming early to our corner of the Pacific Northwest.

My new sub spoke up as I picked up the basket. “Will you please call me when you get home, Mistress? So that I know you’ve gotten home safely?”

It touched me that he was concerned for my safety. I started to agree, then realized it wasn’t quite that easy. Reaching into the basket, I pulled out the notebook again, readying it. “I’ll need your phone number.”

He gave it to me, and his cell number, his pager number, and his personal email address. Then hesitated. “…Do I have to give you my work number or email address, Mistress? This is my private life, not my professional one, and I’d kind of like to keep it that way.”

“We’ll keep it separate; I don’t allow my private pleasures to mix with my business life, myself, so I have no problems with that,” I agreed, tucking the notebook back into the picnic basket. “I will call you when I get home, to let you know I got there safely, Mr. Bear. Your concern for my welfare pleases me. In the meantime, remember that you are not allowed to cum, or even touch yourself, for the rest of tonight, or you will earn ten more demerits. Between tomorrow morning and our next session, you may cum once, and only once, by jacking off…so I advise you to hold off as long as you can, or you’ll go mad with the urge to beat your meat a second time to the memories we’ve made tonight. Should you fail my instructions and actually cum a second time, it will be twenty more demerits. A third time, it will be thirty additional demerits, a fourth time will add forty demerits, and so on and so forth. How many do you have right now, again?”

“Five, Mistress,” he replied promptly.

“Five…what?” I prompted him lightly, adjusting my gloves.

“I have five demerits on my tally, Mistress,” he recited dutifully, and received a smile.

“Goodnight, Mr. Bear. Pleasant dreams.”

Turning to the door, I opened it, letting in a swirl of frigid air. Letting myself out, I caught one last glimpse of him as I twisted to make sure the door shut. He was watching me leave, kneeling naked on the carpeted floor, thighs splayed wide and penis definitely erect. Then the door shut between us, and given that it was indeed cold, I made my way back to my car, scraped the windshield quickly as I shivered in my coat, and made my way home.

It didn’t take long; the streets were quiet, with little traffic to interfere with my safe return. Closing the garage as soon as my car was parked, I entered the house, kicked off my heels, and carried the basket to the phone. Dialing the first number in the notebook, I didn’t even hear a full ring before it picked up.

“—Mistress?” I heard my sub gasp.

“Your eagerness pleases me, Mr. Bear,” I drawled.

“That was fast,” he murmured in my ear. “Where…may I ask where you live, Mistress?”

“Less than fifteen blocks away.”

I heard his breath escape, then shudder back in again. “That close? You live within a mile of my house?”

“Surprise; I didn’t even know it myself, until you told me earlier,” I murmured, and laughed with him. “Well, now that I’m safely home, I’ll again wish you a good ni—”

“—Wait! Please, Mistress…when may I see you again?” he asked me politely. Phrasing it in a way that subtly acknowledged my schedule was the deciding factor in our next encounter, not his.

“After Thanksgiving, I think. After I go to my parents’ for the usual overindulgent dinner.”

He groaned. “I can’t wait that long! Please, will you come back tomorrow night?” he pleaded. “Pretty please, with a whipping on top?”

That made me laugh. “I’ll think about it. Be a good little bear, between now and our next meeting, and don’t forget to help your own family do the dishes, on Thursday… Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he whispered, and I hung up, satisfied. Well, almost. After the way his tongue could dance through my cunt, I doubted even my favorite vibrator would be up to the job, tonight. Then again, if I chose to hold off on my own orgasm until our next encounter, I, too, just might be the in mood to meet with him again as soon as tomorrow night…

- - - - -

{Author’s Note: I welcome you feedback and votes, for this and all my other stories. I’ve already heard from a few subs; perhaps a Dom/ina would care to comment, too? Do let me know how you feel about the Mr. Bear series; I’m hoping to get even more chapters written soon as well. Don’t forget to play both safety & consentually, and have a good summer/winter (depending on your hemisphere)!

~ladyofthemasque, Domina ex arcanum}

Tags: Fetish, Story