Female dominant, male submissive.

It was always a “maybe” whether he would be able to make it over. An oddball work schedule left him backward — his days were nights, his nights were days. When a person should be awake, he was . . . weird. Still, he arrived at her place for a day of fun.

Then, when they got into the bedroom, he promptly fell asleep.

A few hours later, he awoke. As he saw her, sitting at the foot of the bed, reading a book, she picked her head up and matched his gaze. “Hey, honey,” she said, a smile on her face. “Coffee, tea, or me?”

“You,” he growled, trying to get up. And realized he was bound to the bed.

Not a tight bind, mind you – simply, there were cuffs about his wrists, but he wasn’t getting out of bed.

“Oh, silly boy,” she said, straddling his chest as he looked about his predicament with confusion. “I think we’re going to have some fun today.” And with that, she pulled on a rope threaded around the bed posts, sending his wrists traveling toward opposite posts. Now, he was securely fastened to the bed.

“12 hours until you need to be at work” she said, trailing a finger up his bare thigh (wait, hadn’t he gone to bed in his clothes? Was he really so out of it that she was able to render him nude?!). “You’re under my spell until then.”

With that, she reached into her bedside drawer and pulled out a vibrator. Straddling him, she sat on his chest and proceeded to turn it on and guide it to her pussy.

Over her pajama pants, she pressed the little bit of electronic heaven against her sex. Gyrating against him, her eyes locked on his, she worked herself into a frenzy before bringing herself to a wondrous orgasm.

He moaned in frustration, not being able to touch her or taste her or, heck, even to see her, as her silk pajamas kept all the “fun parts” hidden from his view. She looked back over her shoulder, noticed his cock was at full attention, and grinned.

She then stood and went back to her bedside drawer, pulling out a hair scrunchie. “My dear, we’re only starting to have fun,” she said, before grabbing his balls, and twisting the hair ornament around twice. The effect was clear – his balls had *some* separation from the rest of his genitals, but it wasn’t tight. At least, not *uncomfortably* tight. He writhed about on the bed, trying to push his cock into her, against her, near her . . . but she was all business. “Pretty,” she said before humming to herself and grabbing a breast in front of him, through her silk pajamas, and giving a little shudder, as if in aftershock to the orgasm which she enjoyed. The orgasm in which he played no part, which was driving him crazy.

She then turned on the TV.

For the next two hours, she watched the morning talk shows — every now and then, apparently whenever it looked like his erection might start to wane, she ran a solitary finger up the shaft of his penis, tracing the line of his urethra, watching him writhe in sensual agony. He moaned. He cursed. She said nary a word.

When she felt that she had fully “caught up with the world,” she turned off the TV, running a finger up his cock once again (if she was being honest with herself, she had been far more fascinated by the “tick tock” of his pulse in his sex than the latest cooking segment from the chef-du-jour). “Wanna fuck?” she asked.

“Oh, baby, do I,” he answered, half lustful, half begging.

Again, she went back to her bedside drawer. Pulling out a long bungee cord, she attached one hook to the buckle about his right wrist, and then under his knees before attaching it to his left wrist. If he didn’t fight, his knees were pulled to his chest.

If he did fight, he grew tired, quickly.

She watched him, trying to figure out his position, until he grew complacent, with his knees pressed against his chest. Then she went back into her drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube and a strap-on.

Slowly, she went about the agonizing work of adjusting the straps of the phallus, pausing, every now and then, to blow on his stiff cock . . . just to tease it.

When her own cock was fastened, she jerked it off a bit, finally pressing it, hard, against her . . . an audible buzz was heard. She was letting him know that there was a sensor, and when she was all the way in, well, she got her own jollies then.

A quick squirt of lube into her hand was pressed against his open asshole. And then she rubbed the liquid all over her phallus before pushing it right into him. This was not romantic, this was not a “soft insertion.” He took the whole length at once.

At first, there was a vocal protest, a cry of “too much,”. But within a few thrusts, he was meeting her. And, loathe as he might be to admit it, he was enjoying being on the receiving end.

His vocalizations were a mixture of pain, pleasure, humility, longing, and want.

Once they established a bit of a rhythm, she stopped her pumping, pressing fully against him, writhing her body as the vibrations hit her clit. She worked herself into a full orgasm before pumping into him, again, hard.

He took the barrage, his cock flapping against his stomach.

But when she sensed that he might be *really* enjoying the action, she stopped, again. Pressing her cock fully into him, she, again, the vibrator did it’s thing. It wasn’t long until she enjoyed yet another orgasm.

Then she pulled *most* of the way out, letting him writhe for a bit, before removing the cock from his ass, fully.

“Gotta clean up,” she said, gleefully, before grabbing his cock and kissing the head.

And into the bathroom she danced, rinsing and scrubbing the phallus clean. “God, I love fucking you,” she said, giggling.

He sat on the bed, unable to do much of all, but writhe in longing.

When she returned from the cleaning chore, she came to him and looked down at him, concerned. “Hmmmmm, I believe an erection lasting more than four hours requires a doctor’s consultation”

“Believe me,” he said, “I don’t need a fucking doctor. I need to fucking get off.”

“Oh, no no no — this is a medical issue,” she said, picking up her cell phone.

“Hi, is Doctor Jacobs available?” she said into her phone, putting a finger to her lips toward him in the universal “keep quiet” sign.

While on hold, she took hold of his cock, pumping up and down, slowly.

“Hey Bobby” she said, letting go of his sex, “yeah . . . you remember that date I was supposed to have? Well, he’s a bit tied up at the moment. You wouldn’t be up for a house call, now, would you?”

A pause.

“See you soon. Mwah.”

“Oh no,” he said. She proceeded to turn on the TV once again, changing the input. A split screen appeared – two camera angles of an empty bedroom.

“We have a few minutes,” she said, pulling the bottle of lube back out.

He started to try to relax himself, to allow whatever affront she might be planning on his rear-end to be easier to take, but she un-fastened the cord holding his legs in the air. With him lying back on the bed, once again, she dribbled lube all down his cock.

First, she just traced up his shaft, slowly, with a single finger, once again, making sure to trace along the most sensitive of lines. But then she made the “ok” signal with her thumb and forefinger around the head of his cock. “I like playing just the tip” she giggled. He started to pump with his hips, but her hand kept with his body – he was never able to manage to have any more than the head of his penis make contact with her. Eventually, she squeezed the circle between her fingers tighter and tighter; he started to squeal. And she released his sex; he growled. And they started the whole thing over again.

His cock was now hard and purple. Precum was freely dripping.

The doorbell rang.

She stood, went to the bathroom, and pulled out a thick rubber band. It was place around his balls, on top of the scrunchie . . . this was *far* tighter . . . not truly restrictive, but he felt his balls complaining about the lack of blood.

“Now, be a good boy — if I hear from you, we’re going to have some real issues,” she said, with a flighty voice, before closing the door as she left the room.

A few minutes passed and he wasn’t privy to much — but then she and the doctor appeared on the monitor. There was no sound. She closed the door behind them before dropping to her knees, unbuckling his belt, unfastening his fly, and sucking his cock. Every now & then, through the expert blow job, she made sure to look in the direction of one of the video cameras.

Once the doctor was fully hard, he stepped out of his pants. She pulled off her pajamas and crawled onto the bed. He knelt behind her and pounded her.

The man in the room watched, unable to do anything else.

The doctor grabbed her hips and shuddered. She threw her head back in delight. They stayed there for a few minutes, still frames, as they allowed their bodies to return to stasis.

She turned around and took him in her mouth once again, licking, sucking . . . sopping up every last drop of their shared juices. Through this post-coital blow job, she never looked away from one of the cameras.

The doctor started to get hard, once again, but pushed her away. A brief discussion culminated with the doctor pointing to his watch. She nodded her head and helped him get dressed before opening the door and leading him from the room. A few minutes later, she arrived in the room, nude, and kissed her subject.

He relished the taste of her – even if it was her essence with the doctor all mixed together, there was some of her; it was good. It was what he needed.

“Well, I consulted with a doctor – but it looks like that didn’t help at all. You must be uncomfortable,” she said,” looking at his erect cock.

“You have no idea,” he replied. “My balls ache and, goddamn, I have to pee,”

“Oh, silly me,” she said, walking back to the bathroom and turning on the shower. “I’m going to untie you — but I don’t trust you to not jerk off if I leave you alone. Get in the shower and pee in the drain . . . I know you boys like to do that.”

“Well, peeing with a hard cock isn’t exactly…” he said as she untied him and lead him to the shower. But the shower was as cold as a cold shower might be. The temperature attack on his sex left him flaccid.

“There now, pee,” she said, watching him.

He obliged. She grinned – something about watching a man pee made her happy.

She shut off the water. “Now, lie back down,” she instructed, and he did so. The wrist cuffs were re-attached. She pulled out a towel and proceeded to dry his lower body, starting with his feet, working her way on up.

By the time she reached his sex, he was fully hard again. His balls turning purple under the rubber band.

“Oh, baby, your balls must ache so much,” she said.

“So much, baby,” he replied.

She removed the rubber band from his scrotum, and he sighed a mixture of pain and pleasure as a full blood-flow started to return. “Your balls must be so sore. Should I do something about them?” she asked.

“Please,” he pleaded.

And she proceeded to take his scrotum in her hands, and massaged his testicles, making sure to not make ANY contact with the shaft of his penis.

He writhed against the bed, his cock flapping against his belly, trying to get ANY contact against his shaft. Vocally, he emitted a mixture of moans, gasps, growls, and whimpers. His hips started convulsing involuntarily.

She pulled away and chuckled.

“How about a blow job?”

“Please.”

“How badly do you want it?”

“More than I’ve wanted anything.”

And she put her lips into an “o” and proceeded to blow cool air up the length of his cock.

For the next 20 minutes.

She giggled.

Whenever his erection started to show signs of waning, she would trace her fingertips up the length of his shaft, leaving the throbbing member excited but unrelieved.

Finally, she simply straddled his shoulders, pushing her pussy into his face.

He licked, ferociously. His beard getting drenched with her juices. Her orgasms came quick and often. Neither took a rest between her climaxes. They went until they were both physically exhausted.

She retreated back to straddling his chest, and then collapsed into him, her breasts falling on either side of his face. He started to kiss and lick the valley between her cups, but she simply breathed deeply, regaining her breath.

She stood and walked between his legs. Slowly, she licked up the length of his thigh, to his scrotum. Taking his shaft in her hand, she proceeded to lick his scrotum. Then she took a testicle in her mouth and sucked on it, biting it just a bit, before releasing his sex, unfulfilled, once again.

Again, to her bedside table, she traveled, this time pulling out a vial of massage oil. Like the lube before, she dribbled drops all of the way up to his shaft. With both hands, she grabbed his scrotum and started kneading the very base of his cock with her thumbs.

His hips gyrated. He moaned. Then growled.

She broke all contact with him, and he started thrusting his hips against the air, his clock flapping against his stomach with each thrust. She, again, pulled out her vibrator.

And, again, she straddled his chest. He watched her, playing with herself, working herself into a frenzy. He moaned with frustration. When she neared her orgasm, his moans turned to sobs.

Tears of frustration started to form in his eyes; he stopped ogling her sex and shut his eyelids. And in that moment, she shifted down and rode him.

He thrust.

She came with him inside of her, whispering “cum for me.”

He growled again.

His hips thrust into the air.

He gasped.

His back arched.

He came.

His body fell to the bed.

She unfastened his bonds and they curled into bed together. “Sleep, slave,” she whispered. “You have to be back at work in a few hours.”

Before he knew it, his alarm was going off. He dressed for work. Looking at his cell phone on the way out of the house, he noticed a post-it: “I was a really bad girl last night, I’ll be ready for my treatment when you get home. You know, if you’re up for some fun. Otherwise, your ass is mine. Again.”