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The Making of a Toyboy Slave 01
Thank you for trying my story: I hope you enjoy it. It is the first of what will probably be four parts, This is quite a gentle introduction, with the content becoming "harder" later on.. Comments and ratings are always very welcome.
Seduction
By the standards of his contemporaries, Nigel was slightly odd. Often described- not always out of his earshot- as a nerd, be was socially awkward, with little small talk and obvious shyness in female company. He had reached the age of twenty without losing his virginity, and unlike many of his age he was not a university student, or an apprentice, or in any kind of regular employment. He was better with computers than with people, and made some of his money by creating websites and consulting on online security for small and medium-sized businesses. He lived alone in a converted barn in the countryside near Chorley, in Lancashire.
Nigel could afford his semi-isolation, because both his parents had died in the crash of a small aircraft from which they were viewing an archipelago off the coast of Thailand. They had left him secure, but not rich enough to impress women with the lavishness of his lifestyle. In a sense, his money was probably a trap. It left him with no motive to seek the kind of job that would have forced him into more human contact, but it was not enough for him to make him an obviously eligible bachelor. There would be no fast cars, no yachts, and no expensive parties, even if he had anyone to invite to them.
Nigel was lonely, but not lonely enough to make company a very high priority for him. He had online friends, and a plethora of pornographic websites with which to satisfy his most pressing needs. For his age he was a man of surprisingly regular habits, and one of them was to take afternoon tea on Wednesdays in a hotel not far from his home. Something of a people-watcher, he liked to sit at a small table in a bay window, where he could both enjoy the view and observe the other customers. It was a popular place, so most were usually occupied. The staff recognized him and always put him in the same position.
On the afternoon when his life changed, Nigel's eye was caught by two women having a full afternoon tea- sandwiches, cakes, scones and clotted cream- at the nearest table to his. One was very vivacious, doing most of the talking and constantly looking around. She was in her way quite glamorous, having taken great care with her hair and make-up, and was wearing a frilly-edged blouse and a short skirt. She was, he thought, about forty, and certainly attractive in a slightly obvious, brassy way, but he thought her companion much more interesting.
The other woman- a brunette with shoulder-length hair- was quieter and more relaxed; almost serene in her posture. She was sitting almost facing him, so he had to be careful not to be caught staring, but he wanted to print her features on his mind, to remember her the next time he was masturbating. Her face was broad, as was her smile. She had those almost two-dimensional, symmetrical features that always looked good on the television, with a beautifully-shaped, full-lipped mouth and large flashing eyes. Some might have thought her bland- almost too perfect- but Nigel felt an instant attraction. Somehow, with very little- or inconspicuous- make-up, she managed to look mature without showing signs of aging.
He was fortunate that, between her first and second cups of tea, the woman went to visit the powder room, and walked straight past him. She wore a tight-fitting dress of thin but glossy fabric that seemed to cling to her body. It revealed a very curvy figure; breasts that were big but not huge, and a shapely, eminently graspable bottom, with a slim waist between. Doubtless it was receiving support from her bra and panties, but Nigel rather liked the idea of her soft flesh being shaped by her garments. Would she be as lovely when naked? He thought she'd be different, but would still feel good in his hands.
Nigel decided there and then to try to identify the woman, and he had a major stroke of luck when her companion, receiving a phone call, left before the scones were finished. Nigel noticed that they hugged very affectionately, and had to hope that they were not lesbians. He had always thought that a bisexual woman might be an exciting partner, but had never dreamt that the possible threesomes might be other than figments of his imagination.
Nigel finished his tea and scones quickly, paid his bill and left by the French window next to his table. That put him in the formal garden adjacent to the car park, where he could intercept her if she emerged the same way, or hurry to his car if she went out by the main hall and front door. In fact she followed him about five minutes later, while he lingered by a bed of strongly-scented pink roses. She had a few steps to descend, and as she did so, her dress was short enough to reveal that she wore, not tights, but stockings and suspenders.
She was bound to walk straight past Nigel, who was getting the best possible view by bending very low to examine the horse manure that had been spread generously around the roses. He had never been good at chat-up lines, and equine excrement was not a good starting point, so he rose to a height from which he could smell a flower. He felt his throat constricting with nerves, but knew that, if she walked past and disappeared forever, he would regret it for the rest of his life. "These smell wonderful," was the best he could come up with, as she walked behind him. "I'd love to know the variety."
He spoke with his back to her, giving her the chance to grunt an acknowledgement and walk on. Instead, he was thrilled to hear her reply. "I'm guessing Gertrude Jekyll," she said clearly. I've got one and it smells gorgeous. Have you tried the yellow one over there?"
Nigel felt very unsteady as he walked a few yards by her side, not yet daring to look directly at her. The rose- clearly labelled Absolutely Fabulous- had a perfume that was not as strong, but just as pleasing. Soon they were walking from bed to bed to sample them all, and his mind was working in top gear to think of a suitable approach. Could he invite her to visit a garden with him? Was Ness too far away, and was Rufford too small to be worthwhile? Fortunately, his pulling skills were never tested, as nature itself seemed to conspire in his favour.
One of the rose beds was dedicated to You're Beautiful, a floribunda with numerous flowers but luxuriant foliage, but she ventured onto the soil and between two shrubs to reach one that had flowers in the ideal condition for sampling. On the way out she snagged her dress on a branch, giving him the opportunity to rush forward to help her. He managed to get very close when bending to pick the fabric off the thorns, and then to guide her with his hands on her body to negotiate a safe way back to the path.
"Thank you, young man," she said in her clear, accentless voice. "You're very kind to a woman who must be old enough to be your mother."
"You're easy to be kind to," he replied. Or should I have said: "To you, it is easy to be kind?"
She laughed. "If you are kind, that is a situation up with which I will happily put.' She smoothed her dress, and he thought she looked infinitely hot, running her hands over her body. "I have my own rose garden at home. Would you like to see it?"
Had he really scored so easily? He agreed immediately, and she told him to follow her car. That could have been nerve-wracking, if traffic lights or delivery vans had been uncooperative, but it turned out to be no more than half a mile on clear, uncluttered roads, and then a couple of hundred yards on a farm track. The house was on a patch of land cut into a farmer's field; hidden behind a high fence with a hedge behind it.
Once both cars were through the gate it closed behind them, and they were in front of a substantial two-storey residence surrounded by gardens; mainly lawn but with rose beds and at least one long herbaceous border. It all looked very mature; probably dating from the 1930s or '40s, with huge climbing roses adorning the front of the house. Nigel found it impossible to believe that she did not have at least one gardener and, given the size of the building, a cleaner and housekeeper as well. On that visit, however, he saw no sign of them, or anyone else.
They did not go straight inside, although she did enter the porch briefly to drop a scarf, her keys and her little handbag. Then she hurried back to Nigel's side and grasped his arm to lead him to the side of the house, where several standard roses grew in a formal, rectangular bed which was thickly mulched with bark, He let himself be led to the nearest bush, clasping his wrists behind his back to draw her closer, and he felt his crotch beginning to bulge as he felt her breast against his arm through the thin layers of clothing.
As she chattered about her roses he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate, for he had feigned an interest only to start a conversation with her. He soon fancied that she was teasing him, discoursing on the various cultivars' vulnerability or resistance to black spot or mildew. There even seemed to be a suspicion of double entendre. "Sometimes a good, firm, upright stem just wilts and withers away, without any apparent reason," she said. "Don't you find that? By the way, my name's June."
"Mine's Nigel, but no, I don't, June, and I'm pleased to meet you. When I get a good, woody branch it usually stays that way until it flowers."
"That's good. I like them really stiff and hard. Come inside, and I'll make us a drink. We can see most of the garden from the conservatory."
He was fully erect by this time, but if it showed she affected not to notice as she continued to hold onto him, leading him through her beautifully appointed house to a tall, wood-framed orangery at the back. It contained an abundance of wicker furniture with deep, soft cushions, and included a huge couch and a three-piece suite. She led him to the sofa, and left him to return with two glasses of lemonade, placing them on a little table in front of them. She chattered a little more about the design of the garden, restricted by the amount of land available.
"I've tried in vain to get the farmer to sell me another acre or two, but he won't play ball. He's old, however, and I'm confident that his son and heir will be more cooperative." She seemed to think for a moment, and let the contours of the little sofa push her against him more snugly. "You know, Nigel, I might be speaking out of turn, but I get the impression that you've never had a girlfriend. Are you a virgin?"
He was, obviously, taken aback by the sudden change of subject. It was the first time she had shown any curiosity about him. She had not even asked where he lived, or what he did for a living, but had gone straight for the point at which he felt most vulnerable. Wriggling every more intimately against his arm and shoulder, she seemed to have no concept of personal space, either verbal or physical. There was no point in his denying it, however. "You read me like a book," he replied, trying his hardest not to turn bright red.
"Roses are like dogs," she went on. "Nice to have in their own right, but most of all as an ice-breaker; a means of meeting new people. They've served their purpose. Now you may kiss me."
She used her hands to turn his head towards her. He had never expected it to be like that; being manipulated like a doll, but he never thought of resisting as their mouths came together. She kept her lips more relaxed than he expected, with no pouting or puckering, but she rotated her head to move them against his. To him, they felt warmer, softer and more exquisite than he could possibly have imagined, and he was prepared to go on like that almost indefinitely. It was almost a surprise to feel her tongue pushing through, but he met it immediately with his own. He had not expected his first kiss to be French, but then, he had not expected it to be with a mature, experienced and obviously sensuous woman.
Once she was satisfied that their lips were well sealed, June dropped her hands, one stroking the side of his body and the other resting lightly on his thigh, close to his crotch. Placed millimetres from the tip of his erection, he took it as virtual carte blanche, and began to run his own hands over her body. Her flesh felt wonderful under the thin fabric of her dress, and he quickly ventured onto her breasts, squeezing them gently as he tried to determine whether she was wearing a bra, and if so, how much of an obstacle it presented. He was not looking forward to his first attempt at undoing the little hooks that so many of them had at the back.
A sudden thrill passed through his body as he felt her hand shift; her fingers resting on the shaft of his penis. His kissing became much more fervent as he pushed his face forward, but he was also wondering whether the extra stimulation would cause him to ejaculate prematurely. It did not last long, however. She broke off the kiss, smiling broadly, and suggested quietly that they move to the couch, and got up without waiting for an answer. He followed her, but realized that she was stopping to remove her clothes, and decided to help her do so.
It was easy to strip his first woman, because she was fully cooperative. The dress peeled off her like a second skin, and as it had some stiffening under the breasts, she wore no bra. They were bulky enough to stand out from her chest even though they sank much lower without support, and the nipples pointed directly forward. She chuckled as, standing right behind her, he reached around and grasped both the globes of flesh, unable to resist the temptation to knead them in his hands, squeezing the teats between his fingers as he did so. She let him go on doing that as she reached down and tore off her panties, leaving her garter belt and stockings in place, and then she reached behind to pull down his flies.
She turned and faced him, and their lips came together again. She was only about an inch shorter than his five-seven, so they were an almost perfect match. He felt her fishing for his penis, so he abandoned her breasts to release his trousers, letting them fall to the floor, and then he removed his shirt. He had left his shoes near the front door, and his socks waited until he climbed onto the couch. That was really just a double bed with a bamboo frame, very low at the sides and bottom, so it was only seconds before he was lying with his first woman, luxuriating in the feel of her soft flesh against his body.
Nigel was acutely nervous now, but he was hoping that she would hold his shaft and guide it into her. His only plan after that was to last as long as he could, possibly distracting himself by kissing her and sucking her nipples. He would not dare to try thinking asexual thoughts for fear of overdoing it and losing his erection altogether. There were many pitfalls to catch out the inexperienced, and fortunately June was aware of that, having formulated a very different plan.
"Eat me first," she hissed at him, rising to her knees to straddle him with her back to his feet in the "forward cowgirl" position, from which she could more easily hold his head and pull his mouth up against her vulva. That was very welcome, for Nigel had only a theoretical knowledge of how to approach it. He could stick out his tongue, but then he was reliant on the vigour with which she rubbed his mouth against it, moving him in one direction and herself in the other.
She managed for short periods to do it with one hand, leaning back and using the other to grab his penis, ensuring that it remained ready to play its part in a few minutes' time. She actually preferred her lovers to take a more active role in cunnilingus, but she orgasmed easily and the final outcome was inevitable. When she came she ground herself down onto his face and clutched it with her knees, causing him some minor discomfort and difficulty breathing, but she did not turn around for a second helping in the reverse cowgirl. Nigel's time had arrived.
June left him lying on his back, and pushed herself down to briefly lick his shaft. For an almost unbearably thrilling moment he thought she was going to give him a blowjob. Would she spit or would she swallow? He was, however, relieved when she stopped, for he did not want to miss the chance to lose his virginity. She was only lubricating him, and her next step was to kneel over his midriff, still facing him, and to lower herself onto his penis, holding it upright.
Nigel entered heaven as he was eased into her warm, wet and firm tunnel, which seemed at every stage of the penetration to conform itself to the contours of his penis. The feeling became more exquisite as she began to raise and lower herself, slowly and deliberately, giving a little wriggle at the bottom of ever cycle. At first she bent over his torso, steadying herself with her hands on the mattress, and her breasts presented themselves to his hands to be grasped and squeezed. He even found that he could raise himself enough to kiss her from time to time, and she accepted that eagerly, lowering herself more to meet him.
Nigel was much less anxious now. She had taken complete charge of the proceedings, and she had already climaxed. He could lie back and enjoy his defloration, and as he was so much more relaxed, the prospect of premature ejaculation receded. He was not going to last more than three or four minutes, but when June realized he was not going to shoot immediately she decided to try for another orgasm, kneeling more upright and using her fingers on her clitoris. She was not starting from scratch, and she had some control over her mounting arousal. It was therefore not surprising that they managed to hit the jackpot with their first coupling; they came together.
Such success was a source of triumph and pride to Nigel, who naturally ascribed to his own self-control and timing what had been largely her achievement. She made a big fuss of him afterwards, lying on him and kissing him continuously with his slowly subsiding penis still in her vagina. He was already thinking of the next time. The infinite joy of feeling his seed pumping into her body was surely something without which he would never be able to live.
Nigel had read somewhere about the importance of afterplay in establishing a lasting, stable relationship, so he kept his tongue active and stroked her sides first, and then grasped her bottom, holding her hard against him to avoid slipping out before it was unavoidable. "That was truly wonderful," he breathed as soon as his mouth was free for a few moments. "I never thought my first time would be so good."
She just smiled and resumed the kissing, and he found that, considering the circumstances, he was surprisingly rational. He had never had the chance to explore the body of a woman of his own age, but he had seen countless pictures of models who were, presumably, regarded as ideal examples. June was slightly different; her body had lost a little of its youthful shape and she had grown some subcutaneous fat to keep herself firm and free of creases and wrinkles. He loved the way she felt under his hands, and felt sure that she would be attractive for at least another ten or fifteen years.
She rolled off him sighing contentedly. "Let's stay where we are," she said. I'll just grab some water from the cupboard. Young men recover quickly. In half an hour you'll be ready for another round."
After a quick drink they lay on their sides, facing one another. Their mouths were almost touching, and did so from time to time. He held her breasts in his hands and she grasped his limp penis. Despite the distractions, there was some conversation. Nigel remarked that he had never before seen her at the hotel. "I'm sure I'd remember," he added, and that brought a smile to her face.
"My friend and I just wanted a place to meet, and she suggested it. We have tea together, usually, once a month, but in one of our houses. It was a change for us."
"So if you'd stuck with your usual habit, I'd still be a virgin," he mused.
"There were other women there, and you were on the prowl. You'd surely have found someone to shag."
"No. You've no idea how much courage it took to speak to you."
"You were lying in wait for me, though. I wonder why you'd never done that before."
"As you said, you were never there before."
"I'm not the only woman in the world. I'm sure I'm not the only one with whom you'd be happy to sleep with."
"You're the only one I wanted enough to overcome my shyness."
"Now you've had me."
"I think of that as a state of affairs, not an event."
"Perhaps we'll talk about the state of affairs later." She was manipulating his penis with her hand. "You are quick. This is starting to swell. To be young is very heaven."
"So I've heard," he replied. "It can also be frustrating. Please keep doing that. I love the feel of your hand on my cock."
"I like feeling it. It's long and straight, and just about the right thickness. A nicely contoured shaft without unsightly bulges or veins, and a good-sized helmet." It was fully hard now, and she was running her fingertips up and down its length. "Time to put it in me. I think I'd like the missionary position, this time. No need to lubricate it."
She encouraged him to lie on top, with his hands on the mattress to take some of the weight off her body. She reached down to guide him into her, and once more he felt that pure, unalloyed pleasure that, he thought, was probably better than the moments of pleasure that came with an ejaculation. She stretched out her arms wide then, as if to surrender to him. Here I am. Use me for your pleasure. Looking down on her, he thought her the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, and he lowered his face to kiss her perfect mouth. In the bright light from the windows that almost surrounded them he could see the first signs of aging- tiny wrinkles under and in the corners of her eyes- but he thought they added character and revealed something of her personality. Laughter lines suited her.
Nigel found that he could raise and lower himself with his arms, and even use just one, with the other free to feel her breasts, or to stroke her face and push his fingers into her mouth. Her whole body was his erotic playground, and the experience was so novel to him that he had to remind himself that, all over the country, let alone the world, countless men were shagging their wives, mistresses or paramours of either gender. Sex was an empire on which the sun never set, and he had at last become one of its citizens.
He was, however, still an absolute beginner. He had the tools now; an erection that would last, and no danger of a premature ejaculation. How long would she want him to go on? Fifteen minutes? Half an hour? An hour? He kept thrusting long and deep, but slowly at first, intending to accelerate very gradually until she showed signs of cumming. He found that he was able to either push with his whole body, using his hands, or to lie more directly on her, using mainly his hips, and both methods were very pleasurable. She seemed very passive at first, but he soon became aware that she was trying to push back down onto him, although with very limited results.
He was aware that she was breathing more heavily, and with a hand on one of her breasts he could feel it rising and falling, her body shaking as he pinched the nipple. "Harder, faster," she murmured, and he complied, using his knees more to push himself into her. He thought for a moment of pulling her legs over his shoulders, but before he could try that she started cumming, her body shaking, twisting and bucking under his weight as he bore down on her to avoid being thrown off. As the orgasm passed its peak and began to subside, her mouth found his and he managed, by rocking their bodies, to get his arms around her, holding her tight against him. That seemed to trigger a second mini-climax as he continued to thrust, but eventually she went limp and he rolled them onto their sides, still clutching her to him and kissing her deeply.
She was still impaled on his shaft and showed no signs of wanting to dismount. Nor was his erection softening, so he simply kept it where it was, moving very slightly to maintain some sensation for both of them. He still felt that he could go on forever, and soon swung his legs up between hers to seat himself in her more securely. Almost without thinking, he soon found that he was beginning to thrust again, and this time it was easier to move his torso to hold it against hers, or to lean well back and grasp her breasts at arm's length.
He could also reach down and finger her pussy above his penis, but although he wanted to show willing he felt there was a danger of overdoing it. He had read that the clitoris was best approached gradually and indirectly, and he was anxious to avoid making mistakes. Instead he took one of her hands and placed it onto her vulva, keeping his own fingers on hers to keep track of what she was doing, and how hard she was pressing. He only kept it there for a minute or two, preferring to be able to knead her breasts, but she was soon cumming again, even more strongly than before, still with one hand on her sex and the other behind his head, holding his mouth against hers.
They carried on, still side by side but rolling over to face the other way after the next group of orgasms. Then, before the fourth, she reached down and began to press on and stroke the little patch of skin between his scrotum and his anus. At first he thought she was working her way down to finger the latter, but he soon realized that she was bringing him quickly to an ejaculation, and again they climaxed together, which he saw as further evidence that they were a match made in heaven. It was only a matter of making sure that she regarded him as her regular lover, and not just as an afternoon's entertainment.
Nigel was keeping sufficient track of the time to know that, if she did not invite him to stay for dinner soon, he would have to take his leave. When their lovemaking was over he kept their bodies close against one another, hoping that she would not resist the implied offer of more sex later on, when they had both recovered. She also seemed to realize that a decision was required, but the conversation, after a quick visit to the loo and a drink of water, was not quite what he had expected.
He tried to take the initiative. "You must decide my fate," he told her, keeping close enough to use brief kisses like punctuation. "I would love to stay with you longer, but if you prefer I will get up, get dressed, and drive home. If the latter, I hope you'll want me to come back, soon and often. I've never met anyone remotely like you."
She seemed to think for a moment. "I'm sure that's true," she began, "but you probably don't realize just how different I am. It isn't just that I'm old enough to be your mother. I'm incapable of normal relationships, and I'm not a suitable case for treatment. I like myself the way I am. I like you very much, but if you want a place in my life, it depends on you accommodating yourself to my requirements."
"Our requirements have matched very well so far." He replied, "but you always know what to do. I'm sure I'll be able to do things the way you want."
"I suspect you don't understand what I mean. I require total control. I'll give you a few hours' demonstration. Turn onto your front and bury your head between two of these cushions."
Nigel obeyed, and was effectively blinded as he heard her rummaging in a nearby drawer, Then she returned, picked up his wrists, and pulled them together behind his back. "I'm going to handcuff you now," she told him. "I need to do that to feel in complete control. I'll release you later, and you won't be hurt in any way."
Thus reassured, he relaxed, although he was then surprised to feel individual steel cuffs, at least an inch deep, closing onto his wrists, with a separate padlock used to hold them together behind his back. He had expected police-type cuffs, or possibly a length of rope. Although he had not anticipated being restrained on his first encounter with a woman, bondage was not beyond the range of his fantasies. It did not frighten him; indeed he looked forward to being used for sex without being responsible for his performance. It did seem odd, however, that she was locking him up after she had already drained him twice. That was soon explained.
"I'm going to leave you for a few minutes, to heat up something for our dinner. I'm looking forward to feeding you for the first time. Afterwards you'll be rested enough to please me again, first with your mouth, and then with this." She held his penis in her hand, manipulating it gently and finally moving to his testicles. "This is my toy now, to play with as I please. From now on, speak only when I speak to you. I don't want to gag you this time."
She kissed him, thrusting her tongue right into the back of his mouth, and got up and left, leaving him to twist and turn his body, and to pull at the cushions with his teeth, until he was reasonably comfortable. The best he could do, he found, was to lie on his side with is knees pulled partway up, in a kind of semi-foetal position. He had experimented at home with loops of fabric or leather bootlaces, but had always given up after a few minutes to use his hands to masturbate. Now he would remain in bondage for as long as June desired, with the threat of gagging if he made too much of a fuss about it.
June was gone for about forty minutes, by which time Nigel had fallen asleep. She woke him gently and helped him off the bed and into her kitchen, which was amply large enough to accommodate a small dining table in a bay window. Looking out onto a patio with a small pool and a fountain, he reflected on the fact that they had spent their time together surrounded by glass. The garden was obviously well protected against trespassers, and he assumed that the gardener(s) did not make unexpected visits.
Dinner was beef stroganoff; easily fed to him with a fork. She used a single well-filled bowl and gave them alternate mouthfuls, and it felt very strange to be so completely dependent. He could drink- fruit juice- by bending low over the table, as she had provided a straw with his glass. She sat close on his right, reaching over with her right arm while her left rested in his lap, fingers on his penis. His natural instinct was to close his legs to trap them more firmly against his flesh, which was already beginning to recover some tumescence, but she reproved him sharply.
"Keep your legs open. Access to your genitals must be completely unimpeded. They are no longer yours, Think of them as a public park where unrestrained persons may disport themselves freely."
Chewing the beef in his next forkful of stroganoff, Nigel wondered whether she had given away more than she had intended. "Persons" had been mentioned in the plural, and she seemed to be announcing a rule that would have general and permanent effect. Had she meant it seriously? Perhaps it just excited her to talk about him as if he was a lifetime sex-slave. Another point was the choice of "persons" instead of "women." He did not want, at that point, to think about the possible implications of that.
It had also occurred to him that the wrist cuffs fitted him perfectly, although they did not seem to have any means of adjustment. Did she have a cabinet full of different sizes? Had she already known his size? He badly needed answers to a whole range of questions, but it was very difficult to formulate them without risking offence or seeming too inquisitive. From the beginning he had felt the need to treat her with tact and respect. His bondage redoubled that imperative.
"I hope you won't think me disrespectful or unduly curious, June," he began tentatively. "You seem well prepared and equipped. I can't help wondering whether you expected to find yourself here with me, or someone, and had made certain arrangements in advance."
She gave him a kind of mock-frown. "Putting it more plainly, you're asking whether I'm a cougar who goes out hunting young men to use as my sex-toys, to be discarded when I've sucked them dry. I told you not to speak unless spoken to, but you may continue with this conversation, if you wish."
"Those were not my words, June. You may be sucking me dry, but I'll have filled my tanks again in a day or two."
"I'm hoping so. But there is a grain of truth in what you're pretending not to say. I'm thirty-nine, so it would be daft to claim that you're my first. You might be the first to whom I offer certain opportunities, which might be attractive to you, and might not. We'll not speak any more about it now. You must take it one day at a time. I'll go and get the dessert. No more talking for now."
That was salted caramel ice cream, with cream added, and all-in-all it was not a meal for the weight-watcher. Nigel walked and cycled a lot, but he wondered whether June was intentionally adding fat to keep her body smooth and soft. He was enjoying his food, and he enjoyed his coffee when she made it, but he was also looking forward to being taken back to bed. The very thought of sex in bondage was making him hard again, and he was wondering whether he could manage four ejaculations before he was sent home, or tucked up for the night, whichever it was to be.
He was slightly disappointed when she took him back to the conservatory, meaning that he was probably not going to see her bedroom on his first visit. Furthermore, she was in no hurry to feel him inside her again, but insisted on giving him a massage. There was lots of oil involved- he recognized the scent of Patchouli- and she obviously didn't mind it getting onto the mattress cover.
She spent a good half-hour on him, working hard on his shoulders, his biceps, his legs and his buttocks, and it was then that the process became much more sensuous; more promising as far as Nigel was concerned. He already had an erection, trapped between his body and the mattress, but it throbbed more when she pushed his legs wide apart to kneel between them, and began to feel for his testicles and the skin between them and his anus.
After a few minutes of stimulation there, he felt something cold in the cleavage of his bottom. He was, as always, impeccably clean there, but she was making sure with something like a wet-wipe. Then he felt her fingers, first exploring the puckered flesh around his anal opening, and then pushing inside. His cock, still trapped against the mattress, began to throb, and he even wondered whether he would spurt immediately. Never for a moment had it occurred to him that she would penetrate him there on their very first time together.
Nigel remained still and quiet, exploring his own feelings, while he was probed. He understood the implications; that she might at some point peg him, although he struggled to understand what would be in it for her. The possibility that she might spread him out to be used by gay males was still on the very fringes of his consciousness. He was still thinking in terms of a relationship only with her.
"Very tight," he heard her murmur, as if talking to herself. "Needs plugging, probably for quite a while."
He didn't want to think too much about that, so it was a relief when she turned him over, first wiping her hands with anti-bacterial wet-wipes. "You're clean, but I don't suppose you give yourself enemas," she said. "I'm very particular about that sort of thing."
Then she was mounted on him again, and because of the anal stimulation- he assumed- he was harder than ever. He felt more able to remain on the brink of ejaculation, without actually spurting until she was cumming herself. As her breasts swung and gyrated above him he felt his bondage keenly, longing to reach up and grasp them. He imagined, as he pumped his seed into her, what it would be like with a woman in milk, with his fingers squeezing her nipples to squirt fine jets over his face, mouth and body. Was he denying himself that experience by submitting totally to June? After twenty years without a proper kiss, he was probably longing for a bird that was, not in a nearby bush, but in the Amazon rainforest.
To Nigel's utter amazement, after a twenty-minute rest she was able to get him hard enough to penetrate her again. She used her mouth more this time, giving him a real taste of fellatio and leaving him lusting for more as she mounted his penis, this time with them on their sides. She seemed in most respects quite conservative, and there was no suggestion, that evening, that she wanted him in her back passage. She used him vigorously, often pulling him close for a passionate kiss, or to have her breasts sucked, but he was far from convinced that he could be able to cum in her again so soon, and taking the whole afternoon into account, so often.
As before, Nigel found himself struggling against his bonds, longing to get his hands on her body. Oddly enough, it was that sense of helplessness that pushed him further in his arousal; enough to manage, in the end, a small ejaculation. After it, however, he went slack very quickly, and his penis shrank to its smallest possible size. It was then, surprisingly that the most interesting part of the evening began.
She pushed him onto his back and kissed his soft manhood, fondling his balls and pulling them gently. "Contrary to what most men think," she said, "many women like a limp dick. It's fun to play with, and to roll around in our mouths." She demonstrated for a minute or two. "I like a loose pair of testicles as well. They offer so many more possibilities. With some men, they ride up into the body, and then you're left with a eunuch with a cock. These are a bit hairy. We'll deal with that in due course. Just lie still now."
Nigel had been wondering whether she intended to fondle his genitals until he started getting hard again. Although it was an exciting thought, he really needed to rest and recuperate, and he was now expecting that she would soon invite him into her bedroom to spend the night. Instead she fetched a packet of wet-wipes and used two or three to clean his whole genital area. She had also brought a wooden box, and from it she took a steel ring and fastened it around his upper scrotum, trapping his testicles. It was fixed in place with a small but sturdy-looking combination lock, and had three loops for attaching other accessories.
"I'm not going to send you home without something to remember me by," she remarked casually, and produced from the box a metal cock cage, which she proceeded to fit onto his penis. One lock attached it to the scrotal ring, and when it was hinged shut, another held it closed. A fourth was then used underneath to reinforce the attachment at the bottom, and she explained the reason for that.
"I don't know how much you know about chastity cages," she began. The answer was nothing at all, but she didn't wait for that or any other response. "Often they're just toys, and it would be possible for the man to pull his cock out through the gap between the cage and the ring. Painful, but possible. The fourth lock makes that virtually impossible. The cage just can't be pulled far enough away from the ring."
The cage was a metal tube with large holes irregularly placed along its length and around its girth. It was straight, and in size about halfway between his soft and his erect penis. It was not uncomfortable, and the apertures had bevelled edges so nothing was scratching his skin. He assumed that she was using the device as a further means of control. If she released his wrists she could sleep with him in the knowledge that he would not be able to ravish her in the night, or even masturbate. When she took the cage off in the morning he would be hard and ready to satisfy her in whatever way she wanted. What she said then was a complete surprise.
"You're going home soon," she said. "It'll be a few days before we meet again, assuming that you want us to meet again. If you don't, a visit to a DIY store will produce a pair of bolt cutters; make sure they're good ones. The locks are the best small ones that money can buy. If you cut yourself out of the cage, you must never try to see me again. If you want to stay with me, just wait for instructions. Be very careful to keep yourself clean. I'll give you an enema machine to take with you, and a few other odds and ends. Check your email at least once every couple of hours, and at midnight and eight o'clock in the morning. Everything clear so far?"
"Am I free to do what I want in the meantime, June? Except, obviously, to have sex?"
"Yes, but don't travel more than a couple of hours away. No underwear, and don't eat anything that will make you smelly. Don't mention me to anyone else. The important thing to remember is that, as long as you and I are associated, your sex life belongs to me. I decide with whom, and when, you have sex. Unsatisfactory performances will mean punishment. You will not masturbate without explicit orders. I'll give you some supplements that'll help you adapt to your new regime, and you should take them regularly, as prescribed."
He was itching to ask a question. "You said, June that you would decide who I would have sex with. Does that mean that you won't be the only one?"
"Of course. Monogamy is a ridiculous concept. I'll have sex with whomsoever I want, and you'll have sex with whomsoever I want. My control over you is the anchor point of the relationship. I will tell you this. Like most of my friends, I take pleasure from watching others receive sexual pleasure. For that reason, I'll be careful not to ruin you by making you do anything that you'll find really repellent. You won't find yourself with any old hags, or staked out in the changing rooms after a rugby match. There'll be no scat. You'll be whipped, no doubt, but never sadistically tortured. You won't be made to take potentially harmful drugs, or forced to drink alcohol, or anything like that. The treatments you'll get are all very safe."
Nigel was trying to remember all her words, and noticing some that she did not utter. No scat, for instance, but she hadn't said no pissing. He held his peace while she helped him, still bound, off the couch and let him through the house to the front hall, which had a little porch outside the front door. She put his clothes- minus his underpants- in there together with a surprisingly large holdall, and then she surprised him yet again by adding a second lock to his handcuffs before removing the first. Then it was time to say goodnight, apparently.
"I've put a time-lock on your cuffs," she told him. "It'll release you after fifteen minutes. The keys to the cuffs themselves are in the holdall. You can wait till you get home to take them off. The outer door is unlocked. Oh, and I almost forgot. Your name- Nigel- is totally unsuitable. Obviously you'll have to go on using it with outsiders, but I'll start calling you Jack. Think of it as short for 'ejaculator.' Now you can kiss me goodnight."
She hugged him as they came together, and he felt a moment of frustration as he wanted to put his arms around her, holding her tightly enough to show her how much he wanted to be with her. The kiss was passionate but brief, and she broke off, stepped away and slipped through her front door, closing and locking it behind her. He was left to wait seven or eight more minutes before his wrists were freed. He donned his shirt and trousers, found his keys and went out to his car.
He drove home carefully. It was nearly two in the morning, and he did not relish the thought of explaining to a policeman why he was locked in wrist cuffs. They were heavy enough for him to feel them as he steered and changed gears, and it was also surprisingly cool. He had dressed for mid-afternoon, not the small hours. Fortunately there were no navigational problems and he was home in fifteen minutes. While he drank a glass of sherry he found the keys and removed the wrist irons, and after cursory ablutions he went straight to bed. He was afraid that his mind was churning so much that would not sleep, but he was also totally exhausted, so it was mid-morning before he woke up again, to start his new life.
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