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It is the teasing voice of Miss Denise; calm, self assured, totally in control.
I force open my eyes as the hand of Mae Lee recedes. In my lower peripheral vision, I can see the tip of my standing penis. Before me, in a chair just inches from my spread thighs, sits Miss Denise.
“And it’s a provocative way for me to enjoy my morning coffee.”
She softly laughs, acknowledging what I am sure she would describe as one of her foibles, viewing the erect yet helpless male appendage.
As my vision clears, her fine form comes into focus. She wears a white terry cloth robe, large, fluffy and apparently nothing else. Her feet are bare and finely formed calves are prominently displayed. When she leans forward, elbows on knees, holding the coffee cup near her cheek, the upper folds of white cotton separate to reveal the slightest hint of cleavage.
She looks divine!
“Want to talk? I sent last night’s ‘bed warmer’ home. He’s a good performer but otherwise not too intellectually stimulating, so I dispatch him whenever the orgasms begin to become boring. That makes my day free. I have a lecture tomorrow in the morning... late morning... so time is of no concern.”
The vision of the ‘good performer’ rolling about under the covers with Miss Denise brings forth a tinge of jealous frustration. While I have endured hour after hour of agony, only able to mark time through the level and intensity of pain and Mae Lee’s devilish releases, some guy has been making love to Miss Denise.
“And I’d like to learn more about a certain plantation in Thailand, your thoughts about it.”
Mae Lee, having moved to my rear, reappears and hands Miss Denise the rubber puffolator.
“Thank you, Mae Lee,” the pleasantly wicked woman graciously acknowledges.
Then I watch her playfully grasp and feel the manipulation of her hand, deep within, as she gently gives the air filled ball the slightest squeeze. The sensation strangely causes me to wonder how she touched the ‘good performer’ and how he touched her. There is a silent pause as my mind, sluggish as an old car on a cold morning, adapts to reality, if sitting bound and naked with a charming woman pulsating my male gland can be termed reality. The sensory deprivation has affected my thinking.
“Empress Suhan, Bobby?”
The soft, knowing voice brings focus, along with another squeeze of air.
“Ahh. Yes, the plantation. What is it you’d like to know, Miss Denise?”
“Everything. Start from the beginning.”
And so as Miss Denise enjoys her coffee and Mae Lee departs, I narrate the chronology of stumbling upon Empress Suhan’s website, how I clicked away on a cold winter’s night, admired the photos, read the biographies of the pony girls, remitted a deposit, made flight reservations, and waited in the Bangkok hotel to rendezvous with the driver who would complete the secretive journey into the world of human ponies.
Miss Denise interrupts several times with her annoying, open ended questions... “what did you think about that?.. how did that make you feel?.. what do you think about when so stimulated?.. how do you gratify yourself when so aroused?”
Always the psychologist, always the interlocutor, after a night of boredom, darkness, silence, pain, intense humiliation... I so humbly answer all her questions.
And to think that days before, I spent hours in the office of Shaun the Shark conspiring to commence legal action.
“Fascinating, Bobby. What is it that drew you to such an exotic website. The internet is quite the repository for the bizarre, BDSM included. But pony girls? Women used as beasts of burden? A curious and rather unique subset of D/s kink, wouldn’t you say?”
“And look at you now. You’re not very likely to be the type of male wielding a riding crop!”
She laughs raucously with her observation. As I blush, she reaches out and pinches my cheek. Docilely sitting, humbling responding to her inquiries with such obeisance, I suppose she is correct. I know she is correct. In fact, I try to kiss her hand.
She retracts her arm with a knowing look of coyness.
“Yes, ejaculatory incompetence. Such a nasty affliction. The male gets it up, but never gets it off. Tsk tsk. And look what the hormone levels do to behavior, fascinating.”
My heart leaps! She knows! Miss Denise has diagnosed my deepest secret.
“Oh don’t looked so startled, Bobby. The condition is not uncommon and often occurs in males who have been brought up in strict environments, whose lives have been controlled.”
“The condition should not surprise you. After all, I would suggest you’ve long sought to be controlled. You’ve been disingenuous with parts of the plantation story, Bobby. Not only with me, but your own psyche.”
“And until you face some undesirable facts, this may never properly perform again.... at least not to your satisfaction.”
She taps the tip of my mammoth erection in emphasizing her point. Even with my consternation, it feels good. Being touched anywhere by Miss Denise feels good.
