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We talked over coffee and I promised to give the vasectomy more thought. She hinted that it would make feasible longer, uninterrupted evenings. Afterwards, I again found her timing in making this suggestion to be exquisite. For thoughts of spending the night languishing in her warm bed and pressing against her hot body came to mind as the howling Midwest wind chilled me, while crossing the street and the car’s heater subsequently refused to function on the drive home.
D
James looks like a puppy and makes love like one. I always found it comical that in finally bringing myself to orgasm, James would quietly take credit with a childlike look of smugness.
Little did he know what fantasies I had to conjure in order to achieve an orgasm with him. But letting my mind wander to find lustful thoughts was the easy part. The hard part was trying to endure the assault he manifested between my thighs in ‘attacking’ my love nest with his pusillanimous, semi-erect penis.
Still I liked him. But not for the reason he thought. If he only knew that the fantasy which most often brought me to ecstasy was one envisioning him in my dog cage, naked and well bound.
Yes, James. D is for Dominant. The concept of having a vasectomy at my behest is only a start. Those puppy dog eyes of yours will soon belong to just that...a puppy.
James
The next few encounters with D became increasing decadent. The following Friday evening, in the middle of copulating, she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and rolled us over, my erection remaining firmly implanted in her sheath. She then pinned me down by the shoulders and rode on top!
Her strength amazed me. First displaying the powerful finesse of a wrestler in rolling me over then riding me like a cowboy, wearing a wicked smile and making taunting comments until I ejaculated. Strangely, when I later thought about the pleasant encounter, it was not her actions but instead the timbre of her voice that haunted my subconscious.
“Wouldn’t you like to come for me, James?” she cooed. “Be a good boy.”
Spoken as if to a child by a forceful mother, I amazed myself with my own spermatic eruption, which filled the dreaded condom. On reflection, it seemed as if D had coaxed me to the edge and then finally permitted my spending with a simple suggestion of her authoritative voice.
The following week she produced a blindfold and giggled evilly when I began to place it over her head.
“I don’t think so, James,” she cautioned with admonition, her giggly voice quickly turning to an astonishingly commanding tone.
“It’s for you.”
She placed it over my head and we made love, with her again straddling my hips and pinning me to the sheets. It was different and delightfully sordid, but I missed watching her gorgeous breasts ripple with the thrusts of passion. In the darkness, her deep, smooth voice echoed in the caverns of my mind and again, on her verbal cue, she coaxed my climax.
The following week she again placed the blindfold over my eyes. This time I removed it mid session, preferring the view of her firm torso and jiggling breasts to darkness. She stopped.
“No. No, James.”
With the curtailment of the pleasure, I let her replace the blindfold. Her message was received. No blindfold, no sex. But then I heard the clinking of metal, the feel of cold steel on my wrists, clicks, and pressure.
She handcuffed me!
“This is for bad boys, James,” she declared in an even but matronly tone.
She dismounted and pulled my restrained wrists over my head. Her soft laughter comforted me and I allowed her to play her game, my erect penis eagerly anticipating her renewed attention. More sounds and a slight tug indicated my wrists were tied to the headboard of the bed.
Then she disappeared, leaving me in my darkness with my erection, wet with her essence, pointing to the ceiling.
Rather odd, I thought. But my years of love making with numerous partners had imbued me with tolerance. If it turned her on...it turned me on.
She eventually returned and we consummated our coupling. Again, she voiced her permission and I emptied myself on cue. I didn’t seek to fully understand the power of her command. After all, the pleasure consumed me and it became an enjoyable means to an ecstatic end.
There was no explanation of her period of absence and conversation during our post-copulation coffee returned to the subject of my vasectomy.
“I spoke with my friend. She’s available for two weeks in February and would very much enjoy returning to Canada. She says vasectomies are regularly performed on an out patient basis. A health spa is as good as a doctor’s office in her mind.
“It would be a nice present and you have some vacation time coming. I can block out my calendar...”
I demurred and changed the subject noting that her resolve made her both a good lover and a pain with whom to discuss issues.
But she was relentless on the subject. And curiously, each week she modified our routine to slide further and further into a libidinous abyss. I played along. Her pleasure heightened with each added toy and routine and her orgasms began to result in climactic paroxysmal squeezings of her Kegel muscles. I had never before experienced such a sensation. It was incredibly pleasurable. It felt as though my member was being manipulated by an extraordinarily strong, soft, and moist hand. But her newly found prowess caused some degree of consternation as I began to question the relative intensity of her prior orgasms, which I thought she found gratifying.
During one steamy encounter, she shaved my groin and subsequently reshaved me each week. She said she liked the look of my organs and the feel of my smooth hairless scrotum.
