Jamie was a ballerina. She had calves like granite and toes like gnarled roots. “Life is about discipline,” she told me once, “focus and self-control. There is nothing to be gained from doing whatever you want. Every day is a fight to walk the harder but better path.”
I guess I can’t disagree with that sentiment, only her application of it. She said it one night, still hot and sweaty from practice, after I broke down and begged her to allow me to cum. She said she’d be happy to let me out if only I’d earn enough points for it. Until then she’d be pursuing other options.
My girlfriend loved points. “Points are progress, Lance,” she’d say. She kept tallies of everything in her notebook: her calories eaten in the day (in hundreds), exercises performed (in a week), hours spent training me, days till opening night of her ballet, orgasms experienced and points I’d earned towards a release. Each count had a box of space allotted to it by dark, deep pencil lines and a one-word title for the category. The box she cared most about was labeled “Satisfaction.” The box I cared most about was labeled “Rubbies” and was unique in that it had a number beside it. The number read 1900 and represented the number of points I needed to earn. Three years ago, when we started getting serious, the number was 500. Each time I got my “rubbies” 100 points were added to the total. For that reason I looked on the number as both a fond memory and a Sisyphean hurdle. When I asked her why she referred to my orgasms as rubbies she said, “It’s a combination of rubs and hubby or subby, whichever you prefer.”
“A portmanteaux,” I corrected her. She didn’t care to be corrected.
“You know you lose ten points for contradicting me, you know?”
Of course I knew. How could I not know? “How could I not know?” I demanded.
“And another ten for shouting. What’s gotten into you?” She asked.
I wasn’t shouting, but finally remembered to check my words before spilling them out of my mouth. “I’m sorry, Princess. Nothing is wrong.” She’d insisted I call her Princess since scoring the eponymous role in Princess Medallion and the Grail.
“That’s weird because you’re acting like you don’t want rubbies this month. Which is odd because you usually like it so much.”
Was that a coded joke about last year when she left me crying with frustration and regret as my precum dribbled onto the wood floor of the kitchen after she refused to keep touching my cock because I was supposedly looking at her breasts too pervy? I measured my response. “I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t mean to get aggressive with you.”
“Good,” she said, “because I could beat the snot out of you if I wanted to. Couldn’t I?”
I don’t know why she made me do this. “You could,” I admitted. It was true. She had twenty pounds on me despite being four inches shorter and they were all muscle. Sometimes she’d pick me up while I cooked in the kitchen just for fun. When we had sex and she rode hard and deep against my cock, I could watch her abs ripple with each pulse and feel her strong arms push down on me. I was watching just such a sight when I accidentally came inside of her a few weeks ago. She started slapping my face when she first saw the look of sudden satisfaction breaking across my face but she could not deter my pulsing cock. As I came the slapping only intensified and when the spasm had left me, I hid my face as best I could, which wasn’t well.
“It’s not your turn,” she said, laying into me, continuing to hump my increasingly lifeless member. “You haven’t earned this!” She was furious, I could tell. I hated to see her so worked up. I couldn’t look her in the eye so she grabbed my face and stared me in the eye as she continued to grind against me. “This is pathetic,” she said. “This is just sad. You used to have some self-control. I don’t know what the fuck this thing is worth if it can’t do what I tell it to.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I kept saying, but that wasn’t good enough for her. Even though I made her cum when I sucked my cum out of her, Jamie was unsatisfied. That was the last time she allowed me inside of her. If I couldn’t keep to the schedule, then she couldn’t allow me out. At first it seemed to me that it was as much a punishment for her as for me. Of course I loved sex, but hardly more than she did, especially with the constant mental constraint of trying not to cum while still giving her what she wanted. I really couldn’t control myself when she would shriek and writhe, pounding her pleasure into my eardrums and hips. “What can I do to make it up to you?” I begged. “Anything.”
She had a punishment in mind, not that night, but a week later after talking to a friend of hers in her troupe. “I don’t want to punish you, I just want to go on a nice date,” she told me, but I knew better than to take anything like that at face value. Her nice date cost me the better part of a months’ wages and when we stumbled back to our place she insisted I “pretty up” for sex. “You want me to be turned on for tonight, don’t you? You know you’re getting lucky, right?”
I knew it was a trap, of course I knew, but what was I going to do? Leave and spend the night wandering the cold, damp streets? Normally she insisted I shave for a special night of romance, but this night she insisted I tweeze.
“All of it?” I asked incredulously. My crotch hairs were not long but they were numerous.
“Yeah, like that,” she said. “That’s the face I like.”
I thought that after the first few hundred hairs either she would take pity on me or the pain would grow more numb, but neither happened. One by one I plucked the hairs from my skin, each one a piercing sting as fresh as the last. I alternated sides of my body to help with the tenderness. I deposited each one into a trash can at the foot of her king bed as she lay on it, alternately watching me, rubbing herself lightly and perusing a trash magazine from the supermarket. When my whimpers of pain would grow too slow she would encourage me by asking, “do I need to get the shock collar out? That usually hurries you along.” Even so it took me nearly two hours to complete the task. “Your ass looks like a homeless guy’s beard,” she said as she plucked the hairs I’d missed. “Can you do anything right? I thought you wanted to make tonight special.”
“I’m sorry, Princess. I couldn’t see.”
I felt a pause as she considered my comment, and then, with renewed vigor with the plucking she said, “Maybe you should learn what it’s like to really not see. I wonder if that would be fun.” When she’d finished removing my hair she tied up my wrists with two strips of aerial silk. The silk ran through metal hoops on the top two posts of the bed and tied together around a ring at the top center of the bed. She tugged on my shoulders to make sure my arms were secure and then tied another band of silk around my head. At first it covered my whole face and I tasted the fabric in my open mouth, but when the knot was secure she folded the silk up off of my mouth. I heard the high buzz of an electrical device being turned on and she asked at my ear, “You want to earn some points tonight.”
I panted, terrified, unsure of how to respond.
Her voice was farther away now and she cooed, “aww, are you scared? You scared of Mr. Zappy?” A shot of pain fired through my side as the cattle prod clicked against my skin. I cried out but a moment later her gloved hand was in my mouth. “Are you singing to me, baby?” she asked. Involuntarily I tugged at my bindings but could only raise one hand as I lowered the other. “You know you have such a pretty voice.” Another sting hit the center of my back and from deep within me came another howl muffled by her leather.
Then I heard a different kind of buzz, a loud, low buzzing. It didn’t sound like the little pink vibrator or the larger flesh tone one. This buzzing was lower. “All right, baby. It’s time for your old friend Mr. Happy.” Mr. Happy was a comically wide and long vibrating dildo that Jamie had brought home from a bachelorette party. They had fucked the strippers with similar models and she was so impressed by its vibration at both ends that she bought one from the sex shop on the way home. She woke me that night to show it to me. Since then, Mr. Happy had only made the occasional appearance, usually after I’d commit a particularly heinous offense such as contradicting her in front of her friends.
Her finger briefly penetrated me to apply lube and then Mr. Happy was rattling his way into me. I wailed as my hole parted and admitted the enormous head of the dildo. Right away the pressure and vibration on my prostate was enormous. I could feel my tight asshole straining to stretch. I thought my tightness was bad at first, but that was nothing compared to when Mr. Zappy rejoined the party. The pain tensed my entire body, making me push involuntarily against the invader. “Oh God, please baby, that’s enough. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t want it.”
She laughed and grabbed and handful of my hair. “You think this is punishment?” she asked. “This isn’t punishment. This is for the satisfaction column. Mr. Happy’s my friend, not yours.” She punctuated the point by driving the cock deeper into my guts. I heard that telltale moan of the vibrator grinding against her clit.
When she finally came she grabbed my tightly locked cock and balls with a gloved hand. “This little guy isn’t getting out for a long time.” Mr. Happy shook deep inside of me. “I’ve taken away all of your points.” She gave my balls a scream which elicited another shriek from me. “And I’ve added another 200 to your goal: one hundred for cumming and another hundred for cumming inside of me.”
After she pulled out we lay together on the bed panting. “I’m serious,” she said, looking down at me on her chest, “you seriously betrayed my trust. You know that you’re only allowed inside of me on the condition that you wouldn’t cum. We had an understanding. I don’t want your nasty juice inside of me. It’s degrading.”
Sometime around midnight she woke and, unable to find sleep, pulled me between her legs for a quick release. “I do love you,” she told me, half asleep, wiping her juices from my face, or rather pushing them back along my chin.