A Gift From James

I feel my erection stir. The dangling orange partially blocks my view and I find myself nosing it out of the way, only to have it swing back.

After several minutes, D arises and approaches my cage. My eyes are transfixed to her nakedness as she crosses the fully lit room.

“You need to be hooded, James. But I’ll let you listen.”

D

I never think of myself as bisexual. I guess sexually opportunistic would be a better term. Dr. Alice knows all the right buttons and watching her work James was too arousing. I could neither let her lust nor mine wane. And utilizing James did not fit into my program of complete abstinence. So, I made sure Dr. Alice was satiated. And I in turn climaxed noisily, thus adding another dimension to James sexual frustration...listening to the delights of lesbian passion.

It was dark before Alice and I became too tired to move. She had a flight back to St. Paul at 9:00 p.m. So we showered together and talked while dressing with James listening to all.

We agreed to February 5 as the travel date to the spa. James and I would fly to Calgary from Chicago. Alice would fly there directly from St. Paul. Then we would pick up the special train to the spa.

Some more mush for James was in order. Then Dr. Alice and I left for dinner and the airport.

Before leaving, James was again hooded, a new tape begun, and a nice sized butt plug was inserted. This one was just a little bigger than the last. His rectum swallowed it as if it was hungry, which brought a knowing smile to Alice’s face.

I returned hours later and left James in sensory deprivation for the remainder of Saturday evening and Sunday, except of course for the morning ablutions, which he performed for me back in the bathtub and with the obedience of the puppy he was becoming.

I released him on Sunday night, saying nothing. He left my apartment deep in thought, completely confused about his sexuality and his inability to manifest his male drive.

And that’s how the weekend concluded.

James

For the next few weeks, time passed quickly during the week. Slowly during the weekends. As curious as my relationship with D was becoming, something told me to return...again and again. You’re close, something inside told me. She’ll make you happy...yes, and Eve will let you out of the mink cage, my alter ego retorted.

Just as with the weekend where I was introduced to Dr. Alice, each subsequent workweek ended with me driving directly to D’s apartment on Friday.

Sometimes she was alone. Sometimes an unctuous Mr. Dinnerdate would be making cocktails and displaying an irritating smirk of self-confidence. It made no difference to the routine. D would just smile and nod toward the bedroom where I would strip naked.

My time in the cage extended on each visit. Mush and oranges were the sole nourishment. The bondage always felt tighter with each visit, although that may have been my imagination.

I was hooded constantly. Except on one or two occasions when, in what was probably the middle of the night, a naked D would slip off the latex covering and I would then watch her make love with Mr. Dinnerdate. Those occasions caused pain. I found myself involuntarily counting her throaty sighs of passion, Mr. Dinnerdate apparently bringing her to multiple orgasms.

In the throws of intense copulation she would glance my way, a diabolical smile would appear and another verbal emission of ecstasy would erupt, my well-bound naked and helpless body seeming to spur her to new heights of pleasure. With her teasing glance my desire would overwhelm and cause me to wrench against the tight cords. With this, she would laugh, causing Mr. Dinnerdate to also look my way, and join in her merriment.

After the steamy intercourse, D would return to the cage, let me sniff her hot, wet and fragrant sex, coat my nose and lips with love juice then once again slide the hood over my face. The replacement of the headphones signaled that my mind was to return to the black, static filled world of daydreams and hallucinations. Observing D and Mr. Dinnerdate was a maddening respite...listening to sounds of clamorous lust, watching the ultimate gratification of the woman for whom I pined, and then smelling the aftermath of the seemingly unending fornication. And it ended with a wanton feminine smile, a teasing application of her fragrant essence and a mere tug on a latex hood. The weeks went by with continuing chastity and the abstinence was most frustrating. When permitted to speak, I groveled for attention and her touch. D would merely reply that the trip to the spa would take care of my problem, seeming to hint that the gift of my vasectomy would conclude with relief.

Meanwhile I was permitted to service D with my tongue. When she secured me in the cage with my head close to the front bars, it signaled her desires. She would push her hips against the bars, stand with feet spread and arms akimbo and my newly strengthened tongue would meekly thrust forward and lick. By the third weekend after Dr Alice’s visit and every weekend thereafter, I was hooded during my oral servitude. It seemed that less and less was I permitted to glimpse at D’s marvelous flesh.

So I learned to savor D. When she permitted my tongue to work long enough, she shuddered with numerous small orgasms. I felt a glow in servicing her. Not as powerful as an orgasm of my own but quite a comforting feeling. Something about being of service to this beautiful woman of strength and confidence provided me with the temporary antidote to the acute sexual frustration. An

d my male appendage felt as stiff as steel. I’m sure I was remaining nicely erect for her. Although D would just diddle my frenulum and laugh.

Then, within nine days of the February trip, my life changed completely. I hit the lottery!

Not the biggest of jackpots, but the good news was I was the sole winner. So some $24,000,000 was mine. $100,000 per month for twenty years!

The results were confirmed on a Thursday. I immediately announced my resignation from employment and just as quickly called D.

“Stop over, James. I’ll have a nice surprise for you.”

It was closer to a command than an invitation. And for some reason I envisioned myself where I had last observed Mr. Dinnerdate, frolicking in D’s bed and vigorously pumping between her wondrous thighs.

D

James’ pleasantly surprising phone call was great news but caught me somewhat flat footed. The well thought out program of sensory deprivation and subliminal messaging was progressing nicely, but with James’ newly acquired economic freedom, I had to alter the scheduling...and quickly.