A Gift From James

Yes. It is definitely D’s voice.

This time her stentorian voice comes through with clarity as the endless hours of static suddenly disappear.

“Wake up time, big boy.”

I am so relieved. I think tears of gratitude form. But with the hood covering my eyes and with my hands restrained I cannot determine with certainty.

D toys with my erection. When she gently frigs it with two fingers, her action confirms that I have indeed remained erect for the entire ordeal.

“You’ll need to relieve yourself, James. I’ll get a bowl.”

My bladder is bursting and but for my erection holding back the urge, I probably would have emptied myself long before. The torment of not knowing how long I had to hold back is indescribable.

But a bowl? I speak and suggest that it is easier to release my wrists and ankles and a quick trip to the bathroom would be more timely.

“No, James. We’re not done.”

With her brief reply comes a vicious swat to the tip of my erection. D must have swung her hand from well

above. I yelp and feel my manly pride shrink with surprising suddenness. Then I feel the bowl between my thighs and the gentle grasp of her fingers as she guides the flaccid penis tip over the edge.

“Try to be quick, James. It’s late and I want to go to bed.”

I am both heartened and humiliated. Heartened to learn that D will be joining me in bed. Humiliated in being required to relieve myself at her behest and with her directing my penis into the bowl.

Nothing happens.

“Relax and let the flow begin, James. Be good. Fill the bowl for me.”

Her voice changes from one of aggravated haste to being smooth and firm. The tone and soothing patter are similar to that which she has used to encourage my climax. My bladder really is full and with her comforting remarks and gentle prodding I began to urinate. It would be much easier just to release me, I think. But D seems to enjoy her control, despite professing to be tired.

“All males are just little boys. Their true nature is always trying to manifest itself.”

Is D talking to me?

Urinating while lying on a bed is a challenge. After all, from childhood one is trained not to wet the bed. But I succeed in emptying myself and D dutifully shakes the last drop and carefully wipes the remnants of excretion from my penis tip. She does this with such alacrity that more questions arise concerning her prior experiences.

“I’d like to get that vasectomy. Your present...”

It just blurts out, a complete non sequitur in the middle of her removal of the bowl. But I want so much to please her and it is the only thing I can think of to say.

“Yes, James. I know. We’ll talk in the morning.”

I hear the bowl empty and the toilet flush. Then the closet door opens, closes and a chain rattles.

“New rules, James. Whenever you’re here I want you restrained, leashed or caged. I have these proclivities. I’m sure you’ll learn to humor me. There’ll be rewards for you.”

She moves to my side as she speaks and I feel her fingers in the area of my neck. I instinctively lick her hand, signaling my needs.

“Not tonight, James. Robert and I made love for a good part of the evening and I don’t think you’d like what your tongue would encounter. Robert’s had vasectomy, you see.”

Why do I find this so disconcerting? When a woman dresses to kill but chooses not to wear undergarments, there’s only one conclusion that can be drawn concerning her expectations. And D has to get in another dig regarding the vasectomy.

She finishes her business. I am collared and she tests the leash with some gentle tugs.

Then I feel her working about my feet. The headphones are removed and my wrists released.

“Bring your hands down to your waist slowly for me, James. Yes, that’s a good boy.”