Ms. Morrigan set down her glass of claret and picked up her phone. She smiled as she saw who it was. She was in the middle of something right now; but the idea of allowing herself to be distracted for a few minutes amused her. So she moved the phone to her left hand and began to type in a response.
“Hello my pet.”
“Hello my Queen!” came the reply. Then, “How are you today?”
“Very well, thank you,” she responded. She always enforced a certain formality in their communication, even though it took a good deal longer while texting. It was all part of the dynamic. “And you? Studies going well?”
“Yes maam.” She elected to overlook the missing apostrophe, and typed into her phone, “And how is the cage?”
There was no response for several seconds. She felt the edges of her lips curling into a sly smile. He must be struggling with just how honest to be. Finally a message appeared. “I’m holding up.”
That pleased her. She enjoyed the acknowledgement that this wasn’t easy for him. Being a keyholder for an older, more experienced submissive who was getting *exactly* what he wanted out of the experience wasn’t near this much fun.
The young man on the other end of these texts was a nineteen-year-old college sophomore, her little brother’s earnest and adorable roommate. It was coming up on six months since she had first met Ron, at a casual lunch, celebrating her birthday, at her parent’s house. Her brother had brought his roommate home for the weekend, and she could tell during their first hour together than he was mesmerized by her distinctive, mysterious allure. By that evening, she had him obediently stripping naked and licking her high-heeled black leather boots in her apartment’s study, with only an unlocked door between them and the oblivious party guests.
She could tell he had been stunned when she had instructed him to get dressed again, without even the release of a self-administered batıkent escort orgasm. But he had complied, with that look of confusion in his blue eyes that she had come to love — completely befuddled by his own arousal and his compulsion toward continued submission. It was in that state that he had agreed to refrain from cumming until their next meeting, almost two months later.
Morrigan enjoyed her sexuality — and her orgasms, and her “traditional” encounters with men — as much as the next woman. But she had learned early on that the intensity and the bursts of energy of conventional sex paled in comparison to the constant, continuous sense of arousal and power that came from having a man surrender to her … especially when he did it, not exactly *against* his will, but without realizing or understanding why.
Meanwhile he had sent another text. “So, spring break starts next weekend.”
“I remember,” she replied, stiffly, certain that he would be able to sense her mock sternness. She imagined him summoning up the gumption to ask the next question.
“May I come see you over break?”
She inhaled deeply and released. Actually, the idea of giving the young man more than 24 hours’ worth of personalized torment appealed to her quite a bit. In fact, she wanted to torment him a bit right now. So she changed the subject.
“How long has it been?”
“Two weeks tomorrow.”
“Two weeks with no key.”
Morrigan was really intrigued by this. Not so much that he had been locked in chastity for two weeks — she had prepared him for that — but that he was doing it in a college dormitory.
She had sent him home from their third encounter, at New Year’s, with his first chastity device, but also with the key. She had led enough men into chastity and denial to know how ridiculously eager some of them were to jump immediately into long-term or “permanent” chastity. With beşevler escort Ron, she had instructed him how to accustom himself to the process — wearing it for two hours, and then for four, and only after a week attempting it overnight.
Three times over the course of the long winter, she had allowed him to visit her in the city, for a day and an overnight of sight-seeing and foot worship. Only the last time, two weeks ago, had she sent him back to campus with his key in a tiny combination lockbox. And he had not called her for the combination.
“And no one knows?”
“Even in the showers?” She was genuinely curious and aroused about this. It had been ten years since she had lived in a dormitory. Maybe things had changed; but maintaining privacy had been a challenge then. She was sure that it would be very difficult for a nineteen-year-old male to explain to a group of his peers why his genitals were encased in a little metal prison. Of course, if they knew, they might be more intrigued and impressed than Ron suspected.
“I’ve been” … he must have hit send while he was looking for the word … “cautious.”
“And your roommate doesn’t know?” She suppressed a giggle at the naughty thought of exposing her brother to this kink.
“NO” came the instant response, the All Caps substituting for an exclamation point.
She grinned deviously and pressed the point. “Ian doesn’t know that his big sister owns your penis?”
Long seconds passed. Then, “God Ms Morrigan” popped onto her screen.
“Punctuation, young man,” she chastised him. Then, “Does that make you hard?”
“If only.” Morrigan laughed out loud, picturing what was going on inside the young man’s pants.
“Gone on any dates?”
Another pause. Ron was apparently taking the time to type out his confusion. “Ummm. No.”
“You really should,” she pecked back. “This is the time when a young man beypazarı escort your age should be getting out there…” She was enjoying the mental image of her young friend, sitting in a darkened movie theater while a pretty coed leaned into him and signaled her interest in more physical contact. Imagine his mortification if word of his chastity cage got around sorority row. Although, again, it might make him more popular than he could imagine.
All right, enough teasing. “So, I imagine something could be arranged over spring break.” He responded with a smiling emoji. She added, “Let me work something out. I’ll text you in a couple of days.”
“I can’t wait,” he messaged. She replied with a series of kissy emojis, followed by a leering devil. Then she set the phone down.
Only then did Morrigan pick up her glass for an overdue sip of wine. She looked down over the rim of the glass, at the mature naked man who had been kneeling there the whole time, licking and kissing the ankle boot on her right foot. Now, aware that her attention might return to him, he was looking up at her with a hint of mourning in his eyes.
“You have a question, Anders?”
The man simply nodded, maintaining eye contact while Morrigan uncrossed and recrossed her legs, extending her other foot toward his accepting hands.
“Yes, I’ve been texting with another man, if you must know,” she confirmed. He had to know that was coming, but he flinched nonetheless. She pointed her toe and he leaned forward to kiss it. She admired his well-manicured hands, and the full head of sandy hair on the top of his head, graying only at the temples. Anders was a very attractive man; only slightly thick around the middle, but really in quite good shape for his age. And he was an excellent dinner companion. Being a good conversationalist comes with the territory, she thought, when you’re a university president.
But he also knew when to hold his tongue, she mused. She liked that about him. He was actually quite old-fashioned. A bit possessive. Which gave her some extra buttons to push.
“Yes, I’m going to be going out of town with him a couple of days the week after next,” she continued. “While you’re here staining my kitchen cabinets.”