The Bookshop - Morticia/patrick II

(As the following is a work of fiction, loosely based upon an on-going kinky friendship-D/s relationship, and much of what's written, but as of yet not everything, has actually happened or is happening, I've changed the names and occupations, etc. for discretion's sake.) (patrick has celebrated his fiftieth birthday, and Morticia (M) is still a long way from seeing her thirtieth)

M walked into the bookstore and said, "Coffee, tea, or a spanking?" which caused an immediate blush and a bit of stuttering on my part, as I tried to figure out what she wanted to hear. After my posting the last entry on Altairboy's web-page a few days earlier, ("Expensive Cigarettes") M commented upon my having written '.... numerous, tormentingly teasing little subtleties that I won't go into here', in reference to what goes on between us in the bookshop. She said that she was feeling ornery and in the mood to give me something more to write about. I'll add that at this time I'd already been locked up in my CB-2000 without relief for five days, and still had a minimum of two more to go.

It was the middle of the dead period of a fall afternoon. No customers were in the shop, and without another word she snapped her fingers, indicating I should follow her, and walked towards the long hallway in the rear of the shop. The hallway isn't visible from the front window, nor from the entrance, and leads back to the toilet, then to a large room I use for storage.

Crossing her arms in front of her, she leaned against the wall and commanded me to strip. Within seconds I was standing before her slave-naked, which in the bookshop means sandals, and of course my CB-2000. She jiggled my plastic encased genitals a few times, which always gets the blood flowing, then walked towards the front of the shop carrying my clothes. One could say that I was left dangling with anticipation. Had any customers entered the shop, I figured that I would just step into the far back storage room and hide, although it's a bit chilly there this time of year.

The bell over the door chimed, but it was just someone quickly dropping by to pick up a book they'd ordered. After they'd left, M came back and handed me a liter bottle of mineral water and told me to drink it down.

"Yes Maam," I replied, as if I had any say in the matter. "But could I please have permission to visit the toilet first, and empty my bladder? I mean I really have to go. Maam." I felt myself blushing, which I normally do whenever I call her 'Maam'. She's more than a couple of decades younger than I am.

She smiled. "That would sort of defeat the purpose of what I have in mind."

I admit, her tone of voice, and the promise of some unexpected kinky play caused a herd of butterflies in my stomach to stampede. At this point I'd just gone five days without being allowed a climax, which I realize is no world record, but M had taken every opportunity to torment and tease me throughout the week. I'm rarely allowed to forget my status in our D/s food chain, as I have to wear her tight nylon panties under my clothes most of the time, the pair that she's worn the day before.

Throughout much of each day and night my cock had been making its feeble attempts to bust out of its plastic cage. So even though the rings easily prevented the little fellow from hardening, the sensations it kept sending to the brain included a maddening mixture of nerve endings, half of which thought that they represented the most sensitive piece of neglected flesh in the world, and the other half were signals that felt similar to teasing fingers, not my own, lightly wrapped around my cock. This sensation is difficult to describe, but it contains that magic difference one feels when someone else's hand is wrapped around your cock as compared to your own hand. I mean, both sensations are more than nice, but they're definitely different from each other.

M grabbed my balls and led me like a pull-toy down the long hallway towards the rear storage room. Just as we got to the end of the hall, the bell over the entrance to the shop rang again. M said, "I'll take care of the customer." She pointed to a box in the rear where we stored some of our kinky toys. "Drink all the water, then put on the wrist and ankle cuffs. I'll be back in a while." She closed the door as I chugged the liter of water, then buckled on the leather restraints.

I never have an inkling of what M's going to come up with next. I'm not exactly a glutton for physical punishment, but I really treasure the power she has over me to punish, humble, and torment, either for cause, or just because she feels like it. More than not, when I'm enduring some special little torment that she's dreamed up, or a punishment spanking or whatever, I'm wishing that it would just get over with as quickly as possible. Still, when it's over, I love the fact that I was made to suffer and be humbled for her pleasure. For instance, if I had any say in the matter, sometime in the next thirty seconds I'd be sitting on the john peeing. I was already at that dangerous point where I felt that I could hold off for a few more minutes only if I didn't make any sudden moves, but they wouldn't be a pleasant few minutes.

Nonetheless, I'd have peed my pants, had I been wearing any, before deliberately disobeying her. One thing I never forget is that M holds the key to my CB-2000. She refers to it as 'the key to my hard'. And my being allowed to masturbate once a week is totally dependent upon her judgement of how obedient I've been to her will. Her decision is totally subjective, dependent upon her mood, and isn't subject to arbitration. This unwritten understanding is all the contract that we need.

The next ten minutes flew by in what seemed like, what? An hour? Two? M finally returned, leaving the storeroom door open so that she could hear the bell if anyone entered the shop. Walking past me, she eyed a rope hanging from a wooden beam. She spread out a rubber sheet on the floor, then beckoned me with her finger. A minute later I was standing barefoot on the rubber sheet as she tied off the rope, which now ran behind me, through the D-Rings on my wrist cuffs. She pulled on the other end of the rope, which forced my wrists up and away from my back and caused me to bend forward a bit.

There was nothing comfortable about this position, but it was tolerable. I would have enjoyed the helpless, humiliating situation I was in much more if the signals from my full bladder hadn't taken over my thought process. I was really worried that I wouldn't be able to hold off peeing for much longer, and I remember hoping that she wasn't in the mood to spank my exposed rear, because I was sure that I'd lose control of my bladder with the first swat. Luckily, most spankings were administrated after working hours, when no customers could interrupt, or else at her apartment when I was there acting as her house-boy/maid.

The storage area is fairly large, and quite cool this time of year, but I was nervously sweating in my nakedness. I tried breathing as slowly and shallowly as possible. I was at the point where I was struggling not to pee down my leg. I knew that if I coughed, or even just wiggled around a bit, the flow would start, and I wouldn't be able to stop it. Much more than the indignity of being tormented to the point that I couldn't even control this basic body function, I was really worried that my pissing myself would displease M. Mentally, I'll admit to my masochistic tendencies, but I'd really been counting on being allowed to relieve my spermal buildup in just two more days. Bent over as I was, I was continually having to squeeze in on the muscles in my pelvic area, just to hold back the flow of urine.

M walked around to my front, squatted and took my chin in her hand. Our eyes locked. Mine were pleading, hers smiling. She ran a fingernail over my exposed balls. "You look entirely too comfortable."

I had to spread my feet apart, as she snapped a meter-long leg-spreader to the ankle cuffs. This slight lowering of my center of gravity caused me to bend forward more, and for my wrists to separate further from my back. Within a couple of minutes a slow ache started spreading in my shoulders. I probably didn't notice it at first, as M went to my rear and smeared some mentholated salve around and in my asshole. I held my breath and concentrated on not peeing as she ran her finger in and out, then gasped as she plopped a five-inch butt-plug up my ass. My low moans were involuntary, not from any painful discomfort caused by the anal attack, but from the added pressure of the butt-plug on my bladder. I was now thinking of the future in seconds. My eyes teared a bit from the perspiration rolling down from my forehead. By this time my brain was going into overload from the various sensations that my cock, ass, bladder, and shoulders were sending.

M smacked my ass with her hand as she walked to the door. "I'm going up to the front for a while to relax. You be good!" The door slammed shut.

I don't know how long I remained bound on the rubber sheet, as time seemed to stand still. My breathing got louder, and I willed myself not to pee, mentally counting in thirty-second intervals of agony. After many hours of this suffering (I was later told that it was twenty-three minutes) a couple of drops of urine dripped from the end of my cock, and then I couldn't hold back the flow. I swear, I've never felt such relief. I must of pissed continuously for at least two minutes. The urine splashed on my calves, and puddled at my feet, but at that moment I really didn't care.

When the last golden drop had fallen from the plastic ring, I was still breathing hard, just short of the panting one has during the recuperation period after a good screw, not that I've had one of those in a long while. I was fairly certain that when M came back and saw the mess I'd made, after my being commanded to clean it up I'd definitely have a spanking coming, and probably have a few more days, or even another week tacked onto my present sentence of forced celibacy. But that's okay, I guess. Had I wanted fairness, I wouldn't have bought the chastity device in the first place, nor handed over the keys to M. And as much as I craved a Howitzer-like, earth-shaking, high-explosive, balls-to-the-wall jism-splattering climax, and would have gladly begged her for the chance to do almost anything, no matter how humiliating, just to be given a few minutes of hand-on-cock relief, hers or mine, I got to thinking that I'd never had a climax that was any more enjoyable and satisfying than the relief I'd felt during and just after my almost two-minute peeing marathon. Although I think that they were caused mostly from the sweat in my eyes, there were actual tears of relief running down my cheeks.

I'll add here that she did initially add another week onto my sentence, along with a number of other extra, humiliating torments that I was made to undergo, but I'll describe these in another segment. Later, she said that the Chinese have their methods, and she has hers. She now refers to this little session, and the refinements she came up with later, as 'The Morticia Water Torture'.

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