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Barbara learns the thrill of watersports.
I was sure he'd begin masturbating right here and now if I so ordered, but he wasn't quite ready to be shown publicly.
He stood before me mewing and twitching, his hands trembling near his crotch, waiting to grab his cock and begin pumping. I smoked my cigarette and told him in very explicit words about the male I'd met on the train. How I'd sucked this cock and balls, and how I'd let him fuck my pussy and behind. As I spun my tale I stopped along the way to remind my joeie that these were things he was never permitted to do.
I knew my adventure stories excited him almost as much as my controlling his sex, or that of my turning him into a jism slurping, pussieboy, whose only sex is masturbating and 'fucking' my left hand, when she's in the mood to allow him. It's a custom among the sisters of the sorority going back to its founding, that the left hand of every sister must eventually 'marry' a male. It was time for one of my little tests, and if I were lucky he'd earn ten more swats of the birch.
Grinding my cigarette under a heel, I placed the index fingernail of my right hand under his chin and lifted his head up toward the sun. My actions appeared as innocent as could be and few people passing took a second look. I appeared much like a concerned mother, or interested better half, but he only hesitated ever so slightly, just enough for me to use as an excuse to begin our week with discipline, which is the best way to begin my visits. His mewing became more pronounced, meaningful. I pushed his head up higher and pretended to be looking at something of interest on his neck, and whispered into his ear so no one would hear.
"Pussieboy, you know better than to resist me," I purred in false surprise. "And for that you will receive ten with the birch rod!" I could feel him tremble to my words, as I expected a true pussieboy should, and as a true pussieboy he made every attempt there and then at that moment, to behave even better. My most difficult questions to myself were, 'what couldn't I get this sexually frustrated fool to do for me', and, 'how could I control myself?'
People passing must have taken us for a cute couple. They must have thought I was checking my boyfriend's neck for a bruise or something like that, when instead I was demonstrating my dominance, and his submissiveness. He whined for real after hearing about the punishment, but he understood what it meant.
I removed my finger from under his chin, scraping his skin lightly, and as expected, his eyes immediately went back to staring at my breasts as his hands struggled on either side of his active hard-on. I looked down to find the front of his sweat pants soaking wet with juices from his drooling cock. It bothered me to see those juices being wasted and my disappointment showed. He mewed louder, begging me to let him masturbate.
"You'd beat-off right here and now if I tell you to, wouldn't you, you silly ass bimbo," I stated in a quiet but stern voice meant to degrade and humiliate, and he nodded in acknowledgement. He couldn't hide his sexual frustration, or control it. So I took a breath and held my breasts up even higher, and brought them to just under his eyes, right up to his chest. He actually had to catch drool from the corners of his mouth, but he never stopped mewing.
"Yes, Mistress Colleen," he murmured loud enough for me to hear. I could tell the thought of me ordering him to begin masturbating caused him some distress, but too, I could tell he was to the point of not caring who saw him. He was almost ready. Between the large wet spot, his bouncing cock, and his struggles, I had to laugh out loud at him. I did so knowing it fed his perversion, served to stoke his sexual frustration. I couldn't help but tease.
I need to accustom my pussieboy to being embarrassed when in public with me, but I'm taking it slow.