Confession by Monty

It might have been any other day in his life.  Another week had come and gone and he was looking forward to a nice lazy weekend, not really expecting anything much from it.

Least of all had he expected that he would meet her, someone who reminded him so much of himself, someone who would reflect so much of his own personality.  It was almost uncanny. He woke up late, far later than usual to be honest, and unbeknown to him, he had already met her the day before.   The time spent had been very casual, and while a pleasant feeling had been there, he had not allowed himself to think much more on the matter.  As the day went by not much transpired.  He then heard her speaking and he saw her, but still did not realize that she was slowly burrowing her way into his mind.

His mind slowly began spinning, his thoughts of her becoming more frequent until he had to admit to himself that she had been on his mind all day.  He had no idea how this had happened. Was it something she had said? Something she had done? Deciding that the only way to make sense of his feelings were to write them down he decided to do just that.  He sat down and wrote a letter, not really intending for moment that would eventually end up in her hands. Every thought he had of her went on this paper, every emotion stirred by her.   In short, everything that he had been thinking of all day. He looked at the time, realizing he had spent well over three hours composing this rather simple letter. Was it really that hard to explain to himself what he was feeling, and what he wanted?  He sighed heavily, put the paper aside, and decided he was done.

Later that day, she was back again and he found his heart skipping a beat at the sight of her. He had not admitted anything to her of course -- not openly at any rate. As a matter of fact, he was still coming to terms with his feelings himself. He did, however, strike up a conversation with her that day.  They spent most of the evening chatting, and before he knew it he had told her about the letter he had written. He shared it with her; he shared his thoughts that had never really been intended for anyone else.

She read it, and she smiled as she did. He felt as if he wanted to crawl under a rock and hide, not because he was ashamed of what he felt, but because he felt he had failed to put into words what it was that he was experiencing. To his surprise, soon after she had read what he had written about her, about what he had been thinking, she revealed that she had indeed done something similar.

She had written something as well, and whilst his had been a shambles of a letter with thoughts and ideas crisscrossing the paper, she had put together something that would have been an experience for anyone, a first draft of how she could imagine a man's submission. He had been allowed to read this, and he did so with great interest, hanging on most every word as the images begun flaring in his head as an effect of her words. As he put her letter down, his face slightly flushed and his heart racing he looked at her, he didn't say anything.  Was this.. in reference to him?

Silently he sat for a few moments before he parted his lips to speak.  No words came. It was as if every want he had expressed in his mind had been filled in that single letter she had written, as if she had been inside of his head, picking out the bits that she knew would make him gasp, that would make him nervous, and had then put every last one of those things down for him to read.

"This was written.. for me, 'bout me, Miss?" he asked her cautiously. She nodded with a bright smile on her face, that face, her smile. It made him melt, and he didn't have the words to tell her how it made him feel, but every time she flashed it at him, he knew exactly where he wanted to be: with her, by her side, one way or another.

The evening went on and they kept on talking.  Time flew, and before he knew it, it was already past the time when he was supposed to leave, so, with a sad smile, he admitted to having to leave her. Before he left she let him know that she expected him to do some 'writing' with her the next day, since they had already written to each other. The time was set and, eager for it to arrive, he went to sleep.

When morning came he got himself ready for work as usual. She would remain on his mind all day. As the day finally drew towards the end of work, he spoke to her briefly.  She let him know that he needed two ribbons. Without question he accepted this, his own dirty mind already having an idea what they might be used for. Little did he know, what he had in mind would be prove insignificant compared to what she had planned.

As he came home he took some time to practice a few positions she had told him the night before that she enjoyed . It was fairly easy, he thought, to master them and to then take a couple of photos. The painstaking part would be to find one he deemed good enough for her. The hours seemed to slow before she was to arrive.  His mind was very much focused on what was to come, or, at least, what he thought was to come.

The hour struck and within moments they were together. She had prepared some things for his writing:  a simple desk, a small cushion, and a blackboard. He felt slightly confused. He honestly had not expected that he would get  much actual writing done; he still had no idea what would happen.

She commanded him to strip and to position himself in one of the positions she had taught him.  He did so and she smiled slightly before she began writing on the blackboard. "Get hard" he read as she moved out of the way. He looked at her with eyes wide but he only briefly hesitated. He grabbed hold of his cock and begun pulling at it to make it hard; that did not take long. Soon he was sat on the cushion with a massive erection visible to the lady standing before him. He lowered his head and read the blackboard once more.

"Stroke with your left hand, and write with your right" he read. He smiled slightly and then did just that. The smile was simply because he knew, then and there, that he would get little or no writing done. His breathing grew heavier as he stroked for her.  She prompted him to write, and she inspired him. Very little of what he put down on paper was actually very readable, but he was not scolded for this.  Clearly that was not her intention. Soon the words written on the blackboard prompted him to switch hands.  He did, finding it even harder to write with his left hand; even less was put down on the paper.  His breathing became heavier and faster. Clearly he was growing closer to release.  Throughout this all she guided him, telling him what to write, and what not to, telling him if he was to stop touching or to go faster. He was obedient. He wanted this. He wanted to belong to her.

Somehow each time he came too close, she knew -- and made him stop. He did not know how much time had passed before she  once more looked at him with that smile on her lips. At this point he had not been allowed to touch for awhile.  Her smile turned a little bit crooked as she spoke: "You have 30 seconds to cum".   She stated it matter-of-factly.  Almost instantly he was frantically stroking trying to reach his climax in the time allowed. He did not care if he was loud or if he sounded silly. He was desperate to cum and he had a feeling that if his time limit were missed, he would not be allowed to do so.

The time passed, second by second, and he grew more frantic in his stroking. The sounds were obvious; nobody would have been oblivious to what he was doing were they to have heard him. With three seconds left he grunted loudly and managed to cum.  His cum shot from his cock-head and over his own body.  The sticky mess reached his chin, covered his chest and slowly dripped down from there. His breathing did not really slow.  He was panting,as if it had been a huge effort for him to cum, though he was utterly content.  Soon he composed himself.

"Thank you Miss," he said in a clear tone, though he was still rather breathy. She did not say much. Clearly, she had not finished with him. He was told to go clean himself up and, putting the paper and pen aside, he did so, only taking a few minutes to wash the cum off his body so that he would once more be presentable. He returned to the cushion and he seated himself before her again.   He resumed writing.

Honestly, he thought that was that. He figured that she had had her way and that she would now make him finish the story he was working on. He was very much mistaken. Within a couple of minutes the blackboard screeched once more as she wrote again. "Get hard" it said once more. He looked at the board, and then he looked at her, not overly confident that he could manage to please her with only a couple of minutes between commands.  Nonetheless he did as the board commanded and he  once more began touching himself in order to get himself erect for her.  It took a little bit longer this time than the first time for sure, but soon enough he was again hard . She had been watching him, criticizing him for taking too long. Her comments had only spurred him to try even harder.  It clearly worked.

"Now then..." She spoke aloud this time. "I want you to stroke your cock for me again. Come on.  Do it now!" Her voice was like honey to a bee for him. He could not help but want to obey her, and -- as her command was to touch himself -- he was not exactly objecting to that.  He begun stroking -- fast hard strokes for her. A moment later she again was writing on the board.

"Thirty seconds to cum" it read. He groaned.  He did not think he could manage another orgasm so quickly, but again he frantically stroked to please her, to give her what she wanted.  This time she had set a timer on the desk. It counted down the seconds and he could see his opportunity slipping from him. The seconds dropped away one by one as he stroked like a mad man. In the last few seconds left he knew it was futile, but, even so, he did not stop. He kept stroking to and then through the time limit and then stopped, with a loud groan followed by what was almost a laugh

 "Miss.. I'm sorry I could not!" he exclaimed, addressing her.  She laughed and smiled. Clearly she had not expected that he would cum.  Was there an ulterior motive to this, or was she  perhaps just enjoyed his squirming? With a little nod she pointed towards the ribbons she had made him buy earlier that day.

"I want that ribbon, made into a bow tie, around your cock," she said, still smiling. He reached for the ribbon, and he cut a piece of it off. He then carefully slipped it around his shaft and he tied a knot, trying hard to make the bow tie as perfect as he could for her.

"Good boy, now what do you think that ribbon means?" she asked. He thought for a moment, his mind aflutter. The first orgasm and the denial of a second one, combined with trying to write something, had him stuttering and fumbling for words. He could not think straight.  'Was this the effect she had on him?', he found himself wondering.

"I uhm.. perhaps.. It's.."  He fell silent.   The answer might have been obvious, but his mind refused to function. She laughed at his incoherence, clearly amused by his bewilderment.

"This first ribbon symbolizes what might be. It's a symbol of what might in the future be a collar around your neck. For now it means your cock belongs to me." She paused briefly. "Now, why do you think you have two ribbons?"she asked him.

Again his mind could not grasp what she wanted.  He stumbled trying to find an answer and finally blurted out  "I do not know, Miss!" His voice was pleading and conveyed that he felt he was letting her down. That was the last thing he wanted to do. She still looked amused;  she did not scold him or degrade him in any way for not knowing.

"The reason you have two ribbons is because if that cock belongs to me, I do not want a dirty ribbon around it. You need to be able to change it when you get yourself dirty."

He found himself smiling. His mind was running; every word she had said about the meaning of the ribbon to the cleanliness of it, stuck with him. He found himself straightening up for her, and a sense of pride washed over him.  He now felt that he had earned something from her.

With this they finished their 'writing' for the day. She asked him if he wanted to continue writing together, and he promptly responded that this was something he was very eager to do indeed. They spent the remainder of their night together.  When it was finally time for them to part he went to bed still wearing his ribbon.  It was tied tight around his cock. Her cock.