“Please, Mistress, may I come?” asked Tom, scrunching up his face and trying to look hangdog.

“Psh, I’ve only come once,” I said.  “After I’ve come five times, maybe I’ll let you come.”  I used to worry about this exchange rate.  For instance, if I come five times for every time Tom comes, isn’t that like my orgasms are worth 20 cents and Tom’s are worth a dollar?  But now I figure that an orgasm isn’t a cost, so I’m making $5 to Tom’s $1.  I win!  Not that I’m competitive.

Tom was tied down completely to a bunch of wooden boards I had arranged in parallel, then used rope to tie him up like a shoe.  He couldn’t move, so I just rode him.  And rode him and rode him while he struggled not to come.  As I was about to come the fifth time, I told him he could come, too.   As we came, I put my hands around his throat and choked him as a reward for how well he did.

Unfortunately, the stupid wood skinned my knees (somehow, I didn’t notice it in the heat of things).  It’s annoying, I’ve been bruised more than Tom in the time we’ve been going out.  He’s bruised all of twice, that I’ve seen.  He once got a slight mark from some tight rope bondage on his arms, and once a small bruise from me beating his chest with a riding crop.

I, on the other hand, bruise when a butterfly lands on me.  Tom sucked on my thigh and pulled blood through.  Like, a hicky amount of suction, and I had blood dripping down my leg.  I got a bug bite on my face and it caused a black eye.   It kind of sucks.  I wish it was reversed so that I could beat Tom black and blue without killing him.