One Couple, Two Relationships
This was my first attempt at writing a story, and so, on the whole, it was not as well constructed as my more recent material. Just an FYI. :)
Jason and I chatted lightheartedly as we walked to the car from the nice dinner we had just treated ourselves to, in celebration of Jason's birthday. We were both in a pretty good mood, which wasn't surprising, considering how well things had been going between us lately. Oh, we had our rough spots, but what couple doesn't? But he and I we were in love, and committed to making this work.
As we got to the car, Jason, as usual, opened the door for me. He always did enjoy being the alpha male, in control, which always struck me as a little odd for a horse. I mean, I'm the wolf, after all. He could at least me open my own door.
I shake my head lightly to dismiss these petty feelings. It was these kinds of ideas which caused the bickering, fights, and almost a break-up a couple years back. Hell, it got so bad we decided to go in for couples therapy. And I suppose if I'm being honest, those sessions did play a big part in helping us get back on track. Two years later and we've hardly had a serious fight since.
The ride back home is mostly silent with both of us our full from our meal and neither of us are the kind of fur who feels the need to fill every moment with chatter, unless we have something we want to say. The radios playing - Jason's choice of station, of course. I roll my eyes at the selection, and can't help but run through a mental laundry list of all the things he has to have just so. I turned an unfocused gaze out through the passenger side window to hide the roll of my eyes.
I mean, I love Jason. I really, really do. But his constant need for control was the harshest criticism I leveled at him during our therapy sessions. Not to say he didn't have his complaints too. I blush a little as I recall his accusation that I was a masturbation addict who never brought his best performance to the bedroom because I was already spent by the time I got there.
Yea, well, so what. I don't like to stay pent up, so I use to relieve myself pretty regularly. And yes, occasionally that was a few times a day. It's not like I didn't take care of his needs, and I certainly never turned him away, or mumbled some excuse about having a headache, or the like.
I close my eyes for a second and take a deep breath. This isn't like me. This is a birthday celebration, for pity's sake, and what do I have to complain about? We're heading right now, to have what is probably going to be some amazing birthday sex in our king size bed. I'm probably just stressed because I'm ready to release some of this pent up sexual frustration. As part of the compromises that Jason and I agreed to near the last few (ridiculously expensive) therapy sessions, I gave up masturbation for good. It's been tough to say the least, but I can't say these last years with Jason haven't been great, for all his irksome habits.
We finally pull into the garage and then share a kiss at the door, before heading into the house. We both take care of our hygiene needs - shower, brushing of teeth, underarm deodorant - before meeting in the living room. We find ourselves walking not towards the master bedroom upstairs, but... the basement?
That's weird. Did Jason need something from down here? We're already halfway down the stairwell, lit by a single naked bulb, when I look over to him. His eyes are drooping and glazed over. Do mine look like that too? For some odd reason it seems like it's getting harder and harder to form a coherent thought.
We reach the basement door. My hand comes out of my pocket, large iron key in hand. Where did that come from? I'm opening the door. We walk through. Darkness.
Coherence slowly comes back to me. We're in the basement. No, wait, that's not right. This is the dungeon. I look over to see Jason's large, well-muscled horse body lying naked on an even larger leather covered table, strapped down at various parts of his body. He's looking right at me, but he isn't saying anything. Most likely due the sizeable penis gag in his mouth. A perfect replica of my own cock - a birthday gift from me to him not long after we started going out. I remember he laughed so hard when I gave it to him, and said he'd be sure to bring it out while we played, from time to time.
A flash of jealousy hits me when I see that fake cock in his mouth. That should be my own flesh and blood in his muzzle, pounding away until I flood his mouth with my release. But as memories continued to flood back to me, I knew that's not how this evening will go.
The lightning in here is not great, but it's plenty bright enough to see what's encasing my cock, preventing me from fulfilling that fantasy I was just entertaining. A chastity device. Hard to believe that a few scraps of metal and a small lock are all that stand between me and my long delayed and sorely needed orgasm. If I could just find that fucking key. I knew it wasn't in the basement. Believe me, I've looked.
Jason must have it, but he doesn't look like he's in the mood to tell me. That is if he even remembers where it is while we're down here. Like the rest of our memories dealing with this place and this arrangement, they only come to us when it's time for play. At least that's what our therapist called it: play. I tend to call a spade a spade, and so would just say torture.
Jason may be the one strapped to the table, but my bondage is just as real. And from the slight smirk he's making around that gag, and the twinkle is his eye, I can tell that we both know that only one of us is getting to cum tonight, and that person isn't me.
I look around the dungeon again. This is the compromise our therapist decided for us. Imposed on us. I complained to him that Jason couldn't give up control, and so now he's spends a few evenings a week strapped to that table, or subjugated somewhere else in this dungeon, where I can do anything I want to him. Well, almost anything.
Looking at his incredibly buff and sexy body, my wolfhood tries to firm up in its prison. As always, it fails miserably, making me miserable at the same time. I remember everything now, and one particular fact sets my teeth on edge. I haven't cum in over two years. I moan slightly under my breathe at the thought.
While I've been contemplating my own flaccid member, his massive prick has reached full mast. He's still looking right at me, but not at my eyes or face. He's looking at my chastity. Ever since he lost all control over our sex play due to that monster of a quack therapist, he relishes the small bit of control he has over me. I've never been able to force him to tell me one way or the other (and I've truly tried), but I suspect he knows exactly where the key is.
Is it even in the house, I wonder. I'd say there was no point in stewing over it, but I know that from past experience that the dull ache and constant need in my crotch is going to be foremost in my mind for the entire evening.
I usually spend my time down here with him making him pay for that, along with everything else. All of this is his fault. He started the fights. He didn't want to break up. He suggested couple's therapy. He picked that evil fuck of a hypnotist as our therapist. His fault, from A to Z. You wanted to make all the decisions, Jason? Then you have to accept the consequences when things go bad. And things went very, very bad.
From the many times we've both been down here in the past, I knew I had about 3 hours to enjoy my leverage over my boyfriend - though I don't know if he actually considers us together while all his memories intact. I never actually asked him. Down here, I'm not sure how much the answer to that question really matters.
I take my eyes away from his admittedly gorgeous body to the room we find ourselves in. There are more than just toys lining the walls and shelves down here in our little private hell. My eyes scan the room as I glance over my options: ball crushers, a few whips, riding crops, various sized and proportioned dildos, a tube of Icy Hot, clasps and clamps, a box of needles, a variety of gags, a catheter kit with tubes long enough to reach his mouth, and a great deal more. If I find that I'm lacking a particular toy, I can use the desk in the corner to write a letter to the "good doctor", and he'll be happy to send any additional items my way. Along with an invoice for services rendered, of course. I've tried writing letters to myself, but stopped when I never saw them again after the night ended. I idly wonder if, in a mindless trance, I used the fireplace upstairs to burn the letters. I can't image that I'd of simply thrown them in the garbage.
Finally my attention settles on something in the corner: a TENs device. Being slowly driven crazy all night by my balls is already a forgone conclusion. Let's see if I can't repay the favor. I place it on a cart and wheel it over to him. He's got a determined look on his face, but I can he's nervous. He's broken into sweat, and while it's a little hot down here, it's not that hot. We've gone through this routine enough times that he knows I'm unlikely to pull my punches.
I start taping the contact pads to his balls, two for each of his generously sized nuts. I consider adding more to his shaft, or even going so far as to grab a metallic sound from the shelf, to lightly cook the inside of his cock as well. Not enough to harm him - after all, permanent physical harm is against the rules, of which there are several. Physiological harm isn't one of those rules, though, so I lean down, place my muzzle over his ear, and tell him, "Happy birthday, handsome". We make eye contact again then, and hold it for a few seconds.
His eyes seem to convey several emotions at the same time, but it's the pleading look that makes me decide to try something different tonight. It's his birthday after all, and just because I can't get off doesn't mean I need to be bored or boring.
"Jason, if you ask nicely for me to fry your juicers, I'll let you decide how you get to cum tonight." His eyes widen in surprise, as he considers the offer. I'd love to deny him orgasms all together, to make him even more miserable than I am, but that's against the rules. At least once each play session I have to make him cum. Now that's not to say that I can't be torturing him while I do it, or force him to cum so many times in our 3 hours window that he begs me with tears in his eyes to stop. But even as hard as I make him work for it, the terrible truth is I'd switch places with him in a heartbeat. Worse yet, he can play with himself all he wants while he's out of this place, while I carry my chastity device with me wherever I go, even if my conscious mind refuses to pay to acknowledge that unhappy fact when I'm outside of this room.
He's still contemplating my offer, and I'm getting a little impatient, so I tell him "Yes or no, Jason. Make up your mind". I can tell he's torn. Even when he's firmly strapped to this table, knowing that he has no power over the next few hours, he still hates the thought of giving up any more control that he has to.
Finally, he nods.
"Jason, I'm taking the gag off for a few moments. Don't speak until I give you permission to, and then you only speak to kindly ask that I zap your eggs. Feel free to improvise, but watch the tone of your voice. If I don't sincerely believe that you're making a good faith effort to convince me that you want some volts put through your sack, not only do you not get to choose how you'll cum, but I'm bringing out the metallic sound as well. Oh, and be sure to throw in a 'sir', in there, too".
He knows that once terms are agreed to down here, we both must follow to the letter. Another one of the therapist's rules, but this one I can actually appreciate. The only two exceptions to this are that no terms or agreement we make can take precedence over the core rules (as decided upon by our "therapist"), nor will we remain bound by these self-imposed rules for longer than a single play session. I can tell he's reviewing the wording of the agreement carefully, making sure there are no loop holes or tricks, like the kind that I've manage to snag him with in the past.
Hesitantly, he nods again.
I unstrap and remove the cock gag, and take a towel to clean up some of the saliva around his lips while he stretches his jaw a little. A few moments go by, and I ask him "Do you have something you'd like to say, Jason?".
"David, would you please charge up my nuts? I know that it makes you happy, and that makes me happy, so please light them up as much as you please. In fact, I'm asking you to, for me. Zap my eggs... please, sir".
I was surprised. He actually put a great deal more effort into it than I thought. While he certainly wasn't begging like some broken submissive, he did exactly as I asked. "It would be my pleasure, Jason. And after we're done having some fun with your nuggets, how would you like to come?"
Jason's suddenly smiled and I felt an odd surge of nervousness. Not a feeling I'm use to feeling down here, since I'm the one making the decisions.
"Sweety, if it's not too much trouble, I'd like you to strap on your replica cock, and fuck me to my orgasm. Also, no additional stimulation, please, other than your mouth and tongue over my cock head. And when I cum, be sure to moan loudly like you're getting off too. That would be super hot, don't you think? And finally, you can sincerely thank me for helping you get your rocks off, before licking up and swallowing every drop of my cum."
My jaw actually drops at his demand. I can't believe I left the agreement's wording so open ended. Even strapped to that table, he just has to try and come out on top as often as possible. He knew how badly I wanted to be able to release my years of stored up sexual tension, and now he was going to force me to play it out with a model replica of my cock, only, with no actual release.
My face contorted in anger. He may have tripped me up in a way I hadn't expected, but he still had a play date with the TENs unit. The thought made my cock press up against it's unyielding cage.
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