My love for Laura was growing, and similarly her love for me, but this reciprocation did not mean that we were no longer in an FLR. Laura was still in charge, and she called the shots. Despite now having many months of experience under my belt, I could still make mistakes, and one evening provided a good example.
We had got back from university. I immediately removed my shirt and put a bra on, to meet one of Laura’s rules. Then I put a different top back on. Laura had no need to change. She was looking gorgeous and was dressed in a short skirt, worn over tights, and with a simple, thin woollen jersey. Her toned legs were on display and the tight fitting jumper accentuated her pert breasts. Being denied frequent sexual release meant I was always horny, and no more so than when she was dressed like she was that day.
I could see she was dog tired, having spent most of the day on her feet in the lab, undertaking a lengthy undergraduate experiment. Likewise, I was also tired, as spending time with Amy could be nerve wracking and exhausting. But mine was mental tiredness, whereas my girlfriend was physically knackered.
Consequently, I offered to cook dinner, but she had turned me down. “After the tiring day I’ve had, I don’t want it topped off with food poisoning,” she had informed me, with only the faintest of faint smiles.
So, she cooked a straightforward pasta dish which we ate in the kitchen. Then we moved into the lounge and collapsed in front of the television, watching mindless dross that required no effort of concentration. While she was sat on the sofa, her legs crossed, I was on the floor, my back resting against the chair.
She liked me sitting in this position because she found it calming and soothing to stroke her fingers through my hair. I also enjoyed it, so I had no complaints. We had the symbiotic relationship of a cat and its mistress. The former delighted in the attention, while the latter found stroking to be a natural tranquiliser.
The gentle tussling of my hair went on for ages, and was accompanied by the soft rasping of her tights as one of her legs gently rubbed against the other. I loved that sound, as it was so calming.
As she ran her fingers through my hair, so my penis was struggling inside its cage, desperately seeking space in which to expand, yet finding none. Precum was leaking from the end and, not for the first time, I was going to find I had very damp and sticky knickers.
Then, suddenly, the petting of my hair ceased, as did the rubbing together of her tights. Her fingers slipped off my head and her legs, previously crossed, slumped apart.
Cautiously, so as not to disturb her, I momentarily turned my head to confirm my suspicions. As I thought, she was asleep—sound asleep. Using the remote, I reduced the volume of the television so that she wouldn’t be disturbed.
I turned around again, this time swivelling my body as well. Then I saw that her skirt, previously mid-thigh, had ridden even further up her legs. So-much-so that I got a glimpse of her panties through the thin nylon of her tan-coloured tights. She was wearing pink satin briefs, the same colour as mine—another of her rules, although obviously I had to conform to her choice of colour, not vice-versa!
I looked up again at her face, checking she was asleep. I don’t often get the opportunity to gaze at her. She, like Amy, is quick to remind me that she is not a sex object to be gawped at. But, as Laura was asleep, this was the ideal opportunity to take all the time I wished to stare at her and absorb her beauty. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I was so lucky to have her as my girlfriend.
I watched her chest gently rise and fall with her quiet breathing. My penis was twitching madly as I peered at her firm breasts, encased and enhanced by her expensive bra, the outline of which I could just make out through her thin woollen top.
Slowly, savouring every moment, I worked my eyes down her body, until I again reached the hem of her skirt. Once more, I stared at the top of her thighs, mesmerised by the sight of her pink panties, covering her sacred altar. Her most intimate region was so near, yet so far, protected by both her underwear and her pantyhose.
Carefully, I manoeuvred myself for a better look at this most private part of her anatomy, occasionally flitting my eyes up to check that she was not awake. Meanwhile, my penis, like that of all hot-blooded males, was preparing—or, in my case, attempting to prepare—for action. I was in pain from the throbbing, but I still could not bring myself to look away from her beautiful body, which was presenting itself to me in such an evocative and sensual way.
Then, I did something I knew I shouldn’t. Not to put too fine a point on it, I broke the law. I gently touched her legs, through her tights. Touching another person, without their explicit consent, is illegal in England, and elsewhere, I assume, even more so when it is done for sexual intent. It’s considered to be assault and is a serious crime here.
Yet I could not bring myself to not touch her. The feeling of the nylon on my fingers drove me wild with desire. I started by softly brushing her leg with one finger, sensually running it along the nylon. There was no movement from her, so I applied two fingers, then three, and then my whole hand, lightly touching her leg, feeling the smoothness of her tights and the warmth of her body.
My penis was struggling to escape, yet I was now oblivious to the pain. Blind to the danger I was putting myself in, my hand cautiously and slowly crept up her leg, over her knee and onto her lower thigh. I was playing with fire and the consequences of being discovered didn’t dare be thought about.
Were she to wake up and see what I was doing she would have been within her rights to report me to the police. However, I knew she wouldn’t do that because the British legal system had abolished corporal punishment decades earlier. No, were she to discover what I was doing she would instigate her own form of justice, and I would probably not be able to sit down for a week.
Occasionally, she gave a little whimper or a slight twitch, causing me to halt my progress. But, when all was quiet again, my hand, as if driven by an invisible force, continued its slow advance towards her sacred altar.
Her divine site of worship, despite being protected by both her panties and her tights, was clearly visible to me, as the taut material pressed into her vulva, creating the impression of a camel’s toe. I edged ever closer, the sensitive nerves in my fingers deriving enormous sensual pleasure from their contact with the silky material of her pantyhose.
And then suddenly, when I was only a couple of inches away from her honeypot, she jerked, and before I realised what had happened, one of her hands had clamped onto mine. A surge of panic passed through me and, for a moment, I thought I had been rumbled. However, I quickly realised she was still asleep.
Her hand pushed down on mine, trapping it, and the sensations I was feeling increased as the palm of my hand made contact with her thigh, and the back of my hand with her palm.
She began moving my hand, pressing it down and dragging it closer to her genitals, but still stopping just short. Still slumbering, she brought her other hand into play, pushing it down through the top of her skirt, and inside her knickers. From where I was, I could clearly see rippling of the fabric as two of her fingers fondled her vulva, searching for her clitoris. It was if a couple of moles were exploring beneath the surface of soil, pushing up the earth as they went.
Laura’s other hand continued to grip mine. Her grasp tightened, and she continued dragging my hand around, further stimulating herself by me caressing her inner thigh. Her nipples, I could see, were erect and straining against her jersey, like two little monoliths.
She started moaning, and squirming, and then, without any warning, her eyes popped open.
My initial reaction was one of terror. She was blinking madly, and looking around, as if she didn’t know where she was. At the same time, she let go of my hand, allowing me to discreetly smuggle it away. Her other hand was quickly pulled out of her skirt as, unusually for her, she was overwhelmed by embarrassment. She was someone who had to be in control, yet she had been caught dozing—literally.
“Are… are you okay, Miss?” I muttered, still feeling a sense of shock at the rapid change of circumstances. “A bad dream, eh?”
Laura looked stunned, and for a few seconds said nothing. But then a switch flicked, and she smiled at me, saying, “No, muffin, not a bad dream at all. The opposite! I don’t know what happened, but it was… so good.” She laughed, shaking her head in bewilderment.
Phew! She was completely unaware of what I had done. I should have owned up to trespassing on her body, but I decided that discretion was my better option. I had no way of knowing for sure how she would view me interfering with her in the way I had done, but a likely outcome was that she might explode and send me to fetch her cane. Nothing excites her more than finding a legitimate reason to cane me, and I had provided her with far more than an adequate reason.
Laura always expected openness and truthfulness in our relationship. It would be an understatement to say she would have been “disappointed” in me, were she to find out, in some way, where my hand had been. Yet, despite being naturally submissive towards women, especially Laura, I was neither stupid nor insane—nor a masochist. I knew this was a secret I could not share with her. I would have to carry the guilt of what I had done and make amends by serving her ever more earnestly. She deserved better than me withholding key information, but I just couldn’t face the prospect of the corporal punishment that would likely result. I had let her down, and myself down.
I lay back against the sofa, and she resumed her tussling of my hair. “What have I missed, poppet?” she asked, and I trusted she was referring to the television programme.
I replied, “There was some excitement, Miss, but it’s passed.”
“Really?” she replied. “It looks trash to me. I don’t think I missed anything.” She laughed, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief.
oooOOooo
We were both quiet for the next couple of minutes, and then Laura said, “Something has got me very randy, sweetheart. I’m no longer tired, but an early night is called for.”
“Yes, Miss,” I replied, enthusiastically.
“When did I last give you a hand job?”
“Er… it was six days ago, Miss.”
“Oh! Only six days? Are you sure, sweetheart?”
“Yes, Miss, it’s not the sort of thing I forget.” I turned to smile at her. “And it’s marked on the calendar on the kitchen wall. An ‘H’ inside a circle.”
“Yeah, of course. That’s sad, though.”
“Sorry, what is, Miss?”
“That it was only six days ago, muffin. If it had been… er… say, thirteen days ago, I would have been tempted to break my rules and pretend it had been two weeks. But six days is too short. You’re going to have to stay locked up, sweetie. You understand why, don’t you?”
“Yes, I understand. In an FLR there has to be rationed release for the male—otherwise, there would be no point having an FLR, and I so want to be in one.”
“So do I, poppet, so do I,” she sighed. “I always want to be with you, and being in an FLR suits us both. It’s what we both want, sweetie.” She leant forward, and kissed me on the lips.
Then she stood up. “Come on, let’s get ready for bed—my bed. Let’s see if your fingers are as good as your mouth. Come on! What are you waiting for?”
oooOOooo
We spent a fabulous night together, with both of us naked, if you discount my chastity device, and with my hands and mouth free to explore every one of her orifices. I was determined to give her everything she could want—and more. She was in heaven, and I lost count of the number of climaxes she experienced. I was feeling extremely frustrated, for obvious reasons, and in pain from vain attempts to achieve an erection. Yet I did not regret one moment of what we did together in bed.
It was not until one in the morning that she decided her appetite for sex had been sated. We lay side by side. If she smoked—which she doesn’t—now would have been the moment she lit a cigarette. I had a hand gently fondling one of her breasts, and she had a hand stroking the inside of my thighs.
“Do you ever imagine what it would be like to be in bed with Amy?” she mused.
My God, that came out of the blue! What sort of question was that?
“Sorry?” That was the best I could say.
“Come on, poppet, she’s a ravishingly attractive girl, despite you being cautious about admitting it—’not unattractive’ was the phrase you used,” she scoffed. “I can easily imagine me spending some time in bed with her, muffin. Can’t you imagine what it would be like for you and her?”
Not for the first time, Laura was casually admitting that she had bisexual tendencies. Indeed, I still remembered the day when she and my sister had disappeared into the bedroom for some mutually beneficial relief after they had jointly caned me.
But Laura had never directly said to me that she was bisexual, although, on the other hand, neither had she made any effort to disguise her feelings, or pretend they didn’t exist.
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I kept quiet, hoping she would continue, which she did. “You do find her appealing, don’t you?”
“Er… yes, I do, Miss. But… but I would never be unfaithful to you. And that’s not just because I’m locked up.”
“I know you wouldn’t go behind my back, poppet. But… but, all the same, if I were to allow… er… oh, never mind.” She never finished the sentence, instead stopping to think. After a short hiatus, she continued, “I’m sure that Amy must dream about what it would be like to be in bed with you, sweetheart.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me,” I admitted, with a smile, before wondering if I had said that with too much enthusiasm. I quickly added, “But she is a big tease as well, and she tries to lead me on—unsuccessfully, obviously.”
“Yes, of course. But one of the things I love about her is how she taunts you and embarrasses you. Most girls would be jealous that their man was lusted after by another woman, but I find it arousing, and that’s because I trust you not to disobey me, sweetie. Her yearning for you serves to strengthen my love for you.”
“I find working with her very awkward because of her behaviour towards me, Miss. But it’s reassuring to know you don’t see her as a threat.”
“No, I don’t. And I’m sure she’s desperate to get into bed with you.”
“Hmm… you’re probably right, Miss.”
“Do you think she fancies me, muffin?” Laura asked.
“Er! Oh, my… I don’t know. She’s never hinted that she does.”
“I’ve spoken to her quite a few times, but I’ve only met her the once—that lunchtime in the refectory. Her beauty was so bewitching, and I felt a closeness to her. A bonding, if you like, but that might have been because we are kindred spirits in terms of us both wanting to control a man. What do you think?”
“I… I don’t know. Are you… are you hoping she does fancy you?” I cautiously asked.
“Yes, of course I am, silly! Surely, we all want to be fancied, don’t we, muffin?”
She was right. We all look pleasure in thinking that someone was attracted to us, even if that person was unavailable, or we didn’t find them attractive in return.
“Time to get some sleep, muffin,” she decided. “So, please take your hand off my boob. Permission to touch me is now denied until further notice! But you may stay in my bed provided you behave yourself. Otherwise, it’s the airbed for you!”
I promised her I would behave, and she leant over to kiss me on the lips, before closing her eyes, but keeping a hand on my inner thigh. I was left replaying my few minutes of guilt earlier that evening. It was something I would have to live with. Meanwhile, my penis was still throbbing and leaking. Laura was soon in the world of nod and I listened to her gentle breathing, knowing it would be ages before I could drift off.
