Man Ice

We are experiencing technical difficulties that have nothing to do with FLR. For your amusement, I include something that I find fascinating.

This is a fantasy. It has not happened to the extent that I relate here. Some of it did, and all of it could, given our situation.

Getting What I Wish. Maybe

I have been bitching about not getting enough sex. You know, the old “I could cum any number of times, and still be ready to serve you anyway,” whine coming from me. I think that at some point Mistress had enough.

We were sitting in the playroom while I uttered my last stupid remark. With a look on her face that could kill, she walked out. I sat there trying to decide whether I should apologize or remain quiet.

I was saved from the decision. She returned in a few minutes and sat down facing me. “I will let you have your way. It is a generosity on my part, so remember that.”

She held a plastic cup in her hand. It was one of those sturdy screw-top tapered cups that will hold liquid even when tipped. “Your first assignment is to get your load into this cup without spilling a drop. If you can do that, we will continue. Drop your pants, and do what it takes to get your juice into this cup.”

This was definitely not what I expected. She looked like she really meant it, so I chose not to argue. On the other hand, I was very much embarrassed by the idea. Was I expected to whip out my cock and masturbate in front of her? And catch the proceeds in the cup? What about afterward? Do I stand there like a fool with my cock in one hand and a cup in the other? What was the plan?

I felt like I really got myself into trouble this time. I was aware that, as a last resort, I could refuse. But that would negate some years of relationship, and was not really an option this time. She did not look like she was about to change her mind. As embarrassed as I felt, I took the cup, and answered: “Yes Mistress.” I sealed my fate.

She leaned back in her chair and put on a smile that was, I am sure, meant to make me feel even more of a worm that I felt to be. “What are you waiting for?”

“Your approval, Mistress.”

“You have it. Now do it!”

I dropped my pants and stepped out of them. After laying them aside, I pulled off my shorts, and put them aside also. With a stupid tee shirt on I began to fondle my cock while thinking of my predicament. After a while I realized that the situation was not that bad. I will get my rocks off, save the proceeds in the cup, and give it to her. After all, I was wired to do all that and more. Seeing her sitting there relaxed after she ordered me to do this had kind of a turn-on effect. Yeah! I was on the way. Thinking of her pussy it did not take long for me to get really close to orgasm.

“I want you to think of me when you cum. Think of my ordering you to do this, and that you have no choice but to obey.”

“Yes Mistress.”

In a second I shot my wad into the cup. The feeling was not near as good as I have when she lets me cum inside her, but it was better than the nothing that I have been experiencing. When I settled down I stood there like the fool that I am. Cup in one hand, cock in the other.

“Put the lid on the cup and leave it on the table. You may then clean up your parts.”

I did. When I returned the cup was gone. She was sitting with a glass of wine in hand, another on the table apparently for me. “I have put away your semen for later use. Since you have insisted that you want it daily, I decided to give it to you. We will repeat the procedure tomorrow. For now you are on your own. Have a drink.”

“Thank you Mistress. You are very kind.”

“Wait and see, boy.”

The next day had us in the bedroom when she said, “Bring me wine. And, find the cup in the freezer, and bring that too.”

I went to the kitchen to get her wine, and put in on a silver tray. In the freezer I found the plastic cup with the screwed on lid inside a plastic bag. I removed them, and put the cup on the tray also. Once in the bedroom she said, “You know the procedure. Don’t spill a drop. When done, put the lid on. Proceed!”

There I was again, this time naked. I realized that thing that I wished to experience, getting my jollies at least once a day, have materialized. I was not about to complain, but I did feel a little put out. After all, this was very artificial. There was no personal involvement except by me. Still, I thought that it was better than nothing. Plus, Mistress had ordered me to do it, which was not something that I can ignore or refuse. I took the cup, removed the lid, and began to stroke my parts. It took longer this time. Something was missing. She must have realized it, for she spoke, “Think that you are doing this for me. Think that you must cum to prove that I turn you on.”

I worked at it, and after a few minutes I produced the desired outcome. “The lid,” she pointed to the table.

I put the lid on, and returned to the kitchen to store the cup. On the way back I cleaned up the drips, and faced her in the bedroom.

“How do you feel? Have you been getting enough lately?”

The only proper answer from me could be, “I feel great Mistress. And yes, I am getting enough.” The rest of the evening was uneventful.

The next day we did our usual things. Near noon she summoned me into the playroom and announced, “I want you to be here at noon every day, and wait for me. You will be naked, and have no reading material or anything that would distract you from your anticipation of my arrival. We will have your daily orgasm here for a while. Now fetch my wine and your cup”

I did. I was again standing before her with cup and cock in hand. She leaned back in her chair with a smug smile, and said, “Proceed.”

I started as before. After about ten minutes we both realized that the project was not going as planned. I could not get a hard on. Weird, I know, but it was just not working. All along I was trying to find the reason, but none came. Here I was before a powerful female who was making me do things that I would not do on my own. She was sexy, attractive, and I loved her. Yet, I could not get it up! What the hell was wrong here?

“I see that you need some help, boy. Stop your self-abuse for now. Bring me tit clamps and some rope.”

I put down the cup, went to gather the material, and then presented them to her. She got up and applied the clamps to my tits. Ouch! She then ordered me to be on my knees. She put the cup on the floor before me, and then tied the rope from my neck to my ankles. Although my hands were free, I was not in a position to move far. My tits began to hurt real bad.

“Continue your attempt at orgasm,” she ordered.

I did. With my position, and my tits hurting like that, it did not take much time to sport a tremendous hard on, and subsequent orgasm into the cup. She was generous enough to remove the rope when she said, “Put the cup into the freezer, then return.”

My tits still hurting, I did her bidding. Upon my return she released the tits.

The next few days were variations on the previous theme. On the tenth day even the tit clamps were not able to produce the desired effect. She ordered me to lie on my front on the bed in the bedroom, and wait for her. I did. Some hours later she came in, and without explanation began to whip my ass with a riding crop. It hurt a lot. I did not enjoy it. But she kept going long. After she stopped, she rolled me on my back, and saddled my face. With her pussy on my mouth I almost orgasmed. It was a redemption from all the pain and more. She allowed me to enjoy her gift, but stopped before I could do anything serious. She then told me, “Bring the cup. I want you to do it without my help this time. If you fail, I will whip you until you bleed.”

I brought the cup, I did the self-gratification while thinking of her, and what she had and what she could do to me. I did add a significant amount to the cup’s contents.

On day fourteen of our new regime she announce, “Today you don’t get the pleasure of an orgasm. Today you will pleasure me. After that, we will think of something.”

In the evening we did the usual leg and foot massage, then she alerted me to the fact that she was expecting much pleasure. I knew what that could involve, and got instant hard on thinking of it. We settled in bed and I did the requisite fingernail massage that lead to kissing and licking of thighs which in turn culminate in oral worship. Oh My! It did. She was totally wasted. She could not stand even nearness of my lips after that.

After period of reflection she sent me to get the cup. Upon my return she said, “Hold the cup in your hand until the contents become loose. Keep checking. Once loose, pop the contents into your mouth, and suck it like an ice cube.”

I sort of knew that this was coming. I held the cup in my hand, imparting warmth to it in order to loosen the contents. I sat there as she watched me, so I did not want to make negative comments or to make unappreciative facial remarks. Yet I knew that in a minute or so, I will have to pop a mancube into my mouth, and enjoy it. Maybe.

“Test it,” she ordered.

I gently squeezed the bottom of the cup, and the contents moved. She saw it.

“Remove the lid, and shake the contents into your mouth.”

I did.

“Suck on it like an ice cube.”

I did, and tried not to change my facial expression. The frozen mass was barely accommodated by the cavity of my mouth. The flavor was slow to be recognized as the icy contents began to melt.

“How do you like it, boy?”

With the rather large frozen mass in my mouth I had a hard time formulating my words, but managed to say, “Not my favorite, Mistress.” The actual flavor is impossible to describe. I had tasted my cum before, and this was not the same. Perhaps it was the fact that my last orgasm was about twenty-four hours ago. Or maybe the freezing process had changed the flavor and consistency.

I sat and began to swallow the melted components. In a few minutes my mouth was empty. She asked, “How did you like it?”

“Liking it is not exactly a word that I would use. Tolerating is maybe more appropriate. It was not as bad as when you had me consume my stuff immediately after I produced it.”

“What if what you just had, was not from your cock? What if it was from another man? Would that change your appreciation of it?”

Oh my! Could she be that devious? “I don’t know, Mistress. Maybe you have a way to determine that.”

“We will begin another sequence of this as soon as I am ready. As for another man’s seed, I will let you know if or when it is real. Meanwhile, you will have to guess.”

I did, and then I did not want to think that the cup contained another man’s seed. The problem was that I did not know. It might have been better to be there to know for sure. But then, would I really want to consume another men’s seed? Am I being cuckolded?

It remains to be seen.