What I won't do

This is an unrequested story. I'm getting to know someone, and I wanted to write a story for her.

I've been thinking about it for a while. Didn't know how to start it. Didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure what to pick from her list of interests, what to focus on. All those things she likes, all those things that interest her!

And then it came to me. All the things she wants to do, and what I won't do.

Please comment if you like this. If I knew people wanted more to read, I'd probably go back to writing.

What you want

 I have been thinking about us, and about the things you want to do. I've thought about your desires, the things you shared with me. And I thought about what I won't do.

You say you want to kick me in the balls, make me curl up in agony. You get a gleeful smile when you talk about how I'll go all fetal, and you'll make me stand up so you can do it again. I think about the blasts of agony that will spell out my nervous system for me, the pain that will show me pathways I didn't know existed.

You talk about spanking my ass bare, spanking until I'm red, until I'm bruised. Will you bend me over a chair or over your lap? Spanking must be hard on your arms. I think about my ass, hairy as it is, and I wonder if all that hair will add some protection. Will it cushion the blows at all? I think about your hand leaving its impression on my flesh, and I think about how my nerves will burn, how the slightest touch will set off wild reactions through my body.

I think about what you want, and I think about what I won't do.

You want to control when I use the bathroom, to dominate my world completely. You what to discipline me, to use me as furniture. You want to slap my face, to scold me when I don't serve you well or fast enough. You want to be the authority, for me to submit because I am a slave, and a male, and obedience is what I am good for.

I think of all the things you want, and I think about what I won't do.

You want me bound in rope and chain, in leather and in steel. You want me to squirm as you torture me. You want to hear me whimper when you pull my hair, hear my breath catch when you grab my crotch and pull so hard I'll think you're planning to rip it off. You want me to breathe like I've run a marathon when I haven't moved, haven't been able to move, for hours. You want to laugh at my suffering, want me to hold out against unimaginable pain just a little bit longer. You want me to hold out and you want to know that I'm holding out for you, that I'm holding out because I know you want me to.

All the things you want. What won't I do?

You want to put beads in my ass. You want to plug my ass. You want to take a strap on and fuck me silly. You want to push things in there that have never been before. You want to torture me, to tease me, to use me. You want to laugh at me, you want to tell me how pathetic I am.

You want me in chastity, want my cock under your lock and key. You want to be able to decide when and if I ever get to cum. You want that, and you want to use that power. You want to change how I act. Want me to learn the proper decorum. You want me to be a good slave, to properly serve you. You want to make me act a certain way, to break bad habits of mine. You want to control my mind by controlling my body. By controlling my orgasms. You want to be able to punish me when I displease you, and you want to be able to reward me when I break, when I give in and become what you want me to be.

You want my cock bound up so you can fuck my ass, so you can make me cum without touching my dick. You want to do that, because you know how that will make me feel. How submissive must it feel, to cum just from being fucked? How humiliating must it be to know that I was given an orgasm through pure and complete submission. What does that say about me, about my manhood? Oh, the things you want to say to me. You want to use my biology against me. You want my mind so addled, so lost in sub space, so completely gone, that I will be yours. That I will look upon you and call you Mistress, that I will look with adoration. With worship.

You want me to beg to worship your feet. You want me on my knees, cradling your boot in my hand. You want me to look up at you, to meet your eye while my tongue slides along the leather. You want to see me lick even as you feel the pressure of my tongue on your foot, feel it through the boots you were so sure would prevent any feeling. You want me to lick hard, to press with my tongue as intensely as I can. You want me to worship your boots not because I like to do it, but because you want it done. You want me to be your slave, to do everything to please you, without caring about myself.

You want so many things. And I think about what I won't do.

You want to close a collar around my neck. To hook up a leash and drag me with you. You want everyone to know that I am yours. I'll kneel at your feet and hold your drink while you use your hands to talk. I'll get on my hands and knees to be your foot rest while you relax. You want me willing. You want me there.

There, with a blindfold on, or maybe a full head hood. Something that blocks out any chance that I can see what is going on. You want to be able to slap me across the face without my being able to flinch away. Without my seeing it coming. You want to be able to keep me there in the dark, while you enjoy the party, while you talk to people. You want to be able to laugh with them at me, at the little slave by your feet. The one who wants nothing more than to serve you. The one who will agree to anything you desire. You want me on the chain so you can show me off. You want to protect me, to make sure no one else plays with me without your permission. And you want to give permission. You want to be able to whisper naughty thoughts into my ear, and know that I wasn't expecting to hear anything. You want to know that I am helpless, that I am at your mercy.

All the things you want. And then there's what I won't do.

You want to dress me as a woman, strange as that may be. We both know how ugly of a woman I would be. But you want it anyway. You want me to stand there awkwardly in revealing clothes. You want me to stand there in stockings. You want me to shave my legs. You want to think, during our time apart, how much I must be itching as the hair grows back. You want me to dress as a woman even though it won't look good. Even though there will be no chance of passing. That isn't the point. That isn't the reason. I won't look like a girl. You know this. You know that I'll feel humiliated, degraded. Even just in normal clothing, because I'll know it's meant for a woman.

You want to take me out in public, where no one will know but you and I. Where people will look and see me as a man in a suit escorting a beautiful woman. You want me to know, though. To know that my shirt is a blouse. That my slacks are cut for women. That my blazer isn't meant for a man. You want me to know that I'm dressed as a woman, even if no one else can tell without looking closely. You want me out in public like that, where you and I are the only ones who know I'm cross dressed. And you'll want me to have those nylons on underneath my slacks. You'll want me to walk straight not out of pride, but out of the fear that if I relax too much, my butt plug will fall out. You'll want me to keep my tie tight so no one will see the leather collar hidden beneath the collar of my blouse.

You want all these things. And I can only think of what I won't do.

You want me to be a chair for you, a footstool. An ashtray, if that's what you decide on. And you want me to accept all of this without question. You want me to be obedient. You want me to know what will happen if I disappoint you. You want me to remember other times you've scolded me for not following instruction. You want me to worry that you're going to beat my ass with a belt, or with a brush, or with whatever you have handy. You want me to think twice before disobeying, because I know the price of failure. And you want to keep me guessing. You want me to wonder what kind of discipline will be in store for me when I am punished. You want me to know that I've been bad, and to know that punishment is coming.

But you want me to wonder. Will you simply scold me? Will you clamp weights to my nipples? Will you crush the parts that make me a man in your hand, just to show me the kind of power you have over me? Will you tie me up, or will you leave me unbound, so that we both know I could pull away if I wanted to? So that we both know that I could escape, and that I'm choosing not to. Will there be a lecture during the torture? Will you quiz me about it afterwards? Will I have to focus on your words while trying not to focus on the clamps tightening around my nipples? Will I have to remember what you say, or how many times you whip me, all while trying not to think about how each time I flinch, the weights move and pull on my nipples all over again?

All these things you want to do to me. And then what I won't do.

You want me to serve you. You want me as your maid. You want me to fetch you drinks, to wait on you hand and foot. You want me to get pleasure from nothing more than serving you. You want me to beg to be your seat, to ask for permission to wear lingerie beneath my clothes. You want me to agree with everything you say, no matter how degrading it may be. You want to be able to train me, and you want me to beg for the training to continue.

You want to tie me up and make me an art piece, display me to people that I can't see. You want to turn me into an object, to shush me when I speak because objects don't talk. You want to drag me around by my leash. You want me to surrender to you, to be yours so completely, to trust you when you bend my boundaries, when you push me to do more. You want to hurt me, and expect me to thank you for it. You want to let your imagination run wild, and have me suffer all the more for it.

All these things you want.

And what I won't do.

What won't I do?

If we get to that point, I'll tell you. I promise.

So far, there's nothing I won't do. 

I'll do all that you want. 

For you.