"The device is permanent, so there is no end point."

"You're permanently locked. No ifs or buts."

"Am I a good slave?" I ask.

I'm rubbing Xena's legs, kneading her luscious calves, and it's a genuine question. It's late Sunday evening, we're both feeling chilled and tired with a working week ahead, and Scandi Folk on Spotify.

"Yes," she says, "you are a good slave. I coudn't do what I do without you." Xena has quite a senior role in her organisation, and I support her the way a 50s housewife would support her executive husband, so that's really good to know.

There's a long pause. Then she asks, "Am I a good mistress?"

"Yes, you're the best possible mistress," I say. "I mean I'd like more attention, but you're genuinely wise and smart and I'd be sensible to do what you told me even if I weren't submissive."

"Good," she says. "Do the instep now."

I roll my thumbs over the instep of her right foot, then after about five minutes shift to her left. "Are we taking it in turns with questions?"

"Yes, go on," she says.

"OK..." 

I know what I want to ask, but I'm afraid. I think most malesubs suffer from the insecurity; Does she really like this? What about this particular kink? Is she just going through the motions for my sake?

But I want to know. 

"Permanently locked"

"The other day," I say,  "you said that you thought my device was 'simpler'. Does that mean it's grown on you?"

"Yes," she says, sleepily.

"I think it's supposed to be more than a one-word answer," I say.

"It's better," she says. "You're permanently locked. No ifs or buts."

The word 'permanent' has my cock go off like an airbag in its... permanent cage. I actually feel a kind of moist queasiness that's hard to describe. "You turn," I manage.

"No," she says. "I have nothing to ask. Ask another one if you like."

Xena's not normally this verbal about our relationship, so I press on. "Why you prefer me this way?"

"It's just better," she says. "It's good for you. Keeps you in your place."

"Like you have the penis?" I prompt - a theory of mine.

"No, not that," she says.

"In charge, then?" I ask. "Like I'm locked so you're in charge."

"Yes," she says. "It means I'm in charge... You're locked so I'm in charge." She yawns. "Ask another."

I move back to rubbing her calves. My penis is like a knot of lust in its cage. I sneak a quick probe and find the head is bathed in semen.

There's another question I'm scared of, this time because though I crave the most exciting answer, I'm also aware that I have control over it: just how big is this rollercoaster I'm committed to riding?

"Um," I say. "I'm scared to ask this... but what's the end point of this adventure?"

No answer.

I shift to long rolling strokes from crook of knee, over calf, to feet, scooping into the instep. A little later I say, "You've gone to sleep, mistress. I'll ask some other time."

She lifts her head a little. "No. I want to answer. Remind me of the question."

"What's the end point of this adventure? What triggers my release?"

"The device is permanent, so there is no end point."

 "Oh," says Xena, with a sleepy honesty and no sense of hamming it up for effect. "The device is permanent, so there is no end point."

I shudder. "Until something changes."

"Yes, that," says Xena, with less conviction.

"Yes, mistress," I say.

Then she goes to sleep.

---

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