Fun and Games

We didn’t have much time.

The plumber was coming back. My vanilla friend might be stopping by.  I was meeting someone else later in the afternoon that I had to prepare for.  He’d wanted two hours but I could barely promise him one…and that was only if he came right now. “Like, NOW?” he replied in his email.

“Yes. Now. Come.” I wrote back.

“I love being summoned.  On my way.”

I hadn’t seen him in months but there was no time for catching up, for negotiations. The pervading sense of immediacy, of urgency left me with little patience for politeness, consideration and niceties. My hands rushed at the buttons of his shirt, his belt buckle, pulling, tugging until he was naked. There was an erotic intensity in the air. I felt it. So did he because he leaned in to kiss me, forgetting himself.

My hand happened to be wrapped around his balls at the time.

His knees buckled in pain as I reminded him of his place. Perhaps emboldened by my laugh, he tried again. I squeezed harder.

“Oh, I like this game,” I teased. “C’mon. Kiss me.” I arched my head beyond his reach, keeping a firm grip on his balls. The closer his face came to mine, the harder I gripped him, nails digging in, until he’d shrink away, puckered with agony.

I locked on the weighted steel ball stretcher and ordered him to sit in the bondage chair. Metal cuffs locked at his ankles, rigidly spread with a custom made steel bar. His hands were similarly spread, locked and bound behind the chair back. A metal collar around his neck was locked and also tethered to the chair.

Just like that he was utterly immobilized. I smiled.

“New game,” I announced. “I will hold the vibrator to your cock. When you feel you’re about to come, say, ‘Mercy.’ Every time you say ‘Mercy,’ I’ll add more weight to the ball stretcher. If you come without permission, you will be force fed your error, the scene will end and you will immediately leave.”

I slid a leather strip lined with sharp pricks underneath where his rigid cock was resting.

You know, for fun.

Around four pounds of ball weights he started to beg. “Please stop. It hurts.”

“It can’t hurt that much. Your cock is still hard,” I replied coolly, adding another weight to his load.

At five pounds he started cursing me.

“You fucking bitch. I hate you. You CUNT. Fuck! It HURTS! You heartless, sadistic bitch!”

I brushed my lips against his ear, “Honey, you say the sweetest things” and then added another half pound.

“You can make it stop at any time,” I reminded him. “All you have to do is come. But there are, as I said, repercussions for that.”

At six pounds, I stopped waiting for him to say “Mercy,” and would start and stop at my whim, keeping him on a ragged, unpredictable edge. He started sobbing.

“My record is 11 pounds,” I told him. “Maybe you’ll break it!” I suggested cheerfully, encouragingly.

“No. Please. No. I can’t. No more. Please. Stop.”

“Then come. End it. You can do it. Just come. ” I pushed the vibrator against him until his breath made the telltale change and then I pulled the vibrator away. “Aww. Come on! What’s wrong!?” I cooed as he howled in frustration.

….

Slumped in the chair, the cuffs digging into his skin he was too spent to notice me rising towards him, his seed collected in a Dixie cup. His eyes opened as I pinched his nose. Then his mouth opened.

Game over.