If the first half of my Halloween weekend was mostly tricks–canes and spankings and rope–the second half of Halloween was all about Treats. With a few tricks thrown in for good measure, of course–he wouldn’t be The Mean Guy without tricks, now would he?
First, a treat for you: pics W just sent me of the stocks scene and me tied to the chair.
Yeppers, that's my SO in a kilt-can you say "yumm"?
Isn't the new floor pretty?
There are actually a few more pictures, one showing the pretty glass buttplug quite clearly, and the other illustrating quite well my entreaty to W for the cunt clamp–hands and legs open. But I don’t think I’ll post those here. You’ll have to look for them later on Bondage Demons.
So okay, where did I leave off? Oh yes. Me, on the floor, in stocks, a 2 inch buttplug in my ass.
First of all, I love a buttplug once it’s in there. Nice and full, with that feeling of being stretched, and the glass ones are heavy, an unexpectedly delightful feeling. It’s just the getting -in-there part that sucks.
Only, if I’m being honest, that part doesn’t actually suck either. There’s that edge, that feeling of being forced, of having him leaning on me, holding me down, pinning my body in place with his. What a deliciously helpless feeling that is! His body so heavy on mine, the feel of him on me so confining, and I fight without meaning to, my head wanting to comply, but my body responding, resisting, of it’s own accord, until my mind begins to follow suit and I feel that incipient panic that being pinned always generates. And then it’s a mind game, in which I am trying to calm myself inside as well as out, and all the while I am telling myself, “submit, submit, do as he wants, open for him,” as he twists and pushes the plug inside of me, not shoving, nothing as harsh as that, but inexorably working it into me, his voice in my ear by turns cajoling and telling me that I will do what he wants, one way or another. And of course I will. I always do, in the end.
What followed was playtime. I have (again) very little recollection of the particulars, but I do have an amazingly telling picture of Ad sitting in a chair, watching me. I don’t appear to be doing anything, being in the stocks as I am, but he just has this lovely, bemused expression on his face. Here, I’ll show you.
Well okay, you can’t quite catch his expression, but trust me, he’s got that little quirk to his mouth that he gets when he’s laughing at me. Not that he would ever laugh at me. (Right?!)
Just another evening at W's...girls in stocks, ropes everywhere...
I think what was going on was that I had decided, for some strange reason, that since I had lost a lot of weight since W had first fitted the stocks to me, if I just pulled/twisted hard enough, I’d be able to get loose. And pull and twist and try I did… Apparently my wrists hadn’t lost any weight, nor had my ankles, because I never got loose. It was when I landed on my back at one point that W came out of watching/photographing mode and decided that I was obviously begging him for the cunt clamp.
Oh my. To say I love the cunt clamp is a serious understatement. I love the cunt clamp. It clamps down tight, but broadly on my lips, with the smooth, wooden hook inserted deep into my hole, the hooked end curling under like loving fingers pressing into my g-spot. Did I say I love it?
So yeah, I am quite sure my body was begging for it, even before it knew it was an option.
By the time it’s in, and on, I am panting, wriggling, grinding myself onto it as far as the stocks will allow. It’s a little different, though. With the buttplug inside of me, with it so large inside of me, I can feel both toys pressing against each other. I am incredibly full. It nearly drives me out of my head. And then, oh my god, it starts to happen, the first wave of orgasm starts to crash over me. I feel my body beginning to tighten convulsively as the orgasm rolls through me–and suddenly it is not just acute pleasure, but pain too, as my asshole contracts around the hard, unyielding–large, huge, gigantic–buttplug.
Does that really make a difference, you ask? Um, yeah. It does. And I can’t do a thing about it (ever tried to stop an orgasm in the middle of it?) It rolls through me, torturing me even as it pleasures me. Such exquisite pleasure/pain! And I couldn’t help myself, I couldn’t stop it. Domination by orgasm.
And all the while, the boys are not having to do a thing to me. They are just sitting back, watching the show.
At some point, my shoes came off. Now if you have followed my tales of W and I, you know what a shoe slut the man is. Not having heels on is not okay. But, he’s also a very flexible man, and when presented an opportunity…well, he can adapt with the best of them.
He took a cane to my feet. Since they were bare and all.
Guess there were some tricks left for me after all.