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Writer’s note: this scenario contains dominance and submission as well as master/slave role play. Just a heads up in case that is not your cup of tea.
I positioned Scott under the overhead light in my living room, then backed up and admired him like a sculpture.
His fit, oily body shone golden. You could really see how much all those trips to the gym were paying off.
The leather collar was tight around his neck, his hands bound to it with cuffs so their movement was limited. He stood stiffly, unable to lower his head.
His eyes were covered, which drew attention to his lovely pink mouth, slightly ajar as he breathed quietly.
Then of course the beautiful, black butt plug violated deeply between the perfect globes of his ass.
The rings were tight around his scrotum and the base of his hardon. I could practically see his cock throbbing with the beat of his heart, like a ticking clock.
He stood there waiting in silence for my next move, his breaths occasionally punctuated by a moan.
It was time for both of us to see how far I could push him.
“Scott, there is one thing I forgot to mention,” he turned his head toward the sound of my voice and swallowed hard.
“My present for you today isn’t just for plugging your hole and restraining your cock and balls. It also happens to be a vibrator.”
I let this information sink in for a moment. When he finally understood, he gasped. “W-what?” Scott could scarcely believe this. He was already at full sexual arousal and he was hoping to God I was joking.
“Yes, Scott, I have the fancy little remote for it right here. It has three different settings: low, medium, and high.” Scott’s chest was beginning to heave. His naked body was visibly trembling. I acted as if I didn’t notice.
“I suppose we should start with low first and work our way up. That would be preferable, wouldn’t you say?”
I withdrew the shiny, little black rectangle from the pouch of my hoodie. It was battery operated and I had tested it earlier.
The device Scott was wearing had, not one, but two vibrators embedded in it. One at the base of the buttplug and the other just below the cock and ball rings where it was sure to have the most effect.
Scott was turning pale. He shook his head back and forth like a frightened horse and took a step back. “N-no, please, sir- mmf-master, it’s too much, I can’t…”
I placed a strong, steadying hand on his shoulder. “Easy, boy,” I said calmly but sternly, “I want you to take a big, deep breath, just like on the phone yesterday.”
The edges of his mouth went down in a grimace. He was clearly starting to panic. He wanted to protest so badly, but seemed to understand it was futile.
I instructed him to breathe in and out three times. He did as he was told and relaxed a bit.
“Just stand there, don’t move, enjoy what is happening to your body, Scott,” I said dismissively.
I pressed the first button for the lowest setting. The sound and movement was too subtle to notice, but Scott’s reaction told me it was working.
His mouth formed an “o” and he thrust his hips, moving slowly forward and back, almost mechanical.
“Oh God,” he moaned, he looked overwhelmed and horrified. “Oh my God, I can’t take it.”
I watched quietly as Scott struggled with himself. His cock grew, the sensation consumed him. He started to bend his knees and do a kind of funny dance.
He wiggled his naked, oily buns from left to right, trying to clench them against the plug deep inside him.
He thrust his engorged phallus into the air. He opened and closed his fists and tugged at his restraints, wanting to free his hands and free his bound cock. The bonds held.
He did these movements seemingly all at once. His body, assaulted by the vibrations against his cock and hole, simply didn’t know how to react.
I watched him, fascinated. I myself sported a raging hardon and couldn’t help but reach down and squeeze. He was like a puppet completely under the control of the overwhelming sexual stimulation I was subjecting him to.
I wasn’t about to permit this silly little show to go on for long, though. Scott could do better.
I went to the window with the drawn blinds and unhooked the long, thin plastic rod.
Not all instruments of punishment had to be specially bought. I had plenty of effective ones laying around my apartment already.
The rod served as a fine substitute for a cane. I had used it on Scott’s ass several times over the last few months when he was bad. It was harsh and bit into his flesh, leaving vicious red lines across his butt.
I spanked Scott with my hands and other tools for his enjoyment, because I knew he liked it. But the rod was for punishment. It didn’t make him hard the way the spatula did.
I swung my weapon of choice through the air a few times. Scott gasped when he heard the sound. He knew I meant business and straightened up immediately.
I went to him and pressed the rod across the swell florya escort of his bulbous cheeks, directly on top of the vibrating buttplug. Scott’s lip quivered.
He tried desperately to clench his buns together, groaning uncomfortably each time he did so. His sensitive hole was no match for the hard, slick buttplug opening it wide.
I loved the way the vibrations made his ass quiver as it quietly violated him.
“Please, master,” he heaved several heavy breaths before he was able to continue. “Please, don’t whip me (gulp) I’ll be…I’ll be a good boy and stand still-OOF…please.”
“I hope so, Scott,” I said coldly. I tapped the rod against his helpless, protruding, round buns, making him whimper through his moans. “What happens if you disobey? Tell me what I told you before.”
Voice unsteady, he recited what I had told him in my email message earlier that week. “If I’m a bad boy…and don’t obey my master (gulp)…my naked-UMF…my naked, round, slave boy buns will be whipped ten times with the rod.”
“Or why not more, Scott? Why not fifty times?”
“Please, master,” he was visibly shaking and not just from the vibrator, I knew he was on the verge of tears. “Please don’t, I want to be a good boy. It’s just so hard, I just want to cum so badly.”
Even as he pleaded his hips were thrusting backward and forward. It was as if an electrical current were coursing through his body, giving it a mind of its own.
I placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. It was important to understand when Scott needed reassurance as much as when he needed punishment.
“I know it’s hard, Scott,” I whispered in his ear, “But you are doing a good job…As I said before, it gives me pleasure. And you want to give me pleasure, don’t you, Scott?”
“Yes, master,” he heaved. I saw the first tear slide down from under the blindfold, as much from his frustration at being unable to cum as from his fear of being whipped. “Yes…I want to give you pleasure, sir.”
“Now Scott, clench your jaw in place. Keep your buns relaxed as best you can to give your hole a rest. You will stand still and not move. You know the punishment if you do.”
“Yes, sir,” Scott said through tight lips.
“Now then, I have some things I need to do.”
Scott looked confused. “Th- things to do, master?”
I didn’t really have anything to do, of course. As if I could focus on anything else while my naked, bound, human sex toy was standing right there in the living room, his body at my command.
I myself could barely stand the sexual tension and wanted desperately to cum right then and there. But I restrained myself, knowing the orgasm would be all the better if I held out.
So I did housework. Things I’d normally leave for Scott to do the next day while I watched him. But I wanted him to feel I was ignoring him. That he was not a high priority at the moment.
All he could think about was his aching cock and his need to cum. I wanted to get it into his head that it was not going to happen anytime soon.
He’d gotten a taste of this during the long, slow, maddening jerk-offs I liked to give him from time to time. But this, of course, was a whole different ball game.
I did the dishes and cleaned the counters in the kitchen, listening to him moan and complain all the while. I did not think he could help it at this point, but he was playing up the forlorn tone, trying to win my sympathy.
I went into the living room and polished the TV and the surfaces of my bookshelves. I had the spatula in my pouch.
Every time I passed by Scott, I gave his buns a good, hard swat with it. “OOF!” He danced forward, thrusting his cock upward into the air like a trumpeting elephant.
As much as he begged me not to punish him, as much as he feared the pain, deep down he was addicted to the high of it.
His orgasms were all the more explosive after I made his ass good and hot. Why else would he put up with everything I did to him?
“RRF,” he nearly bellowed after I smacked his buns a fourth time with the blunt, metal instrument.
“Please, master,” he begged, gasping for breath. “Please I’ll do anything, I can’t stand it.”
I turned to him. “You’ll do anything, Scott?”
“Yes,” he perked up, “Yes, yes, sir, anything! MMPH!”
I plugged up his mouth with another throat-raping kiss. He pressed himself to me, stabbing his hardon into my gut, trying to make himself cum. He probably would have if it were not for the ring around his balls, forbidding them to release his juice into his shaft.
The ecstasy of corporeal contact with my naked slave gave me such a sexual shock it caught me off guard. I held power over Scott, but what surprised me was the sheer strength he possessed in his heightened arousal. We were both so horny it was almost like being flung onto a higher plain of pleasure I didn’t know existed.
Though I was tonguing Scott deeply, it was actually him who was holding onto me, pressing into göztepe escort me savagely with his lips locked around mine.
I staggered backward as though hit by electricity. “Wow,” I said under my breath.
I clasped the arm of the couch. It took me a minute to regain composure. “I have something for you, Scott,” I said, trying to control my voice. I was still shaken by the energy he had just hit me with. “I have something to take your mind off it.”
I went to the kitchen and got a packet of wooden clothespins from one of the drawers. I came back and stood before Scott. I pressed my thumbs into his nipples to get them nice and erect.
With his nest of chest hair shaved away, his nipples looked larger, pinker. They had no protection at all from me now. I clasped a big, heavy clothespin onto one, then the other.
Scott opened his mouth wide in a silent expression of pain. “Ah…OWE,” he whined.
Believe it or not, it was actually Scott himself who brought up an interest in clothespins during one of our IM sessions.
He said he’d always been interested in what it would be like to have them hooked to his nipples and possibly his balls.
I did my best to incorporate Scott’s interests into what we did, though often without warning.
I knew it took a lot for him to admit to something like that. He was not the type to talk about his sexual interests so freely (before he met me, anyway).
But if he told me he wanted to experiment with some particular form of pain, I was happy to provide it.
I lined a second clothespin onto each nipple, watching them bite into the sensitive pink flesh.
Scott hissed through his teeth, “Ah, easy, easy!”
“Your suggestion, Scott,” I was happy to remind him. I hooked another one onto his deep, oval-shaped belly button.
I reserved one last clothespin for the loose skin at the bottom of his scrotum.
“No, no, please,” he begged when he realized I was going to put one there. “No, please not there, AHH!” He bared his teeth in pain. He wiggled and did a kind of jig as though his balls had caught fire. I had to restrain him so he didn’t back up and knock his head against the wall.
Whatever curiosity he’d had about this kind of torment before, there was no indication of it now. Tough shit.
I, on the other hand, decided I liked the clothespins. They looked fantastic decorating the blank canvas of his peach-colored skin. His pink nipples were already swelling red from their pinch. I was beginning to regret I hadn’t bought more of them.
I wanted Scott’s body to achieve ever higher levels of arousal through pain. More than he believed he could endure. If he had not been at complete arousal before, he would be now.
As a final coup de grace, I drew out the little remote control again and set his vibrators to medium.
“Just focus on the clothespins, Scott. Think about them pinching into your nipples, your ball sack, your belly button,” I said, sitting myself down comfortably on the sofa, “It will make the tension on your cock and your hole easier to bear.”
I got my TV remote and turned it on.
I flipped through channels, pretending to take no interest in Scott.
He appeared to buy into it. He meandered gradually closer to me as if I wouldn’t notice. His mouth open as he heaved and moaned like a wounded animal.
At this point, his erection was taking on a life of its own: Quivering with the medium-level vibrations and flexed completely taut. He was so aroused I believed he was unable to relax the muscles in his cock now.
He was looking more and more like a living statue of Priapus: the Greek fertility god with the huge and eternally erect phallus.
Scott’s cock stood out like a big piece of wood on his body. A separate entity that had attached itself to him, plaguing him and sucking all his energy and life force into itself.
I continued to flip through channels, stopping intentionally at commercials or TV shows with women’s voices. Scott could not see, of course, but by now their feminine tones in and of themselves were agony to his cock.
“Hey Scott, looks like this reporter’s got some really nice, big tits…or at least from what I can tell through the suit she’s wearing. Like two big juicy melons. Didn’t you say you were a tit man, Scott?”
“YEEESSS,” he heaved, almost bellowing like a ghost. He was thrusting his dick into the air as if pulled by an invisible wire, wanting to push it into something, anything that he could fuck for release.
“Yeah, she’s a good one, Scott,” I continued savagely, “You’re dick is getting huge, I bet you’d give anything to plow her right now, wouldn’t you?”
“OH GAWWWD,” Scott cried in a you-have-no-idea tone. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the desperation in his voice, like a man in the desert dying for a drop of water.
“I would plow her so hard. So, so damn hard, sir, you wouldn’t believe it!” His mouth screwed up with bliss at the very thought of halkalı escort it. “I would screw her over and over again all night ’till she couldn’t even walk.” He had to suck in a half cup of saliva that suddenly spilled out of his mouth.
“I’d like to see that, Scott,” I said smirking, “I’d truly love to watch you fuck her. Could she keep the suit on while you were completely naked like you are now? Would you be her naked slave boy to use and abuse the way I do?”
Words were failing Scott, he could do little more than moan lewdly and thrust his tool. He appeared drunk and light-headed, not surprising based on where most of the blood in his body was going.
I continued to flip through channels. He reacted as if in pain to any woman who spoke.
When I withdrew the little remote again and pressed “high,” it was too much for him. “Oops,” I said wickedly, “Thought that was the TV remote, sorry.”
“Ahhhwww,” Scott cried to the ceiling. If there had been neighbors living above me, they surely would have thought I was watching a really loud porno. Scott at last went down on his knees. “Oh fuck me, oh fuck. FUCK!”
Then he gasped, turning his head fearfully in my direction. His face went red and his mouth dropped open.
I fell silent, then turned off the TV. I pressed the “low” mode on his vibrator to take some of the pressure off his cock. “Scott,” I said quietly, dangerously.
This was another rule I had laid down weeks before. Scott was forbidden from using any kind of profanity when serving as my sex slave. I had explained to Scott that I was allowed to use it and so were other people, but a mere slave boy like him had no business with words like that.
I allowed him only to say “buns” or “cheeks” rather than “ass” and “hole” rather than “asshole.” Having to speak this way was all the more demeaning to him.
I still permitted words like “cock” and “screw,” but “fuck” was simply out of the question. Breaking any of the cardinal rules I put in place was grounds for punishment.
“P-please, master,” he stammered, half choking on his words in his tight collar, “Please, I’m sorry (gulp). It was just driving me crazy, it…it just slipped out.”
“And that makes it okay for a naked slave boy like you, with a mouth and an ass designed to be fucked by a man, to talk like that, does it, Scott?”
Scott gave an audible gulp, knowing he was in trouble. “Please master (gulp) please I didn’t mean it. Please don’t whip my buns, sir.”
“What happens to bad boys who use bad language, Scott?”
Scott whimpered helplessly, but even through this he had never stopped thrusting his hips forward, trying to fuck the air. Trying to fuck anything at all with the all-consuming entity his hardon had become.
I got up and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Stay, boy. Don’t you dare move. I’ll be right back.” He tried to protest again, but the die was cast. His buns wiggled desperately, for they knew what was coming to them. He groaned as his hole spasmed uncontrollably around the buttplug.
I went into the bathroom and got two bars of soap in packets from the drawer. They weren’t full-size, but similar to the ones they put in the bathrooms at cheap motels. Bite-sized, you might say.
I took them to the living room along with two big towels.
I pulled Scott’s collar. “Up, boy. On your feet.” I refused to even use his name now. He didn’t deserve it. Scott scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could.
“What happens to bad boys who use foul language?” I barked in Scott’s face.
Scott cowered, clearly deciding it was better not to argue. “Bad boys…get their mouths washed out with soap, sir…”
He swallowed hard. “And…and their naked slave buns get ten lashes with the rod, sir.”
“That’s right, now open wide.”
“Master (gulp),” he tried one last time, “Please…”
“Open, boy!” I demanded.
I knew he wasn’t looking forward to the taste of soap in his mouth. I made him suck on it the last time he used inappropriate language. I used only one bar then, but the word had not been as strong.
I opened up the two packets of soap and pushed one into one side of his mouth, wedging it between his teeth and his inner cheek. It was a perfect fit.
“URMF,” he said as I pushed in the other.” I liked the way he looked with his cheeks stuffed full. He was already grimacing at the bitter, unpleasant taste.
“How is it?” I asked.
“Bad, sir,” he replied shamefully, though with his mouth full it came out as “baff, thur.”
I squeezed his lips between my fingers, giving him fish lips.
“Are you allowed to use naughty words under any circumstances, no matter how badly you want to cum?”
The muscles in his mouth struggled to work beneath my grip. “No, sir (naw, ffur).”
I shook my head, “And yet you just keep doing it, boy.” I gave him a hard swat with my hand across both buns. I felt his buttplug go in a quarter of an inch further upon impact. “RRMPH,” he retched, spitting out soap bubbles.
His body seemed hardly to know how to react anymore. He was experiencing such a wicked combination of sensations: The collar, the restraints, the blindfold. The vibrating buttplug and cockring. The clothespins biting into his nipples, navel, and scrotum and now his mouth, full of bad tasting soap.
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