Sliding
Her interest in my chastity has been growing of late. In other places I tell the story of expectation, of nagging, of resenting. But it’s an old story. This story is about space. Giving each other space. My chastity is mine to own, and goes nowhere that it's not invited. And as in other epiphanies in my life, I keep learning that what is truly let go of, returns.
It was Monday, a jerk off day for me but the house was empty and she planned instead to fuck me. It has been a long time. I asked her if we could wait until evening, an hour after I down my medicine. When it is strongest.
Meanwhile I prepared her cock in its harness, the Vaseline and a few toys she might want to use, though I guessed she’d be less interested in foreplay than I. In the back of a drawer, I came across a leather harness I’d made to tie my penis at the root and separate my balls for her easy access. It had been years since I wore it and now my old cock hung limply in the contraption. My balls hung like a nest of a Montezuma Bird, with those teardrop homes. But it did its job to present my balls when she wanted to slap them.
“Would you use your finger first?” I asked. “It’s been some time since I’ve taken your cock.”
We lay naked, sardine fashion on the bed, a towel under me to keep Vaseline off the sheets. As her finger nudged its way up into me in a bossy no-nonsense way, I fell in love. My mind flashed on my mother taking my temperature. I was seven. The medicine’s magic swept aside inhibitions. I looked into the eyes of my new mommy with a finger up my bum, getting ready to take her little boy for a ride, to play me like a fish on a line, to dance me like a puppet on a string.
And she did. With curves and twirls of her finger she brought me to shudders and “ohs” and “ahs”. And when she relaxed her explorations and we fell deeper into the fantasy world of mommy with her good little boy, a gentle orgasm clamped my loins. A little contraction of love.
Then she pulled out, stood up, and I helped her into her strapon. We arranged the pillows and sat face to face with me in her lap. She watched me as I grunted and winced, taking it the way a snake engulfs its prey, walking its jaws one row of teeth after the other. Soon it was poking and hurting deep up me.
“This far to go,” she said, measuring with her finger and thumb. Oh God. It was less then halfway in.
“I’ll help,” she said impatiently, and began the rhythm of her hips. With deliberate cruelty she was playing me now, bringing me up with bumps and slides with the aim of bringing me to orgasm. She likes to put me through it. She feels powerful. Resistance is futile and the best way to survive is to open myself and invite the intruder to have its fun.
I released the walls and welcomed the pain. Instead of pain, the orgasm loomed like a cloud in the eerie silence before a storm. Ozone up and down the canal, an expectation. She read it on my face, looked me in the eye and shoved me with a big one, deep and hard, as if her cock was saying, “Oh, you’ve opened up, have you? Well then take this.”
It struck my insides like a lightning bolt; pulses of energy, gripping, releasing, gripping, releasing. Then a gripping that didn’t let go. I held my breath. My hands were up with fingers spread as if to plead. Then I could not breathe and every muscle in my body tensed, frozen, waiting.
The explosion came with a gasp and a breath. The sounds of my throat echoed the tumbling aftershocks of clench and release. In my mind I was bouncing down a cliff.
Without giving me time to lay still and recover, she spent the next while playing me up and down, experimenting with my orgasms. Somewhere around the third, I wondered if she ever felt like fucking me through it instead of holding still and letting me shake like a salmon on a spear. I must have wondered aloud because she smiled. “That would be fun.”
The first time it was like a ruined penis orgasm. Like a short circuit. The second time I was prepared for her piston. I just surrendered to it. It bounced my orgasm like a medicine ball down the cliff.
We played like that until she’d had enough. The inevitable slap on my balls was the signal to inch myself off, help her out of her harness, clean her cock and put it away. I climbed back into bed beside her, sardine style again and she put her finger in me as a kind of after care. My ass was on fire. I told her she could take me for a ride just with her finger. But she poked gently around to stamp out the fires.
Tuesday night
At the peak of my medicine, the moment her finger snuggled its way into my bum, I fell all over again. With my first breath I plummeted from eighty-four to seven. I cried dry tears with the wonder of being seven. And she played me all over again.
When she was done and I was left exhausted and vulnerable, she thought we should do this each night, and that when Friday came (my scheduled squirt day) she said I could choose anal orgasms or a squirt. But she immediately rejected that idea, knowing it wouldn’t be a choice. My squirts don’t interest her and my ass does. I would always choose my ass. And in truth, I have never had orgasms as intense as these. They are on a different level.
I don’t know if I will get to jerk my penis on Friday, or if I’ll get to squirt again. I have spoken with some of you out there who have done it. But no more penis climaxes? It’s never been a sacrifice I wanted to make. I don’t know how serious she was about letting me choose. I’m pretty sure she’ll tell me to jerk off because she thinks I need it. And perhaps I do.
Wednesday night
I declared that I had graduated from being her silly little jerkoff boy to Mommy’s silly little asshole boy. Did she want her harness? Or I could find her something to hold in her hand, something longer than her finger to get to the places she liked without the fuss of all the straps and buckles. I wanted her to stay interested. She said to find a cock to hold in her hand. She motioned up and down with her arm how she could use it on me.
As with the other nights, she started with her finger, but this time there was no tenderness. I did not sink into childhood. I wasn’t ready. Her finger was an intrusion, an abuse, a rape. I witnessed myself being overpowered and taken, my most hidden secret exposed, injured. Hello rape. No, I don’t want this.
I close my eyes. A door opens in my mind and standing in the light of the doorframe is that pesky orgasm. I want to say, “Not now. Can’t you see I’m being raped?” But the gate is open and I rage into the first explosion of the night.
That was a lesson: having an orgasm through a rape. After I calmed down, I started to laugh. I related what had happened to me. She said, “Hmmm,” and looked into my eyes. To me, her eyes were saying, “You can’t stop me.”
Then it was on to play with the faux cock. I’d found one that was softer than the others without losing its erection. And it had no balls so it was comfortable in the hand. She put me through my paces with fast and with slow, with long and with deep. She gave me little rest.
One of my climaxes, when the contraction came, it was my whole body from my ass to my head, encased in Lucite. I don’t know what my legs were doing. I was frozen and time kept ticking. When the explosion of my breath finally let go and the gasps and the aftershocks subsided, she said, “What happened to you? You almost fell off the bed.”
I hadn’t thought I was going to fall. I had been holding on to my... to my cage, whatever good that would have done. We lay together head to tail, finger in bum, and I told her she didn’t really need anything but her finger.
Thursday
That’s what we did. She perfected the ways of playing me with her finger to trigger my orgasm. Bumping my prostate back and forth was just as reliable as a hard poke deeper up. While my orgasms amused her, they continued to open doors of exploration for me. At one point I said to her, “How is it that it was not until decades of sexual depravity, not until the arrival of my failing years that I have had the most powerful orgasms of my life. I’m so fucking glad I held on this long.”
Friday
In the morning she told me it was time to jerk off and to do it quickly. I would have loved to accommodate her. I’d practiced the quick, no nonsense, maintenance squirt. And this morning I tried, but I couldn’t bring it off. This week I had paid no attention to the little guy in front. The one with all the demands. So I told myself my penis was sulking. More likely I’m getting old. Anyway, I waited 'til I was alone, took my time and selected a video to ease me into my fantasy.
In the fantasy I am a little boy taken by Maida to a big girl’s house who has big breasts. She is wearing jeans and something like a bathing suit top, a wide band of cloth that clings to her gorgeous globes like a knitted bra. The two girls take me to her room where we lay on her bed. She slips the breast that was nearest my face out of its harbour. Her nipple is inches from my lips. I know I’m not allowed to touch her. She unbuttons my shorts and takes my penis in her hand. She comments on how cute and small it is, with its “little head stickin out,” and she strokes it two or three times and it starts to squirt. She says to me in baby talk, “My goodness that was fast. I didn’t stroke you for one whole full minute.” And as the squirt lands on my belly, she pulls her bra back over her breast and calls me a good boy.
At lunch my wife told me tonight I’d get a present, but when night fell and we were readying for bed I could see all she wanted was to sleep. I knew she’d feel guilty if she did not follow through on her earlier intention. Part of her didn’t want to disappoint me. I told her if she wished, I’d just plug myself and dream of her fucking me and controlling my ass and I could do it all by myself. She thought that was great.
So here it is Friday and I’m back to myself. My plug, my game. It’s been a great week and I have these memories. Time to pay some attention to my cage. And then I had to poop and I took the plug out. She was asleep. I didn’t put it back.
Saturday night
We lay down together as we've always done, people fashion. She on her iPhone and me on my laptop. I had a caption up, a gorgeous woman. I left the caption part behind and created my own fantasy. Her thumbs are under her bra strap and…. Is she about to show them to me or is she flaunting? Reminding me of the power her breasts have over me? The power to seduce my cock into its little cage.
At that moment my wife looked over at the picture of the lovely woman with a screenful of breasts, and said,
“Do you need a finger up your bum?”
The lesson I learned after she finished dancing me to exhaustion was about surrender. When I surrendered to her finger, relaxed every muscle, soothed every surprise attack, there was that quiet place, a place of bliss before the orgasm. So, the contest I challenged to her finger was how deep can I go into surrender and how long can I stay in that delicious quiet place. The emptiness spread from my ass into my legs, my arms, until I lay splayed open, welcoming the finger like a babe into the arms of a loving mother.
They say that waves come in sevens, and that the seventh wave is the strongest. When my seventh wave hit, that whole-body contraction kept me in suspended animation until I was running out of air. I could have forced my way back into control but instead I surrendered to the belief that orgasms don’t kill you, nor do waves of love.
I could visit the places in my body, the places of contraction, my calves and thighs, that delicious mouth of my ass around her finger. All frozen, but not in time. It was more than a few seconds of faith before my lungs blew out and gasped in. I lay helpless to the aftershocks, needing to catch my breath. I put my hand on my heart, but I couldn’t tell what it was doing.
She said something. I heard a “good boy”. She took her finger out and put in a plug. And once again I had to practice surrender -- or suffer a bruised muscle. I lay beside her, sardine fashion, with a plug in my bum and a cage on my cock. I was so in love with my mommy, every part of me was bursting: my heart, my stuffed up bum and my caged cock… all engorged with the blood of love.
I thought about how I had come to this, my mommy’s ass slut. Yes, by the end I was fucking her finger like a whore. Like an emasculated little boy whore. I thought about the price I’ve paid to be here, to lie down next to her. A little boy does not fuck his mommy. I put both hands on my caged cock. I felt its tender flesh bulging between the bars, its little swollen lips, poking out and ready to kiss. I squeezed down and said “I do not fuck my mommy. I do not fuck my mommy.” I said it over and over like writing a hundred times on the blackboard.
And after I prayed that little prayer over my penis, I reached into the drawer for a key, unlocked and put the cage into the drawer where I’ll know to reach it to wash it tomorrow. I unhooked the cord around my waist that holds the ring up. I slipped my penis, now flaccid and obedient, out through the ring, and then my balls. And now I lie here alone. Me and my plug.
And I get that I can do it, sleep all night with it. Because she put it there. When I was in charge, I took it out.
--Mark--
Hey, was this worth a coffee?