Tuesday night was all about the want. From the time I got home, I couldn’t stop talking about how much I wanted him. I think of him often, and in thinking of him it is usually planning a scene or trying to find some new way to manipulate his body that he might enjoy, but rarely am I think in pure terms of sex. Sometimes I think that talking in that way throws him off guard as well, since the first month of our relationship revolved around me telling him that he may never get to be with a woman again, that he may never know an orgasm again, that he may very well never see the cock he once owned ever again, because I would have it locked away in a steel device and only I would have a key to release him. Perhaps this mindfuck alone would have been tolerable once he got to know me better, but there was this one tiny little fact that he had planted in his head early, early on: I hadn’t had intercourse in literal years.
Maybe I’ll drag you through the door by tie and kiss and strip you down before you can say hello. I’ll press you against the small space by the couch and fasten your cuffs around your wrists. Then I’ll push them up and padlock them around the banister of the railing and leave you like that. It gives me all of your body to play with, where I can touch every part that I want.
Maybe I’ll take you into the house and have you remove all of your clothing before I chain you to the leash hanging from the bar above my computer. I can wrap you completely, let you feel what saran wrap feels like around your body. Once trapped, I can do all sorts of things to you. A plug in your ass, clothespins on your cock, and maybe if I’m feeling extra devilish, I’ll even put you in my mouth. It’s not like you could do anything about it, being all wrapped up, and I hear you can’t even get hard wearing a plug.
Or maybe I’ll just greet you with a kiss, slowly remove all of your clothing from your body, and guide you to the couch. I’ll put a hood on you so you can’t see, I’ll tease your body endlessly, and finally I’ll put you inside of me and see how long you can last while I simply ride you, taking my pleasure from you.
I’d seen plenty of him in the past couple of weeks. We had many times out together where we got to spend lots of hours touching, kissing, sharing more vanilla interests. There was always talk of kink, of chastity, little puns and double entendre in our conversation. But there had been no time to set up a scene. There had been no time and really get naked and be pressed up against him. There had been no orgasms shared (or denied) with him and that was what was getting to me that day.
When he arrived, I wasn’t quite ready. It really shouldn’t have made a difference, being that I knew I was going to be out of the particular articles of clothing soon that I was working my way into when the knock on the door came. I let him in, let him get settled, and finished up what I was doing. The toy bag, the spreader bars, and the boots he’d spoken of before were the first things that I noticed. Little surprises like that always make me smile. I gave him mere seconds after my being ready to strip down, so that I could have a good look at his body.
The great thing about him is that he is a naturally good looking man. His eyes are mysterious but always full of love and laughter. His smile is infectious and one of the first reasons I was drawn to him. He stands taller than I do, which I suppose most women would like, although I’ve found that it’s become less and less important to me over the years, yet it’s something that I do enjoy when I have it. There are lines all around his face that show that he knows what happiness is. There’s silver in his hair that says he’s got the experience that I wanted, at least in some regards. There are the scars on his body that say that he’s not everything someone might think he is at first glance. They provide texture and stories, pleasure and handles, terrain and guidance for where and how I want to play. His body is as interesting as I find him, which makes him incredibly attractive to me. Oh, and there’s just one thing more: he’s incredibly sensitive to touch.
As he removes his shirt, I run my nails down his chest. When he removes his undershirt, I step around behind him, press my fingers deep into the scars he has, my favorite place to play. When he has to bend over to remove his shoes and socks, I naturally go to play with his ass. When he’s down to just his underwear, my fingers find their way into the band of elastic. When he’s finally naked in front of me, I can’t help but to touch his cock — it used to be mine. We were very close. Someday I like to think that he’ll understand the pain of separation we’re suffering and reunite us. For now, visitation is very welcome.
I take him by the hand and lead him to the thick beam that separates my kitchen and my living room. There is no real reason for this beam to be here but it comes complete with a few hooks and a random bar. I suppose someone in the past may have hung flowers from these hooks; tonight I’ll be hanging a boy from them. The handle of a leash was strung over the bar, nestled between the two hooks, so he wouldn’t be able to slip it off if he were able to move at all. There were cuffs around his wrists and cuffs around his ankles and a collar around his neck. These things increase my attraction to him tenfold, because to me they say that he is submissive to me for the time that he is wearing them and because I think they accentuate the flesh so nicely. I attach the lead to the collar and admire the way that the leash dangles down in front of him. I give him a few test spins to ensure that he will be able to accommodate what I need from him later and then it’s time for the hood.
The hood and I got off on the wrong foot at the beginning of the relationship. I saw pictures of him in it and didn’t much care for how it looked. I have played with hoods before, but they were introduced fairly late into the relationship where objectification was much more acceptable to me. Because he was only supposed to be a chastity pet in the beginning, I didn’t fantasize about him in any regard, and objectifying him almost felt disrespectful because of that. Aside from that, I didn’t think the hood fit quite right. It isn’t the most aesthetically pleasing hood in the world. After knowing him better, I can see where the colors are perfect for him now. After putting it on him myself and watching the way that he kind of melts into a ball of sensation, I’ve come to appreciate the hood. After some vague discussion and vaguer negotiations, I have talked to him about scenting the hood as well, so that it can be something that we can share in a way, which has made it all the more appealing to me. Truthfully, even if it looked worse or did its job worse than what it does, I would probably still have come to like it, simply because of the way it lets him escape when it’s on. I worried about the necessity of the hood in the beginning; now I’m trying to figure out how to get a hood in any place we’d ever want to play, just to ensure we have one for him to wear.
The hood was slipped on, laced up, and I began my touching. Over his shoulders, over his scars, down his ass. Around to the front of him, his chest, over his nipples, his throat. I put my hand on his stomach, where it fits perfectly and belongs, and teased the tip of my fingers over his soft cock. Why the boy told me earlier that CBT was “okay” is beyond me, but I’m glad he did. I went to fasten his wrists behind his back, because that’s something we both enjoy, but the cuffs weren’t lining up right and I didn’t want to force his shoulders too far out of the way to get them clipped together when I hadn’t done any proper relaxation for him. He was disappointed but I enjoyed making him hold his arms behind his back of his own will all the same. I pulled up a chair, got comfortable, and pulled out one of my favorite toys: the pinwheel.
From over his shoulder, down his chest, skating perilously close to a nipple, down his belly, and around his cock I run the spokes of metal. Inside his thigh, around his hip, over his stomach, up his chest, curving over his throat I return. Each path creates a different movement or sound from him. Eventually I draw my circles on his body tighter, honing in on his cock. I’ve been careful when running it over this before, but since the theme of the play is CBT, I figure I might as well warm him up slightly by giving him a good pinwheel over the head of his cock. Slow and steady, not too much pressure, still enough to make him wiggle. Down and around his balls, back to his inner thighs, and by this time I can’t wait any longer. I want to get to the good stuff, at least the good stuff for tonight: the clothespins.
One clothespin goes on and I watch how he reacts. The second goes on right next to it, starting a mild fan pattern on his scrotum. This is one of the things that I like to make best. The next two go on the other side. Then one at a time is added until there’s only room for one more. Starting from the outsides though, the flesh isn’t spread out, isn’t flat like it should be. I know that this one is going to hurt but I clamp it on all the same. He lets me know it hurts, but like a good boy, keeps his arms behind him until I ask for his assistance in holding his cock up out of the way. Clothespins on the shaft are something new, I believe, and while I could manage plenty of them on him, I’ve decided to keep things fairly tame this time around. One, two, three, four clothespins heading up the shaft of his cock, leading right to the head. Every few seconds I flick one here or there. I run my fingers around the fan. I playfully tug at a couple of them, ensuring that they are holding up the way I want them to. Then, I let him point out which one hurts the worst. I figure it was a toss up from the one highest on the shaft of his cock or the one that was squished into the fan. The latter took the prize, so I very, very slowly released pressure from it and watched him dance. The clothespin was discarded to the desk. I flicked some more, touching some more, played around some more and removed the top one from the shaft. The next two came from the scrotum as fast as I could and I watched him suck in his air and make a fuss and I giggled over it for a second before pulling the next two off as slowly as I could. Then came the second from the shaft. The clothespins of the fan had been coming off in pairs, but I wanted to make the fun last, so they came off one by one by one by one, as slowly as I could. Somewhere between them came the third from the shaft. Once the fan had been removed completely, I was left with this one, the only one I had left. I wanted to snatch it off his body without unpinching it but more than that, I wanted to be able to play this game again. I toyed with it, started to pull it away from his body, just to see the give. Had it been on his scrotum I wouldn’t have gotten away from it. The way the clothespin sink into the flesh, clamp down in it, feel like they’re stuck in mud in it, I couldn’t have just eased it away from him the way I was doing with this one. The skin of the cock is so smooth, so thin, so fun. There came a point where I told myself I was going to have to pinch to remove it, but he hadn’t made any indications that it was any worse than any other just yet, so I just kept pulling. Soon enough though, I got my warning. Soon enough, there came a growl. I’d never heard it before and I delighted in it so much that I couldn’t bring myself to take it off nicely. I simply slipped it away from him, held it in my palm, and grinned up at him as his deep growl continued.
Next came the plug that I knew he hadn’t worn in a while. This was something I wanted to have him do on his own, no matter how much fun it may have been to push it inside of him, because I wanted him to have the time to process everything and to go at his own pace. While I had thought his growl was sexy, the sounds he made while forcing this foreign object into his body unprepared and without much practice were absolutely orgasmic. If the boy would simply let me hit him to the level of pain that would produce those sounds again, I could die happy. To know that they can be produced through something like this though only made me think of taking him with a strap-on even more. Had he been in a different position, had it been another situation, I would have pinned him down and fucked him right then. I feared he might stop, he might tell me he couldn’t do it, that we weren’t going to be able to use this at all tonight which would have ruined all my other plans, but he endeavored and while he likely didn’t get much pleasure from it, I absolutely did.
Preparation was over. Now it was time for the real deal, the thing that I wanted him over for in the first place. Arms up was the command and he followed so nicely. I armed myself with a roll of saran wrap and started around his torso. Ideally I would have gotten his shoulders into this wrap as well, but I was going for quick and simple — I just wanted to know if this was something he’d like to do more of, try again in the future, if this was the kind of bondage that he could enjoy. I wrapped his torso not as tightly as I could have, I don’t think, because I was afraid of it being too tight. Halfway through I had him take a deep breath, saw that it was moving just fine, and endeavored to make the wrap tighter from that point on. Once I got his torso wrapped, I had him bring down one arm to wrap into it and then the other. The saran wrap over his ass was amazing. It was wrapped few enough times that it was still perfectly clear and made spanking him all the better. As I got down to his legs, I knew I was going to have some trouble because I couldn’t get the wrap tight enough around his ankles. I should have done each leg individually and will next time, but for what we were doing, I think it turned out just fine.
After he was wrapped, I walked around him. I played with his shoulders which are often sensitive to touch and were left exposed. I smacked his ass and enjoyed that. But that wasn’t really the focus of him being wrapped up. I pulled up my chair and started touching my cock once again. When he’s wrapped, when he can’t speak, when he’s nothing but a toy to me, it can be mine again, at least for the duration. I’d told him before I wanted to know what he tasted like. I didn’t think I was going to find out right now either, but at the very least, I could tease him for a while. I ran my hands up and down the shaft, I pulled him close to my mouth, and eventually I gave a lick along the shaft. I hadn’t done this in years, was never tempted really, but when this is a toy for me, I sometimes want to explore. I did things my way though, ensuring that he wasn’t going to get hard, he wasn’t going to derive full pleasure, he wasn’t going to have any say in what or how I did things, because he couldn’t move, he couldn’t talk, he couldn’t touch.
For a while I only wanted to kiss and touch, maybe drag my tongue along so my breath would accentuate the wetness on his cock. Eventually I slipped him inside of my mouth, sucked him in, rolled my tongue around. I experimented with how much of him I could have in my mouth at once, with motion, with everything I could think of. My hair got in the way and even if he’d had his hands free, I certainly wasn’t going to let him hold it out of the way. That’s too much like a handle, too much like telling me to go harder, deeper — only I get to say things like that. So I snatched up the hat that he’d bought for me when we went out last and flipped it around and added it to a part of the scene. I teased him about it too, asking if it didn’t kill him just a little that he couldn’t see me, couldn’t watch me — that I was wearing the hat that he bought me. The sounds he made indicated that perhaps yes, he wished he could see. When I got more of him in my mouth, when it’d gone on for a while longer, when I was sure he was trying to wriggle around in his wrapping to get me to take more of him in my throat, I laughed a little and told him that I certainly could see where he might wish for me to just hold still, for him to be able to push himself deeper into my mouth, to just give him two minutes to get his fill. I think I might have been right on that one too. The plug helped to ensure he was never going to get his fill.
When I was done playing with him, I started to unwrap him. He may have started to let go, but he didn’t get far. He was standing, after all. Next time, I think I’ll have him on the floor. I made a few cuts in the saran wrap and slowly unwrapped him. I wanted the cool air from the fan above us to hit against his wet skin section after section instead of all at once. I wanted to do it layer after layer, but that would probably be asking too much. It didn’t take long, but it took long enough for me to enjoy it. I’d like to find a way to play with him as I was unwrapping him as well, which I’ll incorporate into the next scene as well.
Once he was completely unwrapped, once he was unhooded, once he was unplugged, I gave him his water, took him to the couch, and pulled him into me so that I could run my fingers through his hair, down his shoulders, over his back. I held him close and kissed the top of his head while he continued to float. I could feel his heart beat, feel the slickness of his skin, and matched his breathing. There is nothing more rewarding after a scene than knowing that some satisfaction had been achieved.
