Two firsts for me on the blog today: I’m taking part in my awesome friend Kayla‘s Masturbation Monday challenge for the first time (you can too! Click the link for details and to see everyone else’s smut.) I’m also writing erotica from the point of view of a person with a penis for the first time.
The prompt post is here (I’m not adding the picture because I don’t want the blog to get shut down due to images of genitals.)
Here’s my Masturbation Monday effort. It includes female dominance and male submission, tease/denial, and mild genital pain infliction. Usual disclaimers apply: all characters are legal adults and giving informed consent to everything portrayed here.
‘Do you want your cock touched?’ she asks, her fingers teasing the unyielding plastic of my cage as my dick strains against it, trying to get hard, trying to feel something.
“Please…” is all that comes out. She giggles, this woman I love, my wife of fifteen years and now also my Mistress of just over a year. She twirls a strawberry blonde curl with her left hand, while her right moves from my caged cock to my swollen balls.
“But it’d be such a shame. You’re so obedient when you’re frustrated and I’m worried that if I let you out now, you’ll just come and then all my hard work will be ruined.”
“I won’t come, Mistress,” I promise, even though there’s nothing I want more in the world. The traces a finger along the underside of my cock cage. I hear a whimper escape my lips.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she says. My breath catches. Her “deals” rarely end well for me. “I’ll let your cock out for a short while, but it’s going to be painful. You can accept the pain and thank me for it, or you can refuse. But if you refuse, you stay locked.”
Our eyes meet. Hers, sparkling wells of pure devilishness. Mine, pleading, pathetic.
“Well?” she prompts.
“Yes. I mean, yes please, Mistress. I’ll take the pain.”
She makes a show of fiddling with the key, on a long chain around her neck and usually buried somewhere in her spectacular cleavage. I get an amazing view of her tits as she leans forward to unlock me, but it just makes my dick harden even more, causing a squeezing pain. She eases the cage off me, so slowly that I just know she’s enjoying torturing me. Bitch. But God, I love her for it.
“Hands behind your back,” she orders. “Close your eyes. The moment you move your hands, open your eyes or ask for mercy, I’m locking you back up. Got it?”
I comply. “Yes, Mistress.”
I feel a hand cup my balls and squeeze. Not hard – she knows that intense ball torture is a hard limit for me – but enough to give me that delicious ache I both hate and crave. Then her fingers are on my cock, the feather light touch maddening, thirty seven days of pent up arousal all building at once. I screw my eyes closed and concentrate on not humping against her hand to get more stimulation. She hates that.
The stinging slap to my cock catches me by surprise, out of nowhere. I jump and cry out. She giggles. Then, the stern voice I know so well returns.
“You’re forgetting something.”
“You’re supposed to be thanking me for hurting your poor helpless cock.”
“Sorry Mistress. Thank you, Mistress. Please may I have more pain?”
“Good boy.” I am treated to perhaps five seconds of her gorgeous hand running up and down my shaft in just the way I like.
“Ahhh! Thank you, Mistress. Please may I have more?”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
SLAP SLAP SLAP.
I’m moaning in pleasure and pain, wondering if it’s possible to orgasm from cock slapping alone and if I would be punished if I do.
I hear her move away from me. The sound of the drawer opening. A rummaging. Oh, God, what is she looking for now? I hope it’s not that vicious little leather paddle she likes to use on my cock sometimes. That nearly brought me to tears last time.
Then her hand is on my cock again, stroking, tickling, teasing to the point that I think I might cry from this alone.
And then the sharp pain.
I jump. A squeak of surprise escapes my lips. I hear a soft laugh.
“Keep still, Sweetheart. I need to be very careful with this so I don’t hurt you… in a bad way,” she says wickedly. She runs the tool up my leg and I realise what it is – the Wartenburg pinwheel she found at the fetish market a few weeks back. She was so pleased with herself when I returned to her side after going to fetch her a glass of wine and she showed me her purchase. Her new instrument of torture.
She holds my cock firmly in one hand. With the other, the runs the pinwheel – slowly, so slowly – along the top length of my shaft. I am quivering. She does this a few more times, eliciting moans and whimpers from me as I fight to keep my hands behind my back and my eyes shut. No, she’ll lock me back up if I do that, and this delicious pain is much better than the frustration of that hated plastic device.
“God, you’re hard as a rock,” she murmurs, lifting my cock and running the pinwheel along the sensitive underside. “You love this, don’t you?”
I somehow know that this question is rhetorical. She knows I love it. I know I love it, this edge between agony and ecstasy.
The pinwheel is running once again along the underside of my cock shaft, pressed harder now, making me wince, though I know it won’t break my skin – the seller had assured her of that, she said. Designed to feel like it’s cutting you without actually doing any damage.
She pulls back my foreskin and I suck in my breath, knowing what’s coming. I screw my eyes more tightly shut and squeeze my hands together behind my back. I want to beg her not to do it. If I do, know she’ll stop, but then it’ll be back into the evil cage for my poor teased cock.
And then she does it. She drags that wicked, spiky wheel along the exposed head of my cock, which is already dripping pre-cum. My body betraying me. I squirm in place, my breathing coming in short, shuddering gasps. She does it again. Again. Traces the wheel all the way around my cock head in a circle. It hurts so bad. Hurts so good.
“My poor baby,” she murmurs. “Letting your Mistress torment your cock because you know it’s the only stimulation it’s going to get…”
“Yes… thank you, Mistress. Mistress, do you think…?” I let the question hang in the air.
“Do I think what?”
“You know what!”
“Maybe, but I want to hear you say it.” The wheel is back on the shaft of my cock again, running up and down, up and around the head, and then up and down on the other side.
“Will you please let me come today?”
She giggles. I hate that giggle. But I love it, and her, and the delicious pain she gives me. “No, sweetie. Not today.” The pinwheel is discarded on the bed. My cock aches, longing for more. “Let’s get you back into your cage. We’ll see about letting you come next week.”
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