Tricks & Treats

Confession time: sometimes, I can’t remember everything that happens. I mean, I remember things in broad outline, but the details…get a little fuzzy.

Take Halloween, for example. It was an AMAZING day and night and day…but…I really can’t remember the details.  You know, the order of things.  Where they all fit. There’s all these snapshots I have in my head, snippets of memory, but they are like random photographs all tossed in a shoebox, and I only have a vague recollection of how they all fit together.

Sometimes, in the middle of things, I want to say “Stop!  Wait, I have to write this down.” Especially when someone says something so perfect…  There were several of those moments, laying in bed the next morning between my two guys. I do remember that. That they said the funniest shit. That I said, “Oh my god, I SO have to remember that to use in my blog.” How fucking hilarious is that, to be trying to remember shit so I can record it here.  From now on I need a notebook at my side at all times.  And guys? If you’re reading this, be prepared to stop at any moment so that I can write stuff down.

Of course we could just install video cameras all over W’s house like he suggested.

NOT.

Seriously though. It started Saturday morning when Ad and I stopped by W’s to get my running shoes.  Actually, we stopped by to get my iPod and running shoes, but I forgot the shoes.  (Already the forgetting had begun.) That was bright and early in the AM. Ad and I went to work out at the Y, then he was supposed to drop me at W’s for the weekend.  I invited Ad in for coffee, and then we all went out to breakfast, and at some point I realized that what I really wanted was to have both my guys together that weekend.  I wanted them both to beat me and fuck me.  I’d been jonesing to be done by the two of them for a while now, but it’s never quite worked out since the first–and only–time we’d done it.

Until Halloween night.

The guys were both very enthusiastic about the prospect.  Ad left W and I alone for awhile. He’s so very, very thoughtful that way, wanting to give us time alone to catch up.  He returned later that evening, sometime after W caned me and made me drink his pee and before my new pretty glass plug was inserted. I know this not because my memory is clear–sometime after those two events my memory starts to get hazy–but because Ad brought the buttplugs with him. Oh, and because there’s pictures of him inserting it, and in the pics I have stripy cane marks, so I know that was after the caning!

W says we’d forget everything if we didn’t have pictures.  Maybe he is right.

Somehow, after Ad pushed the smaller buttplug into me, we all ended up going upstairs. Once there, Ad first tried to chairhandshave me just hold onto the back of a chair while they caned me.

Jade being still: FAIL.

Picture this: me holding onto the back of the chair you see in this picture. (No the pic isn’t from that night, this is just for, you know, atmosphere.)

So there I am, trying to be properly obedient, holding on to the back of the chair, when I see the two of them advancing on me–each with a cane in his meaty little fist. I do what any self-respecting well-trained submissive would do: I start begging for time.

“No wait, okay wait,” I say, backing away.

“Put your hands back on the chair,” says one or the other of them.

I do, but then I twist and turn and whine and beg some more: “Seriously, wait, wait just a minute, okay? Just give me a minute, okay?”  As though a minute will change anything.

W stops and shakes his head, and I know what he is about even before he turns all the way around.  In a minute he returns with rope. Pretty soon my hands are properly tied, and I’m not going anywhere.  Well, almost not.  I did pull the chair across the room at a couple points, as I tried to avoid the Boys With The Canes. They have very different styles, do my guys, but (ahem) they seem to play well together.  It was fun…painful fun, but fun, and listening to them count off, “1…2…3!” and then whack me at the same time, or feeling them alternate their strikes like some kind of perverted drumbeat, was a hoot.  W hits a LOT harder than Ad, but Ad likes to do this quick whackwhackwhack thing all over the place that pretty much makes up for the strength of the strikes. I was panting and sweating by the end of it.

I think they were pleased as punch with themselves.  Boys will be boys, right?

Huh. “The end of it.”  Again, I don’t recall how we got from one thing to another. I think that W may have decided it was time to move me up to the larger size buttplug. If ya’ll recall, I had a big fat FAIL on my calibration for the 2 inch buttplug. I now realize that it wasn’t ME that was a failure, it was the plug. I am in love with my glass plugs. Maybe a little less in love with the 2 inch one than the smaller one, but still, love is love.

However–and this is a big however–that doesn’t mean my ass welcomes it with open, um, open…  Well, suffice it to say it ain’t easy to get it in there, no matter how good it feels once it is.

This is where the difference in their two styles comes into play.

Ad probably would have laid me down and teased me and rubbed my clit or maybe let me touch myself as he gently pushed it in…or maybe gently pushed until I started resisting and then let me off the hook. W was having none of that.  Just as with the chair, resistance was not an option.  Out came the stocks.  I know I’ve written about the stocks, and probably posted a pic of them, but in case I haven’t, this is what they look like (and me in them.) stocks2Again, this isn’t from Halloween night, but just to give you a feel for what those evil men do to me.

Or at least what W does to me. It was his notion that I needed to be thoroughly and properly restrained in order for the buttplug insertion to be done correctly. Or perhaps he just didn’t want any more of my squirming.  In any case, I was soon face down, ass up, legs spread, ready to have a two inch buttplug shoved up my ass.

I tried to be good.  Honest I did.  I tried to relax. I tried to breathe through it. I tried to open myself to it. But soon enough I was panting and begging, saying, “no no no” over and over again, and “I can’t I can’t, really, I can’t,” while Ad slowly pushed and twisted it into me.

All this time, W was taking pictures, very removed, very much the observer.  Ad was almost coaxing me, like trying to convince me.  And I wanted to do it for him, but I couldn’t help it, I was fighting it.  And then W was suddenly there beside me, one hand on the back of my neck and the other on the buttplug. “Do it,” he said in my ear. “Push back onto it.  I know you can do it.  Do it.  Do it now.”  And that’s all it took.  That’s when I knew it really wasn’t my choice any longer. That’s when I knew that whatever he wanted, I would do.  When he told me to do it myself, to push myself back onto it, when he told me to do it because he wanted me to–all resistance drained away as neatly as water sluicing down a pipe.  I sighed, a deep, satisfied sigh, and I pushed back onto it, crying out as the widest part of it seemed to split me in two, and then sighing as my body closed around it and all I felt was that unique, lovely fullness. And when he praised me, when he told me, “Good girl,” in my ear, it was worth all the discomfort.

Then Ad was there, and he was fingering me, shoving his fingers into me and I was moaning and panting and coming, while W took more pictures.

I don’t recall now why I did it, maybe I was trying to escape, but at some point I flipped completely over onto my back, still in the stocks.  W took that as an indication that I wanted the cunt clamp inserted.  I mean, obviously I did, I had my legs spread wide open for him, it was of course an invitation, right?

Oh wait, you don’t know what the cunt clamp is? Hmm, well, maybe that will have to wait for my next post…

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