Plugged

This weekend W and I played with my two glass plugs that I got from Eden Fantasys awhile ago.  Or I should say that W used them on me–I didn’t really have a choice in the matter and wasn’t a terribly active participant, as I was tied up at the time.
Coincidentally, I had just asked the Twitterverse about buying another glass plug earlier in the week.  I love play with the two I have, but W frequently talks about having me wear one out, and I wasn’t sure they would work for long-term, comfortable wear.  In the end, I chose the large Pure Plug.  W is an industrial guy, and I know he will dig the thought of me being plugged with stainless steel, and my guess is that the steel will prove just as comfortable as the glass, if not more so. Plus the little handle looks like it might be good for tying it in…I don’t know about that, but we’ll see.  I think the experimenting part is going to be just as much fun as the actual using it part.
Sunday morning started out fairly normally…eh, well, make that abnormally, for us anyway. Normally I wake to find W’s hands on me, pushing, pulling, fucking me, or a wrist getting wrapped in rope, or his arm around my throat as he pushes me down and takes me from behind.  This morning we laid in bed and talked and dozed, lazily, just like two vanilla lovers, til after 11am.  It was only when I made to get up that W pushed me over onto my stomach, grabbed one of my wrists, and then the other, and tied them behind my back. Next he tied my ankles together, and I was fairly immobilized: the lamb waiting for slaughter, as it were.
Or the slut waiting for fucking.  Later, he said to me, “I couldn’t just let you sleep all night in my bed and then get up and go in the morning without a good fucking.”
It’s so convenient that he has rope hanging from a rail above his bed, isn’t it?
So I waited, patiently, straining to see/hear what he was doing, as he got up from the bed and rummaged around in his chest of drawers.  I know many of the toys that he has in his drawers, but had forgotten about the plugs. And besides, he is always coming up with something new and…fun…yeah, that’s word…to torture/abuse me with. And sometimes even to pleasure me with. The “fun” part is I never know which it will be, though usually one involves the other.  It’s just the degree of one or the other that I don’t know in advance.
Then he was back, his hands on my ass, opening me, pulling my cheeks apart, exposing me. That was almost as delicious as the feel of his fingers, slick with lube, beginning to probe me. And even more delicious because having my ankles tied in that way, together, so that he had to open my legs, added to the humiliation of it. To feeling like I was just a piece of meat he was manipulating.
Ass play is such a wonderfully quixotic mix of humiliation and pleasure. It is as much headspace as physical sensation, and the act of being opened up, examined, looked at, in that most secret, embarrassing of places, is a huge turn on. It’s making me wet sitting here writing about it.
Or maybe it is the email conversation I am having with W even as I write this, talking about playing with the new steel plug.  Maybe it is thinking about sitting across a restaurant table from him with a pound of stainless steel in my ass, or reading about him telling me about how he will want me to wear it to work on a semi-regular basis, and about how hard it makes him just thinking about it.
How could I ever have let myself fall into that asinine headspace of the past week?  In his bed, bound by his rope, there is only he and I.  No one else and nothing else matters.
And in his bed, tied ankles and wrists, he was soon pushing something smooth and hard against my asshole, and as he pushed it in, past the tight band of muscle at the opening, I first resisted (because I just can’t help myself) and then relented, opening myself to the aching stretch of the cold, hard glass. But that’s what I love about glass, it is so smooth, and once you open yourself to it, it slides in so easily, so deeply, and then settles inside you, warming to your body temperature, like it was meant to be a part of you.
That’s when he used it like it was a part of me.
Honestly I had no idea what he was doing as he did it.  All I felt were his fingers, inside of me, pressing, probing the walls of my cunt, filling me, stretching and pushing on me. At times, I thought he must have pushed the other plug inside my pussy, or perhaps the steel balls he inserts in me at times, I felt so full of non-organic hardness. Later he told me he was using his fingers and hand to press against and roll the butt plug against my flesh, through the thin barrier between my ass and vagina. But at the time, I didn’t care what he was doing, I just wanted more of it.  I wriggled against his hand, moaning; I pressed back against his fingers; I pushed myself to orgasm as he teased and ground his hand into me and against the plug, as he kissed and bit my ass and thighs.  At one point he spread my thighs wide and licked and sucked on my rings and clit from behind.  Finally, when I was completely exhausted, he did push the large plug into my cunt, untied me, and rolled me over against him. I lay there for a few minutes, exhausted, my head still buzzing in that emotional space that being bound and anal sex always puts me.
But he wasn’t done with me yet, or maybe I simply wasn’t done, because the feel of both those plugs in me, filling me impossibly full, heavy and hard inside me, had me whimpering and grinding myself against him again in a sort of mindless, animal need.  I didn’t even think of the consequences: as I started to come, my pussy started to clench around the big plug, and my asshole around the small one and I realized suddenly it was going to hurt like hell, but by then I couldn’t stop it.  All I could think about was those two beautiful pieces of art glass in my ass and my pussy, sealing me closed until W decided to open me up again.
What an exquisite, painful pleasure it was.