So this was going to be one of those sweet, tender posts, where I tell all about the sweet side of my relationship with W, and how we had this loving moment before I drove him to the airport, and how much I adore him and already miss him and blah blah blah…
But it’s not going to be.
Not that all that stuff isn’t true, and not that this isn’t sweet in its own way, but, well, “in its own way” is the key phrase there. Because what we did as a “good-bye” was not exactly sweet in conventional terms. But it was exactly what I needed before he left. I needed to be brought back into that headspace that he and I share, that only he can take me. I had had an…unusual…Friday night, and then had come down a bit Saturday day, and really needed to be his fucktoy again. Mindless, there for his use, not the thinking, brooding girl I was Saturday day and night. I needed to scene with him and be used by him, I needed him to hurt me and objectify me and fuck me.
The headcage takes me funny places. As I mentioned in my post about our previous scene with it, I don’t usually do the role-playing fantasies, even in my mind, while we scene. I don’t imagine that I am abducted or that he’s some stranger torturing or fucking me. He is just…himself…doing what he does to me, and frankly, that’s fantastical/unreal/scary enough. When we have sex sometimes (many times) he tells me dirty stories, and then my mind does go into fantasy-mode, but when he’s hurting me? Usually not. Usually I am just trying to process/deal with/endure/get through it. And sometimes even enjoy it. But this time, like last, when he put the headcage on, I was again the subject of an abduction fantasy. This time, he brought me down into the basement and put me in the little cell-like back room where the coal chute is, locked on the headcage and sat me on an overturned paintbucket with my hands tied behind my back and my legs tied open. Then he proceeded to tie my nipples and labia, via my piercings, to my thighs, to an overhead beam, and to a metal rod on the floor, stretching me out in an obscene way. I was glad he had opted to leave my panties on, as having my cunt splayed open that way is humiliating in the extreme–even if it is only him seeing me that way!–but oddly though, as the scene advanced and as I let my mind wander, it was that very image that played through my mind and made me hot. The image of him displaying me, spreading open my cunt, and letting men look at me.
I love the feel of my rings being manipulated. Pulled on, my lips stretched, my cunt opened with them. When he started tying me open, the feel of his fingers, of his hands, tugging on me that way, impersonally in that most intimate and personal of places, had me moaning and squirming without him even doing anything else. And the twine tied around the very ends of my nipples, squeezing them, stretching them up and out? Exquisitely painful, and beautiful to see, the tips a deep purple. Every time I shifted, to relieve the ache in my arms, to lessen the pull on my nipples or the stretch of my labia, it pulled somewhere else. And all the while his hands were on me, pulling me taut. It was an orgy of sensation.
And then there was the headcage. Keeping me removed, literally caging my voice and thoughts inside me, making me experience the scene as though I was in a cage, unable to interact with him. And yet, because it was only my head that was in it, it was even more humiliating. He had tied the top of the cage to a pipe or something above my head, and I truly felt like an animal in a zoo, an exhibit. It was the feel of that tie…I don’t know what it is about that…but being tied like that…fucks me up. In such a good way. I wasn’t gagged, but I swallowed the whimpers and whines I felt bubbling up inside of me, and the words: “please,” and “touch me,” and “put your fingers inside me!” I wanted so badly to feel his fingers–or anything else–inside of me that I almost did beg for it.
And all the while, in my mind’s eye, I could those other men out there, the ones he had brought there to view me, in that cell in the basement, the ones that were seeing me exhibited in such a foul, humiliating way, seeing my cunt spread open for them. And then all I wanted was to be fucked, but not with his cock (!)–I wanted objects shoved inside me. I wanted that fucking wooden toy he uses sometimes, or my beautiful curved one, I wanted the glass dildo he has or one of mine, something, anything, shoved hard and fast inside that open wet cunt, stretching me, filling me. Why didn’t he fuck me with toys more often? I remember thinking, pouting maybe. Wanting. Horny and pissed and wanting and wet. Wanting to be filled.
Fuck. It’s making me hot and wet and squirmy here at my desk just thinking about it.
And then he was there, in front of me, and his hands were on me, touching me, pulling, pinching, rubbing and stroking, and I really was whimpering, panting, and he was telling me what a dirty little slut I was, and how he wanted to shove things inside of me, he wanted to shove one of those dirty steel rods, up my cunt. God, please yes…
And that’s what made me come, gasping, straining against the twine and the cage and not caring about the pain because I didn’t feel it anymore. I wanted to be fucked so bad with whatever he wanted to shove into me, it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d used a two-by-four.
I came back to the present slowly, and he loosened my bonds and stood me up. But it wasn’t over yet. He untied me but left the headcage on, took me upstairs and unzipped his jeans.
This cage is a different design than the first one he had tried on me, designed specifically so that I can suck his cock through it without the cage cutting into the bridge of my nose–and suck his cock I did. I couldn’t get enough of him. I wanted to swallow him whole, to suck him right through that cage inside of me, and barring that, to suck him dry, if I could possibly do it. I wanted his come in my mouth or in my cunt. I wanted it–him–inside me.
And fuck he was hard. Soft at first as I pulled him into the cock-hole in the cage, he grew hard and swollen quickly, so hard, and I was so enthusiastic, that I was afraid I was going to scrape him or catch him on the metal as I bobbed up and down on him, sliding him in and out of the cock-hole in the front.
But I knew, even as I sucked his cock, that I wanted more. I had to have more. I wanted him inside my cunt. I wanted his slime inside my cunt. I wanted to make him him come inside of me, and to carry that with me, after I had dropped him at the airport that afternoon.
I don’t usually have “making W come” a goal. As I’ve said, it happens or it doesn’t, and if he doesn’t want to come, if he just wants to stay hard so he can continue to fuck me until I can’t walk anymore, usually nothing I can do will make him. But this afternoon…oh I wanted him to. So badly.
I also don’t usually ask if I can fuck myself on him. But this time, I did. That’s how badly I wanted it.
Sliding down onto him was heaven. It hurt, pinching and pressing into the rings and those tender places that had been pulled taut by the twine and his fingers. And I was still sore from Friday night and my date’s over-enthusiasm for oral sex. But the pain mixed with the pleasure, and I could feel the cage on my head even with my eyes closed, and I could see his cock, sliding through the hole in the cage and into my mouth, disembodied, using my mouth as a hole…
And then he started saying things to me. Telling me, musing really, that if my “vanilla” guys wanted a second shot at me, he’d tell them they could–but I’d have to get them hard through the cage first, and then they could fuck me–with the cage on. Tied to the ceiling.
Yep, that image, that thought, was all it took. I came, he came, and then we took him to the airport.
And I’ve been masturbating to that every night since he left.