 |
|||
|
|
My reverie slipped to the edge of sleep as I knelt patiently beside the bathtub where Gina silently reclined motionless in the steaming water. Finally, as serene as an elemental water nymph ascending with the morning mist, Gina arose. Her slim olive body glistened; her dark dense hair shimmered and rained soft droplets into the warm water. Gina didn’t speak, but handed me a towel. I devotedly knelt and reverently blotted her dry. As Gina turned to pad away across the puddled floor I started to rise to follow, but Gina tenderly placed her hand on my shoulder silently obliging me to kneel and wait. I worshipfully obeyed my water spirit.
She returned a few moments later saying, “Anna gave me this today. I’m sorry, but she said you must wear it to our appointment. Anna does not like dealing with men who are not, as she puts it, “properly hobbled”. Your cock has finally shrunken, so you better put it on quickly before it gets big again.”
My penis had indeed shriveled to a trifling flaccid thing. Gina handed me a small metal contraption constructed of three small steel rings welded to three straps to assemble a narrow cylindrical cage. The whole thing was about two inches long, with a bar enclosing one end and eyelets terminating each strap at the other end. “It’s a cock cage, or male chastity belt. Anna insists that males be constrained in her presence, and she insists that the confinement be as tight and constricting as possible. I told her that you could wear a size small. I find it remarkable how tiny your shrunken dick can get considering how big it is hard. Put it on quickly, that thing is starting to grow already.”
I took the contraption from Gina, but it wouldn’t slide over my still soft dick. Gina stood over me like a third grade teacher watching a slow student struggle with fractions. “Pinch the cock head and thread it through the rings. That’s it. Now reach in and pull the cock head past the end bar as far as you can. Pull it tight against your body. Good, now stuff the head back behind the end bar. Thread this through the eyelets. That’s it. Now stand up.”
I followed Gina’s instructions, pulling my soft cock through the rings, and then threading a long, light chain through the eyelets on the cage. Gina was right to caution me to be quick; my cock was beginning to swell and if it were any bigger, it would not have fit through the restrictive rings. Gina pulled the ends of the chain back between my legs, looped them up and around my waist and back under the chain in front so the whole affair could be pulled tight. She locked everything in place with a small padlock. My cock was imprisoned within the unyielding steel rings while the chain held everything tight against my body. The effect was to limit my cock to a pathetic two-inch length, and to squeeze the girth into the tiny dimension permitted by the steel rings.
The slight discomfort of the apparatus increased to moderate pain as my cock began to swell against the bars of its jail. The cage was indeed an effective chastity belt, if chastity could have anything to do with this obscene display of sexual submission. An erection was impossible. The steel rings easily defeated my hopeless, pathetically insistent engorgement. Ah sweet chastity, at least the matter was now out of the hands of my pitiable will. My prideful manhood was coldly crushed.
Gina stood back and admired her handy work. “Oh that’s nice. Anna’s right; men should have their cocks hobbled in the presence of women. Now one more thing, you will also wear a testicle harness. Stand up and bend over the sink counter. Spread your legs.”
Gina knelt behind me, took hold of my scrotum, and squeezed my balls down until they popped out below her fist. I had become accustomed to the odd and sexy sensation of Gina’s hand around my scrotum. Gina pulled, kneaded and quashed my balls. My cock’s dumb masculine imperative drove mindless assaults against the bars of its prison, but of course, this impossible revolt failed.
The steely rule of feminine dominion prevailed. My conquering queen proclaimed, “Ah, the poor thing can’t get hard. Too bad, I win. But you still like it when I take you by the balls don’t you? You like giving me your balls, letting me play with these slippery, vulnerable jewels, don’t you honey?” Gina clenched her fist, bore down, and stretched my scrotum to its limit.
I pulled back against aching strain and embraced the dull, seductive pain. Whenever Gina took me by the balls, she compelled surrender and obliged submission to her command. I hissed through clenched teeth, “Yes. I want to give my balls to you. My balls made me your slave. Take them; take me. When you first took me by the balls, you seized my heart and my soul. I don’t know where you learned your magic, but it works. Take my balls; take control. Make me weak, exposed, and vulnerable, and that’s all I want to be. Thank you. Please, please, never stop using me.” The ache in my groin was a sinful indulgence intense beyond imagining. The shameful truth was that until Gina took my balls, I had not known what gratification meant.
Before Gina, I was strictly a cock kind of guy. I shielded my testicles against pain and so denied myself the finest intensity of pleasure. Occasionally a girl had licked my balls in the course of giving head, but the slight tickling had just made me nervous. I worried about damage to the family jewels. “A kick in the balls.” It’s not just an expression, as I had learned from painful experience in a scramble for a basketball. I caught an accidental knee to the crotch and collapsed to the ground, grasping my crotch, gasping for air, and doubled over from the piercing pain. From then on, like men everywhere, I was very skittish and protective of my testicles.
When Gina first played with my balls, I started to warn her off, but she would have none of it. She promised me she would not hurt me and that I would love it. She was true to her word, at least about the loving it part. She lied shamelessly about the impending pain.
I let her have her way. Gina held my sack in her fist and gently messaged my testicles with her thumb. Then she licked my scrotum, took my balls into her mouth, and rolled my testicles around with her tongue. With a gentle pulling and soft stroking, she sucked as if she were milking me. I could not get enough of this strange new treat.
Gina knew precisely how far to take me in each encounter, gradually addicting me to this odd delight, each time taking me a step further down the path she had chosen for me. Gina’s control was exquisite. She lay between my legs filling me with a pleasure so pure I could not have imagined it. I craved more, and with each encounter, Gina gave more, and took more, sucking and pulling on my testicles longer and harder. She used her teeth. The promise of more dragged me deeper, deeper into bliss and surrender, deeper under Gina’s control.
Gina carefully led me to the brink of that vividly remembered piercing pain, and held me balanced on the razor’s edge between pain and pleasure. She sucked my balls into her mouth, and with precise control, ran her teeth over and then into my testicles, tenderly pulling, softly tugging, then firmly yanking. She so gradually drove pleasure into pain that I could not tell them apart. If I gasped from a sudden stab of pain she would stop, look up at me, and laugh, “Don’t be such a baby. I know you like it, so stop whining. You don’t want me to stop, do you? You usually seem to like the way I use your balls, but I’ll stop if you like. Otherwise, please be quiet.”
Gina, lying between my legs, my balls firmly grasped in her fist, looked up at me with a mocking smirk. She would wait until I begged for more.
“Please Gina don’t stop. I will be silent.”
“Not good enough.”
“Please mistress, I need you. Please hurt me; please make me ache; please take my balls in your mouth, in your teeth. Punish me.”
“More.”
“Oh don’t be so cruel. Indulge me. Indulge yourself. Sink your teeth into it; rip me; use me. I will be quiet. Hurt me; punish me. I beg you.”
“Since you beg.” And then she would take my balls back into her mouth, briefly shift back toward tenderness, and finally, with progressively increasing pressure, Gina would punish me for complaining. Gina sunk her teeth deeper, harder into my manhood and tore down the illusions that held me together as a man. She drove me to the yawning edge of punishing pain, and then threw me over the cliff, past the petty bounds of self-survival instinct, and beyond trifling care for tomorrow or even personal identity.
I struggled to obey and suffer in silence. I did not scream. But I could not quell my girlish squeals and raspy hissing moans, so I glossed over my failure to be quiet with whiny begging for more. Her teeth ripped at my balls while I writhed. I thanked my mistress for the ache, pleaded for her forgiveness, and prayed to my goddess for more. I begged Gina not to stop; I begged for more pain; I begged her to take my balls. She indulged me.
Gina threw me over the cliff, and I fell down and down and crashed onto jagged boulders. A swift current of agony coursed through me and swept away all that I had been. The gnawing ache in my groin became the river Gina, and I became its hollow canyon eroded to bedrock. To please my Gina at last I submerged all resistance. I was silent.
Gina took me with knowing skill and exquisite execution. She knew exactly how to bind the physical to the psychological. She was precise and practiced in the use and care of a male’s testicles. She knew just how much to suck for pleasure and how deep to sink her teeth into the meat of the thing for pain, but not destruction. She was meticulous in her care for the cords to preserve the blood vessels and nerves. She was scrupulous in her gnaw on the ball itself. She broke scrotal skin, but not the germ within. My sack bore her teeth marks; my testicles bore only the ache. She did not break the eggs, but she scrambled the brain.
With unerring accuracy, Gina took me to psychological devastation, but short of medical disaster. I became entirely hers, her thing—her empty vessel to be filled with pain. I became her cup to be drained at her pleasure. In the crucible of my tortured being, Gina’s gift of pain transmuted to pleasure—deep, dark, rich indulgence. I luxuriated in anguish as Gina drank her fill. I carelessly spilled my soul.
When sated, Gina dismissed me. I immediately craved more. From my crotch to the pit of my gut, a fading echo of the punishing pain called to me throughout the day. I dreamed of Gina constantly. Throughout the day’s tedious wait for more, the ache in my groin counseled gratitude for each petty insult and each dismissive affront with which Gina favored me. Gina renewed the screeching agony each evening. The enduring ache was a constant reminder of my love, of my submission, and a relentless call to beg for more.
Gina made me lay naked spread eagle on the bed. She knelt between my legs, grasped my balls and smiled, “Time for your treatment. Take it like a man. Take it in silence.” Then she would bend over me like a carnivore at its kill, clenching and wrenching my scrotum, and gnawing on my testicles as she used her free hand to drive herself to satisfaction. All the while, I lay writhing, gasping, fraught with fear that I might be torn apart or that I might offend her with a scream. But I eagerly, earnestly offered my manhood to whatever fate Gina dealt and struggled only to yield in silent gratitude.
Gina handled me shrewdly and I followed her down the path of utter capitulation. She schooled me in the peculiar raptures of pain and submission. I was an apt student. After my absolute surrender, Gina made me beg for it. She made me get on my knees at her feet and beg her to torture my balls. Finally, for three long weeks, my balls were denied their fix, and I was denied orgasms. Gina utterly deprived my testicles of her therapy. She punished me by denying me punishment. It drove me mad; I was obsessed, fixated, crazed. I constantly craved that weird pain/pleasure to which Gina had addicted me.
But now I was bent over the bathroom counter legs spread, my dick swelling, straining against its new cage with Gina squatting behind, at last again fondling my balls. I looked at the face in the mirror. How could that face still look so much the same as my old self? All within was new, better. Gina clenched and wrung my balls with crushing force. The face in the mirror contorted to a pained grimace. “Ah yes. This is my new face.”
“What’s the matter, baby, this always used to get your dick big and hard? But today it’s still so small and pathetic. Such a pity, I guess your cock of steel really isn’t as strong as real steel, is it? It’s all bound up, bursting, but busted. How nice. Now this.”
Gina operated on my crotch. She wrapped a leather strap behind my scrotum and around the base of my caged cock. It snapped shut. Attached below was another wider strap. Gina wrapped this firmly around just my scrotum. Again it snapped tight. My balls bulged out below just as if Gina were grasping them in her loving fist. Gina then pulled a final thin strap over the end, separating my balls until they popped out at the sides like two mushrooms. Gina attached a chain dog leash to the ball-separating strap and ordered, “Stand up. Put your hands behind your head and look at yourself in the mirror.”
I looked up. I could hardly believe what I saw. My balls hung low between my legs, their size exaggerated by the effect of bulging through the restraining harness, but my cock was pathetically small, almost not there, constrained within the glinting steel of the chastity cage. Gina had at last granted the thing my balls craved. It was not Gina’s strong fist or the judicious bite of her teeth, but mechanical, unloving grasp of a leather harness.
In the bathroom mirror, I saw Gina standing behind me with a thrilled grin. “Oh, I like that. Anna is so right. That is the way a slave boy should be kept.” Gina grabbed the leash, lifted it up back between my legs and yanked. I stumbled backwards. “Follow me boy. Keep your hands behind your head.” I respected her summons. I followed my ruler as she led me by the balls. I struggled to keep up, shuffling backwards, hands behind my head, my ball leash tugging me along. Gina grinned back at me with the dog leash slung over her shoulder marching me toward the bedroom. I viewed the whole ludicrous parade in the bathroom mirror, the grinning bitch dragging her trussed up beast to who knows what sort of sacrifice.
Once in the bedroom Gina sat on the edge of the bed. “Now you will assist me in getting dressed. I left some bags at the front door with some things I bought just for our meeting with Anna. Fetch them.”
I turned obediently, realizing that I would have to walk naked, cock and balls bound across the apartment with the window blinds open so that any casual observer would see my predicament. I was beyond caring. My leash dragged behind between my legs rattling across the floor as I fetched Gina’s shopping bags. When I returned Gina laid out her purchases on the bed. Leather was the theme, a closely fitted red leather top with long sleeves and priestly collar, a full-length black leather sarong, and red, thigh length, high heel platform boots.
Gina put on the top, and turned her back to me without a word expecting me to zip her up. The leather was a perfect skintight fit. The zipper closed snugly on the deep inward curve of Gina’s beautiful lower back, firmly embracing her tiny waist before closely following the arching expanse to her board shoulders. I surreptitiously ran my finger from the deep hollow of Gina’s back to the exploding fullness of the ass I worshipped. She handed me the sarong dress. I wrapped the supple leather around Gina’s waist and affixed it by a wide belt with a large silver buckle.
Gina sat on the bed and crossed her legs. The sarong slit open to just below her crotch. Apparently, Gina would not be wearing panties. Gina pointed her toe at me, “Boots.” The dark red leather was slick and pliable with two-inch platforms and six-inch heels. Yet again where I belonged, on my knees before my tyrant, serving, I eased Gina’s foot into the boot and fastened the long rows of buckles to the mid thigh.
I bent forward and kissed Gina’s exposed thigh above the top of her boot and contentedly continued my duties. As Gina uncrossed her legs, I glimpsed her love gash deep in the shadowy slit cut in the black leather of her dress. The beguiling scent of leather enveloped me. Sadly, the odor of my goddess’s cunt had been washed away in her bath. I pined for it. I buckled the second boot high onto Gina’s thigh. Diamond anklets affixed over the boots completed the ensemble.
Gina rose before me. She was magnificent—blood red and night black, all cold shinning leather. My ruler towered above me as I gazed up from my knees groveling at her feet. Now a full six inches taller, Gina was thoroughly imposing. She ignored me and admired herself in the mirror, posing, looking profile right then left. Gina then stood with legs apart. She threw her shoulders back, breathed in deeply, grabbed me by my hair and forced me to bow. She smiled to herself in the mirror, “Anna will like this.”
She looked down on me, “Slave, I will put on my makeup, and you will dress. Wear a sport jacket, black tee shirt and loose pants. Be sure your ball leash comes out the front of your pants so that it’s available for me to use as I wish, but put the excess length in your front pocket so that your chain does not hang below your jacket. It’s time for you to meet Anna. Get prepared.”
She turned to the mirror to enjoy her image. “Leave me.”
|
|
|