She stretches me and calls me names of the vilest nature: Cunt, Pussy, Sissy, Face Slave, Toilet, and "Her Toy." All of these terms of endearment tell me she will take and, in the process, give me the unique pleasure I seek. She will spit upon me or pee on my cock, scrotum, and legs from two feet away, past spread labia pulled wide by her own fingers. The mere distance will be a statement of erotica that the uninitiated could never understand. But most of all, to my pleasure, I know she will tease me. She will blindfold me so that I can not see or anticipated her actions. Then she will make obscene promises, "I am going to fuck you in the ass with the dildo I used on Cici last night, still coated with her cunt juices, dried flakes of her jism will fill your rectum." Then, I'll wait suspended for hours while she goes about other business. But, what do I get out of it? Often hours pass in silence where only my thoughts toy with my senses as I endure the growing pain of suspension, physically and mentally. Without sight, every sound is intensified. I hear her on the phone in the outer room and imagine that she is describing my predicament to her friends. My cock grows harder and harder and the clear pre-cum flows to the floor in an uninterrupted stream. Once, after she'd left me suspended for more that three hours, I was surprised to see a bowl of clear fluid between my tip-toes containing more than a half-cup of my own pre-orgasmic fluid. Mistress Melanie at one point command that I take it into my mouth and pass it to her slave Cici. The act was humiliating and wonderful.
As I hang suspended, I know -- in some measure -- that she will come to me and I will be pleasured. It is always worth the wait. First, I will hear her in the room. She will move around me in ceremony, sometimes speaking, sometime not. Always there will be a consequence. I wait, I await. Will she bite, twist, slap, penetrate, stroke, or even caress? Will she give me what I most want: will she smother me with her flesh and choke me with her intimate juices? Having heard her enter the room after minutes or hours of neglect, I am a mass of nerve ending ready to fire, my synapses already bridged. Please, Mistress, bring your nails, your birch, your flogger, your dildo, your tongue to bear. I can hardly suffer the anticipation. If she strikes my back with a crop, I want a finger in my ass. Should she aggressively drive that finger past my anal sphincter, I wish that she had dripped hot wax on the head of my cock or that she'd squeezed my balls with the intensity of a vise. So, she gives and I take, never enough, who wins?
The symbiotic relationship of the Dominant and the Submissive is ultimately reflected in the question of who fucks whom. I am only occasionally allowed to fuck Mistress Melanie. Do I suffer for this? Hardly. The fucks are great, but the alternatives are markedly better. A cum in a hot pussy is delightful. But, can it compare to the erotica of jerking off on the freshly painted toe-nail of one's Mistress? The honest answer to the question is made more complex when one add the probability of being commanded to lick those toes clean and to pass the seeds of your subservient passion into the awaiting mouth of a female subservient who will gladly swallow to meet the expectations of the same Mistress you enjoy. As I push my own semen, licked from Mistress Melanie's foot, into Cici's mouth, I feel her shudder. My passions rise from the question, "Is her physical reaction the result of my fingers in her moist pussy or the resulting effect of Mistress Melanie's fist buried in her ass. As Cici swallows my offering and moans, "Oh Mistress," it doesn't matter a lot to me. I am getting off on the shared relationship.
I can honestly say that I am not really being abused when I hang for hours from the eye-hook buried deep in the ceiling beam in her bedroom. Surely my muscles stretch and strain, from armpit to elbow as my extended toes barely brush the deep pile carpet. When, after leaving me alone for what seems like hours, she enters the room picks up the violet wand lying on her bed and approaches me with a menacing smile I look down at my cock since that appears to be the focus of her gaze. An abused man doesn't have a raging hard-on with a viscous stream of clear pre-cum extending from its tip to a saucer-size puddle soaking into the carpet between my legs. A puddle of this size, produced without a touch, is the product of hours of mental, if not physical, pleasure. But, then she does touch me, with her wand. A direct application of velvet electricity to my scrotum: my nuts immediately contract upward and my cock jerks so violently that the string of pre-cum breaks, sending three beads of the fluid across the open space between us to land on her flat belly. "You love the pain, don't you my Baby? Tell Mama what you love Hunter." She looks into my eyes, holds them, as she moves the wand to the wet tip of my cock. The current flows across the thick conductive fluid and jolts my prostate. I moan in pleasure. The only pain that in intolerable comes from knowing that I can't break free to bury my face in her cunt to taste the combination of female juices and pee that always accumulate when she abuses me. I suffer from her keen awareness of what I am thinking, of what I am wanting. She knows what I love, so she gives me something close, she ceases her administration of the wand and crosses naked to the adjacent bathroom to sit, legs spread on the commode to pee, loudly enough for me to hear. "Your Mistress is pissing for you," she growls. "Do you want to clean me up, my Face Slave?" She knows just how to turn her "abuse" to pleasure.
She rises without wiping, comes back to me, and releases the shackles at my wrists. I crumble to the floor before I can place my feet squarely beneath me. She uses one foot to roll me onto my back. Before I can move or speak, before I can catch a breath, she forcefully squats on my face and lays her full weight upon me. I drive my tongue past my lips into her pussy, stabbing at her pee-hole. I can not breathe, but I don't stop. Instead I reach between her legs from behind to softly force my middle finger into her asshole. Her moans of pleasure and abusive comments about my value as a man, make me "Her" man and I am happy to be under her control. Yet, I can help but think that I have just gotten what I want and need; how it always seems I do. I think, "I am so much better off in that regard than Cici." But what happens between My Mistress, that useless bitch (I love her too) Cici, and me is the stuff of my next story. There will always be another story, I Must Confess.
