Pressure.
Each step brought a minor increase in the radiating discomfort throughout my groin, and gradually working its way into my abdomen. Nausea would follow soon.
This was not following the recommended guidelines of the manufacturer and expert advisers.
The scene which had preceded this situation continued to dominate my attention and focus; the people, dogs, houses and cars, quaint scenery, barely registered in my conscious mind.
I had arrived at Emma's house dressed for our planned date to the farmers' market, in casual clothes. A loose-buttoned shirt. The trendy, Japanese-chic harem joggers she had bought for me. And requested that I wear today. Upon arrival I discovered that she was dressed somewhat more casually than I, in pink panties and a black, Rolling Stones logo t-shirt. She'd met me with her trademark impish giggle, a picture of cartoonishly thick tousled ginger hair, freckles and gapped front teeth.
I'd barely closed the front door of her flat away from the busy street, and she'd launched her petite body onto my standing frame, bony arms around my neck, and bare legs hooked around my waist.
She had her tongue in my surprised mouth for a few seconds and then laughed gleefully again.
I held her up for a moment. "I guess we're not going anywhere this morning?", I asked.
"I guess WE'RE not going anywhere", she echoed, mischievously.
Then she slipped down me, bringing the joggers with her, and ended in a squat position, her legs wide apart.
I looked down bashfully at how hard I already was, and then down to her smirk.
"Silly boy. We're not going to be using that today".
Her brought her hand up to cup my balls, and began to massage them gently, rolling her thumb over them. A finger slid up between my buttocks and teasingly hovered around my hole, without touching directly.
She arched her neck up and slipped one of my balls into her mouth, using her lips to pull it downwards for a moment, and then opened wide to accommodate the second.
Her teeth closed ever so slightly on the loose skin of the sack. The warmth and pressure was glorious, although my cock ached from the neglect.
She pulled her lips downwards, and released them with a pop, and a grin, a saliva strand still connecting her lips to me. Her upper teeth bit over her lower lip to form an expression of wickedness, and things about to turn up a notch.
An index finger and thumb locked around my sack, and the downward pressure began.
"Emma that's a bit"
"This is happening", she hissed back at me. I knew better than to further object.
Keeping her hand locked in place, she pushed herself into a standing position, and started to step backwards. Hastily stepping out of the joggers, I followed, powerless, as she led me down the short hallway and into her bedroom.
As I stepped into the room, I immediately noticed three objects laid out on the dresser. A jar of lube with a squirter top, a medium sized butt plug, and steel cylindrical device, about three inches long and an equal diameter, with a narrow core. It looked heavy.
Emma released her grip and told me to sit on the edge of a chair next to the dresser. She squirted several loads of lube onto her hand, and began to resume massaging with sensual care. Then the stretching began proper.
And so it was that I found myself walking gingerly along the pavement, with an eye-wateringly hefty ball stretching weight clamped around my scrotal sac, and a medium-sized butt plug bearing down on the inner seal of my hole.
I had never attempted or been subjected to ball stretching, and with this weight I was very much in at the deep end.
I carried one additional item in my pocket, which had not been on the dresser - a shopping list for the farmers' market. This aspect of our fate had come to fruition, albeit in a far different way than I had envisioned.
I decided in that moment to take it out and have a more thorough read. When it had been handed to me, I was in too much of befuddled state to take in its contents. It was a long list of expensive, artisanal products, which I was clearly to pay for myself.
Luckily I had my wallet and credit card.
As I said, I was largely unaware of the passing environment. But one shop did catch my attention, a hardware store. A thought crossed my mind that this was the only place around, and therefore my only opportunity, to get hold of a hex key. This could allow me to release the mechanism which held the two halves of the brutish weight connected together. My other option was to obey my instructions and return to Emma. I chose the latter. I wanted more.
As I reached the market I became acutely self-conscious. They couldn't see. Could they? I'd glanced down several times to reassure myself earlier on my walk, but in this more scrutinising place, I felt that glancing at my crotch was like holding a neon signpost towards it.
Whether there was anything to observe from the front or rear, I was unaware of any attention in that direction. Though I did meet several pairs of eyes who probably read in mine something of unease and avoidance.
I expected my voice to be high and cracked as I asked and paid for items. The tension and affected my breathing, and my vocal cords were constrained. But somehow I pulled it off and, armed with a couple of new tote bags full of middle class indulgences, I started back for Emma's, with not a little sense of urgency.
I held a key to Emma's. When she'd given it to me, she'd said this was so I could let enter in the middle of the night, masked as a stranger, and terrorise her, though this was something I had yet to act out.
I walked through to her room, expecting to be greeted with a raucous laugh. But Emma had been busy.
She was on the bed, half propped up by pillows, her naked legs surrounded by several oversized toys. The lips between her thighs were red and swollen, a cavernous black hole at the centre. Everything was wet, projecting out from her.
