Because She Loves Me · Part 5 (5/6)
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ever the connecting parts are that make the sack and testicles work.
Then there was another irritant I had experienced in the past, Vick’s Vapor Rub, another mass-marketed product you see innocently advertised on TV, just like Icy Hot, as a helpful over-the-counter medical aid to make one feel better. While Vick’s produces nothing like the intense burn of Icy Hot, its active ingredients of camphor, menthol and eucalyptus oil are still substances that capture your attention. Let’s call it a thoughtful pain/pleasure tingle burning.
The ginger is falling somewhere in between. It warms and hurts at the same time. It also has a sharpness unlike anything I have felt before. Unlike those other irritants, the effects of the ginger built much slower so I could stay just ahead of it in my mental management. I could enjoy the pain/pleasure instead of fighting it, transferring the physical to mental, aligning it with the bondage resistance and sexual stimulation. It was also so my wife. She is into organic. Her eggs must be free range; her peanut butter is that ‘have to stir it before you use it’ stuff. She must love that I am being tortured by a root that she handcrafted into a plug and not something she took out of a jar from the drug store. I bet she even paid extra to buy ‘organic’ ginger root.
Because it’s slow to build, I find myself concentrating on it, anticipating. As it stimulates the receptors in the mucous membranes of my rectal canal, I think I feel the blood circulation increasing, one can’t, but mentally I am. I feel the pain migrating away from the root. It is noticeably hot in the neighboring parts of my body. It feels like a natural body reaction versus an outright assault that the Icy Hot produced. But there is no doubt about it, the pain and ache are real, and building. Aptly enough, I learned that figging means something like ‘firing’. And that’s what is happening to me now. This is not pleasurable, it's punishment. She has no real interest in abusing me.
It’s my personal fantasy that she doesn’t understand, most wouldn’t. She is just trying to make me happy. It’s me and my twisted thoughts and wants that are punishing me at the moment. She is just the enabler. Pleasure pain and punishment play a major role in BDSM. I hope she is coming to some understanding of that. Not sure what the conversations between her and Mike were, but her more liberal and playful participation today seems like progress has been made. It has led to the game of pain and pleasure I am now playing in the darkness of my backyard, tied down for all to see who happens by.
Chapter 12: Ginger Dances in Rubber My mistress wanders back about a half hour later. The ginger has already started its journey back down from the suffering it was causing just minutes ago. She sits down in the chair watching me. “Gee, I hoped you’d still be bouncing around on the ground. Was it a fun ride while I was gone? You know ginger is hard to find around here. I’m tickled that I found something new for you to experience that you didn’t know.” I then hear the sound of a vibrator. I listen closely, I can hear crickets, the sound of wind in the leaves of the trees, and my bride starting to breathe heavily. She is vibrating herself. I smile. After a bit of time, I believe she has achieved a climax. And that makes me happy.
Then she comes off her chair and starts playing with me. I’m sucked and rubbed, nipples played with, bodies rub together with hers on top of mine. She deep throats me, gets me to near climax and brings me back down multiple times. She fingers my butt, pushing on the exhausted ginger root that shares the space. And kisses, amazing deep, loving, sensual French kisses. I’m in sexual bondage heaven. I am being made love to by the one I loved, while being tied down the way I love. She is going crazy on me. She fucks me in both directions bouncing up and down. She takes her vibrator puts it against her clit as she rides me, forcing herself into a second and third orgasm while maintaining enough control to pull off me when I get too close.
There is a brief pause in the action as she dismounts me. She then rubs something up and down my hard and throbbing member, making it feel wet, seeming to go numerous times over the head and forcing it into the tip of my hole. “I thought you might want to try the ginger on your little man. No sense in wasting the extra,” she informs me. A flood of panic washes over me. I’m not sure what the shaft burn might be like, but I am petrified of what my urethra tip will experience. Simply getting a little soap in it when showering is a discomfort. She then opens a condom and rolls it over my coated cock. “It’s ribbed for my pleasure,” she boasts.
I’m remounted and the sex ride continues, her vagina protected from the irritant I wear. Her friction and the ginger root quickly become partners. My dick is burning and going nuts at the same time. Yet the pain keeps one step ahead of the climax build which prolongs my fucking for much longer than I am normally capable. Especially at this pace. She put vibration back into play, again using her tiny vibrator to arouse her clit and tease my shaft and balls. It is unbelievable sex of which I can only provide limited participation. That is, I kiss her back hard when she bends down and kisses me and I try to thrust my hips upward as she rides me.
The extra effort coating of my tip is now paying off if making me suffer was the real intent. It is burning like hell. Weirdly that pain is distinctly separated from the sexual and pain/pleasure sensations on my shaft and in my head. My dickhead is stabbed repeatedly with waves of hurt just inches away from ecstasy on my shaft. My balls are grateful that they aren’t part of this current game.
When she has finally sexually satisfied herself, aided by the rubber ribs, vibration and my hard but aching cock, she gives me one final sensational ride, and I explode within her. She continues bouncing up and down till I am soft and ready to fall out. As she lifts off of me, she reaches under, gripping the rubber, so it stays in place. She then carefully removes it in a manner that assures none of my cum drips out. She then milks me a little, coaxing out a few more drops onto her fingers. Still feeling the burn at the tip and the heat in the shaft, I try, without success, to slip out of her grip as the overstimulation from the milking exasperates me. She reaches up and rubs the drops onto my lips. “Just a taste to tease you. You’ll enjoy the rest in a bit,” she warns. She climbs off me and she disappears again.
Chapter 13: Birthday Cake with Candles This was a short trip up to the house and back. She has brought with her a birthday cake. My wife is an accomplished baker. The round cake has white icing. And it has colorful candles, not sure of the count. Six, seven, eight maybe. They are large, maybe six inches tall and over one-half inch in diameter. And they are all lit. She sits it down on my upper chest. “Happy birthday Toy,” and as she laughs tells me, “It is a ginger spice cake. I thought you would enjoy it now that you have a newfound love of ginger root.
Make a wish and blow out the candles.” I try with a big breath to blow out the candles, but there is no way with the immobile angle I am at and the height and distance to the cake. “Oh, what a shame, you didn’t get your wish. I guess we’ll have to find another way of putting them out as they are so bright that I think you might be seen. Maybe that was your wish.”
“No ma’am, I don’t want to be seen,” I reply with nervousness as to what her next step will be.
“I would have never thought of this, didn’t even know couples did this. Your good old buddy brought it up when I talked about making the cake. It seems that it is not far from mainstream, maybe even part of mainstream sex play. So much so that I found the candles on Amazon advertised as romantic wax play candles for lovers couples. He thought it would be a great birthday theme punishment. I’m told they won’t burn you, but they will give you pain and pleasure. Let’s see.” And she pulls a white candle from the cake. She makes sure I get a good look and then tips it above my chest.
It immediately drips hot wax down onto my skin. It initially shocked me and made me jump. It was a burning sensation, but it didn’t burn. It was hot and I reacted like it. But the temperature of the wax seems low enough that it didn’t sustain itself as hot, but as warm, very warm. I was new to this. She dipped the candle again and another drop fell with the same result. Then another, then another and another. It gave my body and mind another pain and pleasure experience. A moderate one. She worked the candle so that the wax spread across my chest in dots. She then turned the candle, so it was almost upside down dripping a larger quantity of wax intensifying the result upon landing and she blew the candle, now half consumed, out. “One down, six to go Birthday Toy. Is it good for you, it’s good for me,” she snickers.
A second candle is taken from the cake, and this time the target zone is my belly button and surrounding skin. Multiple drips, not all in a row were dropped so that my navel was abundantly filled with hot wax before she extinguished this blue candle. The third candle, yellow, worked my shoulders. The fourth, green, and fifth, red, were applied to the area missed between the area of my chest and navel. Each drop or bigger pour still causes the body to react with a little movement, the bigger splashes a jump. She was taking her time, there was no rush, there was plenty of time to fill tonight. “Oh, we are almost done with the candles, only two still lit.
I’ve seen to have neglected your nipples and privates. Let’s fix that.” I hadn’t noticed that she had not touched those areas as my mind was always on the initial pain sensations and recovery from where she was landing. Now I have a new concern, these are more sensitive areas, The nipples will be first, my privates the grand finale. It is tougher on my nipples than where she had already been. It feels hotter, burns a little longer, pain is a little greater.
And that was for a few reasons, they are just normally more sensitive than skin is in general, they have been already abused today so they are still a tad tender, and three, she is holding the candle closer to me than before to improve her accuracy in landing the wax where she wants it. She used much more of this candle than the others.
Worse, but I’m fine. I’ll even admit it was exciting in the uneasiness, and therefore this was fun and wanted. It was then onto my privates with the last candle, a purple one. They were even more sensitive than the nipples due to past abuse and sexual use of the day, going all the way back to my initial shaving. She gave my dick the first drops and I could feel it making involuntary twitches as they landed. It was then onto my sack which had less tolerance to the attack and therefore a greater pain reaction, though still well within the pain to pleasure scale. “Oh, drat, this candle is almost done, and I’m not finished with my art project. Good thing I still have two unused candles,” she says amusingly. She picks up the two extras she had lying on the ground, lights their wicks with my last birthday cake candle, and blows that one out.
She then plays with them together, aligning them so the wicks touch, resulting in a much larger menacing flame. A bigger flame and twice as much wax makes for much grander and hotter drops. She dances with the candles together for a few moments then she moves them apart so that multiple drops are falling simultaneously. All on my privates and inter thighs. OK, so we are moving to the upper range of pain pleasure for the moment. She notices my much greater reactions and that I am trying to move my hips back and forth to avoid the onslaught of hot wax. “Gee if I only had a third hand for another candle, you seem to love this,” she teases. But she realizes that a limit is closing in and she stops. She brings the candles up close to my mouth and says, “Go ahead and blow them out, I’m giving you a second chance at making your next wish come true.”
I am unsuccessful again at extinguishing the candles, so she blows them out. I don’t know if she had made a wish and if what was next is what she wished for, but it was different and, in her mind, fun play. “Let’s have some birthday cake.” She cuts two pieces and then straddles my wax coated chest and sits down on me. She takes one cake plate and places it down on my upper chest. Then she showed me the used rubber I had recently worn. She upends it and while I can’t see well because of my neck bonds I can tell she is pouring it onto what is my cake slice. She makes sure every available drop is coaxed out of the rubber, squeezing it through two tight fingers. I see the ample amount that I had put in it dribble out and fall onto the cake. It now has a new icing.
She takes a plastic fork, scoops up a piece of cake that she knows is loaded and tells me to open wide. Just like an infant I will be fed my birthday cake. My cum and ginger flavored cake. The cake, like all her baked goods, was delicious. The cum icing, which was still noticeable, in contrast was not.
After the cake celebration, I was dewaxed with a butterknife and a few other kitchen utensils. The wax shock and pain were an almost forgotten memory, the wax removal being an uneventful passing of time. I was glad it was off my skin, but it was no issue being there either. She finished by wiping me down with a coarse wet sponge and dried with a kitchen towel. Mosquito lotion was reapplied to replace what was just lost in my cleaning. “I’m headed back inside to clean up and get stuff for your next adventure. You going to be alright here?”
“Yes Ma’am,” the respectful reply.
Chapter 14: Nature Takes Its Turn at Helping to Abuse Me “I’m back. Did you miss me?” my bride asks upon her return.
“Yes Ma’am.”
“I don’t believe you, look, your dick is soft, it should be hard if you were thinking about me and my return. I think you would want me to punish him for it, and I don’t want to disappoint you on your birthday, so I will” she says with unexpected glee in her voice. My girl that did all this planning is emotionally in the game. She is also still dressed in her dominatrix outfit, so I assume, wrongly, that my cock is about to be whipped. She has something else planned instead. She has brought some items with her from the house. First is a battery powered lantern that she eventually places between my legs. She also has some kind of concoction in a jar. She decides I should know what it is.
“This is moth bait. I found the recipe online. It’s made from way-overripe bananas, brown sugar, molasses, and a little beer. I made it thin enough to spread, but thick enough that it won’t run off. I read it’s best if the mixture ferments for a few days and because you only deserve the best, I made sure that it has.” This is another example of how much planning and work she has put into my birthday gift, and with bondage play not being her thing, I’m surprised and pleased to think she is having fun with at least some of it as she is getting ready to do something unique and kinky or at least it seems that way. I am not fully clear about what she is about to do but I will find out quickly.
She smothers my cock and balls with the goop. She then puts the lantern up close to my sack and turns it on. “The light should attract moths and then they should go after the bait. I hope they will tickle the hell out of you as they seek the bait on your dick. To ease your mind, moths don’t have teeth or mouths, but they do flutter about. You should have some fun, I think. Then again, there was no mention in the article of what else this coating might attract. Shame you are tied down and can’t defend yourself. I’m going to be on the pool deck, reading.
I would suggest you holler out if you need anything but then you might attract the attention of more than just me, so maybe you should just deal with whatever that shit entices. I think with all the work that went into this you should endure it for an hour. What do you think?” “Whatever pleases you, Ma’am” is a submissive’s appropriate reply and it is mine.
I don’t know what to think about this latest folly. I’m not thrilled about it, and a touch of anxiety sets in. I ponder on who might have thought up this moth stunt. It doesn’t matter. Not anything I can do about it but wait and see. It takes a little time, but the crazy idea works. Moths are attracted to the light. Our pool area is a natural lure, and it seems happy to share its population. And her magic sauce does its job too. They fly around and crawl over my dick. It does stiffen. They like my balls too. And it tickles, just like she suggested, in an annoying, irritating way, and it itches, and I can’t scratch it.
The light also draws a small quantity of fireflies and some kind of flying beetles. These have prickly feet and mouths, they don’t just tickle me as they crawl over my coating. And all my visitors didn’t keep to just my dick and balls. They flutter and crawl up and down my limbs and torso and I have no capability of brushing them away. Exasperating, maddening. I just want to rub my arms and legs. A very creative form of abuse. I’m a submissive tonight; I am to take whatever amuses my mistress.
The moths have been teasing me for maybe a half hour when she comes back and says, “I can’t believe how well this is working. Are you OK? Do you need it to stop?”
“I’m OK Ma’am, thank you for checking on me.”
“Well OK then, let’s see if you can handle it for the whole hour or longer entertaining our flying friends” And she walks away again. I had lied to her trying to preserve the night. This irritating teasing of my skin is driving me nuts. It’s a severe form of tickling, a relentless bound tickling, the worst kind. I’m curious about what my state of mind will be by the time the hour is up. The butt electro-play she had served up is an abuse that I am used to from my recent BDSM experiences. The ginger burning in my rectum is now a memory other than the space the plug takes up inside me. This is different, its playful, inventive, mostly harmless quasi-sexual abuse that may well get the best of me. Well played girl.
I have no way of tracking the time, so I didn't know that the hour had long passed. I had the moths and other bugs pestering me for more than an hour and a half. I didn’t go insane, I hadn’t been visited by other animals, and the lotion has been keeping the mosquitoes at bay. I had survived by my own mind control blocking out the torment as I concentrated on the bondage and my fantasies. “Sorry I was late, but I got really interested in the book I was reading, and I had another call with Mike, he can be so chatty. Let’s get that sticky stuff off of you,” she says. She has a wet rag and removes the goop from my privates, and she turns the lantern off. “Let’s see if I got it all” she says as she goes down on me.
As I have said, she gives amazing blow jobs. And she is very good at maintaining control of me. She can bring me close to the brink numerous times, backing me down before resuming. I’m not abundant in size, like my good friend Mike is, and while he teases me about our compatible sizes, I’m not a shorty either. She can take all of me and is proud that she can deep throat me. I’m just not allowed to cum in her mouth and I have always respected that. “That’s enough for now. It’s past midnight and I wanted to do something special because it is now officially your birthday. I’ll be right back; I need to get something from the house.” It’s been one heck of a day and already a long night. And I assume it’s not going to be over for a while yet.
She returns and I see she has balloons, a lot of them, twelve to be precise. Large birthday themed helium filled mylar balloons. She must have been to the dollar store. She has them secure to a weight of some sort and sets them down beside me. “Happy birthday Toy!” She also has something else. “Do you recognize these?” she asks. I do; they are a pair of latching lockdown metal nipple clamps. They are a pretty severe set of clamps. You see them used a lot on heavy BDSM porn sites on women.
I respond, “Yes Ma’am.”
“Do you remember you gave them to me in our secret stocking for Christmas years ago? You were really excited to use them. It was back when you were still doing me, not me doing you. And for New Years you took me upstairs to the attic to play. You stretched me out, my arms over my head and my feet spread wide just like you were today. You put a leather hood and a blow-up gag on me. Another new accessory we hadn’t played with before. Then you put these on. You put strings on them and tied them off to hooks you had in the studs pulling hard on my crushed nipples. They were extremely painful when they went on and they were worse when you tied them off.
You left them on till you were done vibrating me with a magic wand till I had a forced climax and then screwing me. You couldn’t tell I was in tears and pain because of the hood and gag. I hid the clamps afterward so you couldn’t use them on me again. I think you should try them, so you know what they feel like. Are you okay with that?”
I honestly never knew she had suffered. She doesn’t mind some pain/pleasure play but apparently, I had unknowingly gone way past that. What could I say but, “Yes Ma’am, I’m okay with that, it’s fair.”
She was dead right. These clamps are excruciating going on. They lock down hard on the nipples. Thankfully, she captured all of the nipple and some of the meat behind it on both sides. If she had caught just the tips it would have likely been unbearable. God, I hope that isn’t what had happened to her. What she did next was ingenious. She tied three of the balloons to each clamp, which pulled the clamps upright. She then tied four balloons to the tip of my dick, looping the ribbons around the shaft just below my dick’s head and finishing them off with a bow. It too was pulled skyward. “I was going to tie the last two balloons to your sack, but I think I’ll put one more balloon on each of your clamps.” And she did. My nipples numbed out quickly and the initial pain is mostly gone. The balloons on the other hand are swaying in the light breeze tugging not so gently on my hurting nipples.
I’m alone again. She has gone back to the house. This time for what seems like a substantial amount of time. I have had a long day. While my abuse has been certainly less than my BDSM experiences with the guys, being in bondage tied tight and straining against the bonds wears the body out. I noticed that the stars that were shining bright had begun to disappear as had the three-quarters moon that was lighting the sky when I was first tied down. There are clouds rolling in. And with the clouds there is a growing breeze. A breeze that blows against the balloons making them collide as they dance. More clouds, more wind. More tugging and twisting.
This is abusing my nipples, I try to simply ignore it, but that is hard. My tired body wants to drift off to sleep but the balloon action is getting even more active and won’t let me. I hear some distant thunder. There’s going to be rain. Isolated rainstorms are common in North Carolina. They are often in the forecast. She knows there was to be one tonight and she adjusted her plans accordingly. For instance, she told me later that I was originally going to have the nipple clamps put on in the attic reenacting what was done to her. I was tied up the same way, but she decided the balloons, wind and rain would be more fun. She has returned. “I don’t think the lightning is going to bother us.
We will play in the rain. I’ve changed into my bathing suit, so we’ll be fine. Well, I’ll be fine. You, not so much.”
It took a good twenty minutes to a half hour for the rain to come. The balloons were having a heyday in the winds, and my nipples and even my dick were suffering for it. This was far worse than the streamer that was tied to my dick when I was up the flagpole in Vegas. The lightning had gotten closer than I would have preferred. A lifeguard would have cleared the pool. I was pondering hard if helium mylar balloons draw lightning. The rain started lightly but then turned into one of our common North Carolina downpours. As I said, she knew all day that the storm was predicted. So, she was ready to abuse me with it too, as if the balloons being pelted by rain and blowing about wasn’t enough.
She has brought our Jennings dental gag with her, has me open my mouth wide and then ratchets it until my teeth cannot close. Then she lays a cotton dishtowel over my face and tucks it in under my head which remains tent pegged to the ground. And she waits for the storm to do its thing. The sprinkles turn to rain, to a heavy downpour. As you can imagine, the cloth soaks up the water as it comes down and I am being waterboarded.
Unlike San Diego where this didn’t phase me. I’m starting to suffocate from the wet drowning effect of the cloth. I suck as hard as I can through the water-soaked cloth to breathe, but to no avail. What I pull in is vapor saturated air. The lungs revolt. I try to shake the cloth off, but my secured head won’t allow success. I don’t know it, but she is kneeling just above my head, watching me closely, when she thinks I am out of breath she lifts up an edge, giving me a needed breath before tucking it back in for another round.
I think I suffered through five or six rounds before she grew tired of this and removed the cloth, still leaving the gag in so that I had the rain fall into my open mouth. She has tied me on a slight incline, but my still relatively flat position made my swallowing of the accumulated water difficult and so when she noticed I was stressed, she released the gag. “Thank you, Ma’am, I was starting to get into trouble there.”
