My Inaugural Post as a Norse Deity

The other night was a night of expanding boundaries.  And then stomping on those boundaries.  And setting them on fire.  We ended up popping a few play cherries as well in addition to doing some play that was formerly a hard limit for me.  T implied that she had something special planned for that night, but I had no idea what.  I am coming up on a birthday, which is also the same day she collared me two years ago.  It’s a birthdayversary.  So there are celebration-worthy occasions about.

I picked T up from work and we went to my place.  She told me to strip and kiss her feet.  She then made me clean the soles of her sandals with my tongue.  This has a pretty intense cognitive dissonance with me.  All I could think as I was doing it was of her earlier comment that day about how dirty the floor at work is.  My brain wanted it to stop, but certain other parts of me disagreed vehemently.

Afterward she had me crawl into my cage in the living room.  Before closing it, she put earplugs in my ears and a hood over my head.  She had only done this once before, so I started to guess at what was coming: some sort of group scene.

She kept me in the cage for what felt like about an hour.  Eventually letting me out, she led me upstairs, still hooded.  Upon removing the hood, there stood two of our friends, a male-female couple.  I’ve played with the female half of this couple a few times before, and it was always gobs of fun.  She and T wasted no time in getting me into position.  They had me kneel at the foot of my bed (facing the bed), stretched my arms wide, cuffed them to the footboard, and popped a set of nipple clamps on me.  One thing was present that I wasn’t used to seeing during a scene: cake.  They brought a small cake with them, and it was sitting on my dresser.  After some initial biting, scratching, and ass-smacking, they began saying how nice it was that my male friend was going to help decorate my cake.  His partner mentioned that it was even nicer of T to help him with this decoration.  As she said this, T got up on the bed, on all fours, face-to-face with me.  He then proceeded to fuck T from behind while his partner probed my ass and bit me.  In this position, I was unable to turn away, my face a foot or two away from T’s as she moaned and writhed.  She’d occasionally look me in the eye or smile at me, letting me know how much she was enjoying rubbing this in my face.  Her face was saying, “I’m loving this and you can’t do a thing about it!”  Her cheeks became flush after a while, and this time I wasn’t the one causing it.  I’d yank on the cuffs, but they didn’t give at all.  At one point T realized this whole situation had made my dick stand at attention; she just looked at my hard cock and laughed in my face while enjoying someone else’s hard cock.  That absolutely drove me up a wall!

I also had the realization that this was actually happening.  Something that had always been a hard limit for me was now going on.  For real.  Not in my head.  Not on some fet group or in a story, but in my bedroom.  Flesh and blood.  This was reality.

After a while he stopped fucking T and asked for the cake.  To both women’s cheers, he came all over it, and they set it aside.  Afterward, his partner had me suck her dildo, which resulted in an orgasm for her and was ten pounds of sexy.  The three of us played some more while my male friend watched.  Eventually he had enough for round two, and masturbated onto the cake again.

Still kneeling and cuffed in place, T brought the plate of cake over and cut off a bite-size piece.  She dragged it through the cum on the plate and brought it up to my mouth.  “Please, no…” I said, which was met with , “Open wide!”

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She kept feeding me forkful after forkful, making me shudder.  I couldn’t taste the cum at all, but I could tell it was there from the texture.  Not as bad as eating cum straight, but still difficult.  Then T said, “Now I’m going to make it even better” and walked away.  She came back shortly after with a cup of her piss. . . which she promptly poured all over the cake.  They uncuffed me and led me downstairs to the kitchen.  The plate was placed on the floor, and T made me start eating.  It was mushy and warm.  I can’t say I’d ever had mushy and warm cake until that point.  The three of them cut a slice for themselves from a separate cake, one devoid of piss, cum, and other such lavish garnishments.  They stood there eating theirs, remarking on how good it was, while I gagged and swallowed piss cake.  (As I write this, I’m eating a leftover piece of the cake not covered in bodily fluids; they were right, it is really tasty!)

This wasn’t the end though.  T wiped my face off with a paper towel and led me back upstairs.  She showed me a picture online and the trail of comments that followed.  It was a picture she’d posted after our anniversary scene in December.  She’d carved “happy anniversary hardcore legend” into my back that night.  (For an explanation of that nickname, click here.)  The guy who dubbed me with that nickname commented on the photo right after it had been posted, saying he should’ve given me a longer nickname.  I jokingly suggested “Sir Thor LionHammerThunder, Great Defender of the North.”  This exchange occurred soon after the picture was posted in December, and I’d forgotten all about it.

That smartassery came back to bite me.

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This cutting took a while.  Last time she carved words into my back, I had a really hard time not squirming all over the place.  This time, it was a little different.  T started humming softly at one point, which is an ASMR trigger for me.  She was going for a creepy vibe by quietly humming a song while cutting me, which she definitely accomplished.  But at the same time, it relaxed my head just enough to avoid crawling off the bed.  I still felt every cut though.  Also, our female friend kept rubbing my legs (and at one point I think sat on them?) which helped as well.  I was able to tolerate the cutting without any real sudden jerks this time.

Soon after, our friends left.  Laying on the bed with T, I found myself spontaneously begging her to let me cum.  Begging is still difficult for me, so the fact that I did it without her telling me to speaks to how worked up I was.  I was stunned when she said yes, but I wasn’t going to question that.  After six months without being allowed to orgasm at all, it felt amazing.  Fireworks.  It felt like my brain was short-circuited for a minute or so after.  She did have me eat all my cum afterward, but I was still so floaty and happy that I got to cum that it wasn’t as bad as usual.  Strangely, after long periods of chastity, when I finally get to orgasm again, I sometimes get into a giggle fit right after.  I had a small one after this orgasm too.  Definitely a solid way to end the night!

Despite All My Rage, I am Still Just a roo in a Cage

I’ve got a small dog  cage in my living room.  It’s always fun whenever friends from the community come over.

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a dog!”

“I don’t.”

Caging was never a type of play I’d been into before, mainly due to lack of exposure to it.  But then a friend had me be the middleman in giving her dog’s cage to another friend.  While it was in my possession, I saw the size of it and wondered if I’d fit, so of course I tried.  It was a snug fit.  I bought one.

It’s just large enough for me to fit in if I stay curled up.  I can get into a semi-comfortable position in it, but that only lasts about 5-10 minutes before I have to find another position.  T and I had tried it a few times now, each time for roughly half an hour.  I found it incredibly sexy to look up at her relaxing on the couch, completely ignoring me.  Between her laptop and her massive collection of books, she’s never short on things to do while I’m in the cage.  Knowing that I was completely at her mercy and couldn’t get out until she wanted to let me out made her power more palpable.

The other night, she had me strip as soon as we walked in the door.  She placed the collar around my neck and had me get in the cage.  Then she simply walked away.  She eased onto the couch, turned on her laptop, and put on some headphones.  (She didn’t want me to hear the music as that makes the time pass faster for me when I can hear it.)  Her shoes off, she positioned herself so her soles were facing me, which was a further way of teasing me with something I constantly crave. This time, she kept me in the cage for an hour.

Extended caging is one of the things we’d talked about trying before.  It’s intimidating but potentially rewarding.  Being brought to the point where I desperately want out, yet she refuses to let me out, is a powerful fantasy.  We definitely had more of that aspect to it this time around.  It wasn’t to the point where I was pulling on the bars and pleading to be let out, but it was enough to start to cause some of that inner panic.  This really drove home the fact that she’s in control.  And it contrasted very well with her calm, aloof demeanor as she relaxed on the couch.  She was relaxed and comfortable, enjoying the evening, while I was tightly confined and wanting out.  This mental/emotional aspect of caging is one that I find the hottest about it.  I also like bondage, so I get off on the physical struggle against it as well.  But once something gets to a point where I no longer want it, that’s when we both get more turned on.  Even though I genuinely want it to stop in the moment, I look back on it later and think, “Damn that was hot!”  This “make it stop” quality is a hallmark of the scenes I think about when I orgasm.

When my cock isn’t locked away in a cage of its own, that is.

 

 

 

 

Happy Fucking Anniversary

Last night, T and I celebrated two years together.  But of course, we didn’t do it in the traditional way.  We did get dressed up and went out for sushi, but afterward, the normalcy stopped.

Back at my place, she had me strip, then told me to get some earplugs and meet her in the living room.  I froze a little when she told me that, just because of memories of the other time she had me put in earplugs.  I wondered if it would be something similar, and I got nervous.  In the living room, she had me put the earplugs in, then she put a hood and my collar on me before having me get in the cage.  (No, I don’t have a dog, but I have a dog cage in my living room.  Doesn’t everyone?)  After what I can only guess was about 20 minutes, I felt a rush of cold air and knew that she’d opened the front door.  A little bit later, she let me out and led me by the collar upstairs to my bedroom.  When she removed the hood, I looked up and saw her standing there along with a few of our friends.  All women, so I breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of cum-eating that would take place.

The earplugs came out, and one woman started with some rope work; she did a chest harness on me, then tied my wrists together and looped the rope over my head, forcing my hands up above my head.  T then walked in front of me and lifted my chin a little.  She smiled sweetly, then spit in my face.  She’d never done that before, and it was a shock to me.  That was fifty pounds of sexy.  This was immediately followed by a swift kick to the balls.  The women then took turns kicking me in the balls.  A ballbusting bonanza.  One after another, they rotated through, each giving me a few kicks and dropping me to the floor before another woman would take over.

After doing this for a while, they brought me to the foot of the bed and bent me over the footboard.  The ropes around my wrists were each tied to the corners of the footboard.  T put some nipple clamps on me which were then secured to the headboard by a long rope, keeping me bent over.  (The clamps eventually fell off and were replaced with a long rope securing my collar to the headboard, which also kept me bent over.)  They then proceeded to take turns working on my ass with various implements of ass destruction.  Canes, paddles, hands, floggers… I lost track of what was happening, especially since one woman would be working on my ass while another would focus on my upper body, rubbing vampire gloves over me or tormenting my nipples.  Occasionally one of them would lift my face and spit in it, then continue with what she was doing.  They kept switching positions and implements, thoroughly confusing my body.

At one point, T said, “Now it’s time for the next phase.”  I was relieved, but also wondering what “the next phase” entailed.  I felt something cool and slick on my ass, and saw one of our friends come around in front of me wearing a strap-on.  Before I knew it, there was a cock in my ass and one in my mouth.  All I could do was pull against the bondage and let out muffled sounds.  They switched positions after a while, so now T was fucking my mouth and a friend fucking my ass.  At one point, we ended up moving to the floor, where the fuckery continued.  The other friends, lacking strap-ons, used gloved hands to fuck me.  They all took turns.  It made me feel used, in a sexy kind of way.  Especially when being fucked with a strap-on in both ends at the same time.  I’d never experienced double penetration before.  It was incredible.  It tripped that yes/no response in me that I find so hot, and it made me feel conquered.

T had me lay on my back on the bed and strapped a dildo gag to my face.  It has a small, stubby dildo on the inside of the gag as well, so it feels like she’s fucking my mouth when she uses it.  As she straddled the cock protruding from my face, the other woman with the strap-on pulled my legs up and started fucking me.  T faced the other woman, so all I could see was her ass in my face, going up and down, inches away from me.  T was getting off on my face while someone else violated my ass.  That was beyond hot.  Yowza.  T collapsed, flushed and sweating, onto the bed.

Then it was on to the finale.  T had me lay on my stomach, then donned rubber gloves and cleaned off my back.  She pulled out a scalpel.

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(If you’re confused by the “hardcore legend” part, check out this post to find out how that came about.)

She wins at anniversarying.  That was an incredible night, and not something I expected at all.

 

Giving Blood

I gave blood last night for a worthy cause-  T’s enjoyment.  She put me on my knees, then got out a knife.  We’d done knife play before, but never any cutting.  She had scratched me with the blade before, causing red or pink lines to form, though there was never any blood.  Last night, she went further.

As she dragged the blade across my flesh, I felt the same scratching sensation as before.  But at one point I looked down, and there was a small amount of blood filling some of the lines.  Not bleeding actively, just barely coming to the surface.

She carved “HxCL” into my chest and back, a reference to how I’m a “hardcore legend”, a running joke between some friends and I.  In addition, she also cut me in a few locations on the chest, abdomen, shoulders, and back.  The sensation wasn’t much different than the normal scratching she’d done previously, which I found surprising.  It added another dimension to the emotional aspect of knife play since now she had the option of actually cutting me.

When I look in the mirror, most of the cuts are still visible, but one stands out on my left shoulder and chest.  It’s bolder, stronger than the other cuts she made.  I’m still processing everything, but I get pleasant feelings when I see that.

A little while after carving the sub, we tried out a new toy I got.  I bought a white canvas straitjacket a couple weeks ago that I’d been itching to try.  The price surprised me- $40, and it’s machine washable.  Which is a good thing, considering we got it a little bloody during its first use.  It held up well.  Once she had me strapped in, T gagged me before proceeding to strap on a massive dildo, bend me over, and fuck me.

For 40 minutes.

Ack.  That was brutal.  I couldn’t even beg her to stop since I was gagged.  (We did have a safe-signal set up in case of emergency.)  At one point, I thought she was done, and I relaxed, letting out a long sigh of relief.  At that point, T put me on my back and kept going.  By then, all I could do was struggle against the straitjacket and whimper incomprehensibly into the gag.  I was pleading with my eyes for her to stop.  She towered over me, smiling and laughing at my torment, knowing I was unable to stop her.  That image is still cemented firmly in my head.  Her pleasure was clearly evident in her face, and her smile had a slight mocking quality to it.  Her power and my lack of control as she violated me were mind-boggling.  Such intense feelings.

After we were done, we got some of the toys cleaned up and cuddled for a while.  After lots of talking and cuddlification, when we were about to get to bed, she told me to get the bed warmed up and that she’d be right in.  Soon she was walking toward me, and she had a cup of water.  That was nice of her.  But she also had a wicked look in her eyes.  I wondered why since we’d been done playing for a while by then.  As she crawled onto the bed, I realized that it wasn’t water, and the “oh shit” alarm went off in my brain.  She handed me the cup and made me drink her piss.  Disgusting.  And with every grimace and shudder, her smile got bigger, and that reminded me why I was doing it.

Caging

Caging and other forms of confinement intrigue me.  The appeal isn’t much different than bondage.  For many, being able to struggle to no avail yields a feeling of helplessness and being at the domme’s mercy.

This is definitely something I’m curious about exploring.  Something made for a medium-sized dog would work best; there would be just enough room to move a little bit, but it would be small enough to be pretty restrictive.  Whether it’s a cage or any other sort of container, at some point reality would set in.  I’m trapped.  Only she can let me out.  But she’s not.  Maybe I can kick my way out.  No, not enough room.  Push with everything I’ve got……nope.  Pull the lock off?  Nothing.  Completely at her mercy.  I’m really stuck.  She’s got me, and I can’t do a thing about it.

That sounds just plain tasty.

Cages do have problems not present with bondage: transport and storage.  Bondage gear doesn’t take up much space.  But where do you put a cage?  If you live in a small or medium apartment, your storage space is at a premium.  Keeping a cage in the living room, draped completely in fabric, might work.  It could be used as an end table.

T and I did some price shopping for a cage a few weeks ago.  They were about what I’d expected.  Ideally, I’d like to find the kind of cage that breaks down into individual panels so that it can be stored flat.  Slip it under the bed and it’s out of sight.

Plastic storage containers could be another option.  I’ve seen a few that I could fit into, though it’d be a tight fit.  This would also be a form of breath play unless we made air holes.  Putting me in there and sitting on top sounds like a hot idea, at least on paper.  But I could stay in a cage for much longer than in a small plastic box.  And I’d be able to see T as she gloats at my situation, which I absolutely adore.

There will hopefully be a cage in my future.  The appeal is too strong not to explore.