I’ve always been drawn to S&M. My earliest sexual fantasy involved bondage and this yummy man, dressed as an executioner…hood and all. Even now, that image drives me to distraction. As I grew older, I became a cock tease in the extreme sense of the phrase. It wasn’t because I was frightened to have intercourse. It was because it was so satisfying to have so much control over men that they’d allow you to bring them to the point of complete distraction, and allow them to do the same for you, then stop it all in its breathless, panting, wet, hard and throbbing tracks. Divine!
I was always told by my very unsatisfied dates, that I was a bitch…nothing but a fucking prick tease and I left them hurting. Of course, the entire time, I’d be right next to them, as they furiously drove me home, nibbling on their silly necks. And I’d laugh. I couldn’t help it. Even as I write these words…relive these memories…I am laughing.
Of course, my desires grew over time and I met my husband and we began quickly with some very kinky play. He was my dominant for probably twenty years. Topping from the bottom, I taught him everything he knows. It was delightful! If you’re in the position of having to train your own dominant, do not let him/her know what you’re doing. It won’t set well. LOL! He became my best pupil, and we enjoyed each other in that way for probably fifteen years. But I always had desires that I couldn’t share with him. I was not fully me when I had to submit. It was only roleplay, as sexually intense and gratifying as it was. Eventually, I’d venture out and find my place in the world of freaks and weirdos who make up the fetish/bdsm community. And by ‘freaks and weirdos’, I mean that I met the most interesting people one could dream of.
One person who sticks out in my mind is a very old man I met online. He and his wife had been married forever and he was a wonderful conversationalist. I believe that we met in a poetry chatroom on the old AOL. On a daily basis, he and I would chat and he’d tell me about his garden, his lovely and most proper wife…and, eventually, he’d tell me that he was a sadist. I was instantly mesmerized and simply HAD to know more. So, since he lived but a half hour away, we agreed to meet and have a nice lunch together so that I could pick his brain.
When the day finally arrived, I was more excited than I anticipated. I got to the restaurant early so that I could watch him walk in. At last, the door opened and in walk a man of around seventy. He was over six feet tall and very round. He wore khakis, a white shirt and suspenders. His white hair was almost totally gone on top…he looked like someone’s grandfather. As I would find out, he was, indeed, just exactly that. I adored the way he spoke of his wife, too. To him, she was a pure thing…a delicate and innocent woman who he still found beautiful after decades of marriage. But, I think I may be getting ahead of myself…
The old man and I ordered and, before drinks arrived, we began an intense conversation. As it turns out, he was a very well known sadist in the Houston area and people, mostly couples, would hire him to participate in their play time and to teach them his craft. He laughed when he mentioned the last part because, as most quickly discovered, they did not have the stomach to learn his craft. Most could barely endure a session with him. My absolute favorite thing he described was when he’d take a long length of rope and have the woman tie it to her partners cock and/or balls. The man would be in four point restraints on the bed, gagged and blindfolded. The woman would then pass the rope’s end to the old man. He’d pull up a chair and face it towards the bed. He’d then run the rope over the back of the chair and tie it to an empty gallon jug. Once that was done, he’d let the couple play for a bit, until the man was throbbing and hard. Then, he’d instruct the woman to get a large glass of water and pour it into the bucket. Then another…and another…playing in between.
The old man would watch this go on from across the room. He said that it sometimes bored him, until the screaming began. And it always began. Fevered moans from behind the gag as one glass after another filled the gallon jug…pulling…stretching…weighing down…the man’s cock and balls. Normally, by the time the man was starting to really try to yell, the woman would begin to chicken out. The old man wouldn’t have it and would attach another gallon jug. He said that was when he’d begin to enjoy it, but never sexually. He simply liked watching the drama unfold. The worried partner…fearing that she’d gone too far as her man screamed as loudly as possible…crying…the whole nine. The old man would command the woman to continue until he knew the man could take no more. After that, he’d collect his money and leave them to whatever they decided to do.
The old man and I laughed so much that beautiful afternoon. It would be the first of many that we’d share. He became a friend to me and I so enjoyed watching him tell his stories with that wicked lil gleam in his eyes. Mostly, I appreciated his decency. Because, no matter how much he played, he never once cheated on his wife. He was very proud of that. And it made me understand what true worship was all about.
Until next time…