A Gift From James

The thin halter perfectly forms to my breasts, clinging to my nipples. The slacks have folds, which can be pushed aside to form an opening at the crotch, allowing me to wear my dildo harness with the ‘man spreader’ attached.

I unpack the necessary supplies: dildo harness, ‘man spreader’, my delightful insertion, lubricant, and towels. A quick glance in the bathroom mirror brings a smile.

A rather imposing figure, I think to myself. At 31 I’ve worked hard to stay in shape and the effort shows. The light reflects off the shiny latex and highlights my muscles. The abdominals appear to be impressively masculine, and each movement of my legs stretches the rubber slacks in a very suggestive manner.

I retrieve a pair of special nipple agitators then return to the lounge not wishing to leave James alone in suspension. I draw the blinds down. A scheduled station stop is approaching, and our activity will most likely be deemed inappropriate by the inhabitants of the small dairy town.

I remove the headphones and hood. I want James to watch. A beautiful dominant female is going to painfully penetrate his well-stretched backside and thoroughly enjoy herself, as he begs for both mercy and attention to his libido. He’ll receive neither.

‘Well, James, it just isn’t your day’, I think with a diabolical chuckle.

He hangs at just the right height. With his ankles drawn up and attached to the waist belt, his buttocks are not entirely accessible. But the man spreader is a very long phallus, and I’m confident that the bulbous tip can be inserted followed by enough of the furrowed shaft to give James a good work over.

I insert the female end into his mouth. He graciously lubricates it while I stand before him and slowly smooth an oil covered hand down the lengthy male end. His eyes widen with the sight of me in black latex.

Yes, James. A little different side of me. Not the prissy psychologist you dated months ago.

As written, he has a thing for my breasts and he gapes with an amusing degree of sexual fever. The thin latex halter presents my mammaries in a manner that is as close to being uncovered as imaginable. He would be very disappointed to learn that it’s as good a view as he’ll get, until he presents his gift, of course.

“It’s time James. Do be a good boy.”

The ingeniously designed female end is retrieved, attached to the male end, threaded through the harness, and then it’s time for the fun. My personalized toy is slipped through the slit in the crotch and between my lips. I’m in heaven. Already wet in anticipation, the little phallus gently kneads the walls of my vagina. And a clever burl tickles my clitoris. It’s enjoyable just to walk about and feel the implement work its magic. And to have it perform its magic while impaling the waiting aperture of my male toy makes me wet with anticipation.

I decide to leave the parachute attached. The weight hanging from his scrotum will produce an interesting counter movement to each of my thrusts, and watching James cope with the double pain will be most amusing.

I pick up the nipple agitators and step behind him. He’s ready, if the male animal can ever be termed ready for sodomy.

The nipple agitators are intended to obtain James’ attention. Sometimes when placed in overwhelmingly

painful and humiliating scenarios, the submissive male fails to listen, with the pain signals blocking out perception. An agitator is comprised of two simple pieces of serrated surgical steel hinged together. The nipple is placed between the pieces, which are gripped in the palm of the hand. A squeeze of the hand squeezes the nipple, most painfully.

I’ll use them to guide James through his ordeal. He will not forget who is in control. Despite the possibility of distraction from the unbearable pain, if he does not follow direction, he will endure more.

I stand behind James and ‘knock’ on his back door with the tip of the ,man spreader,. I then reach around with each hand and carefully encase each nipple in an agitator. When I ever so gently pressure the agitators, James jumps in his harness.

“Open nicely for me, James.”

Yes, I have his attention. His rectum seems to swallow the hideous male appendage. The back pressure sends a wave of pleasure through my love pot, and the slow heavenly sodomy of my toy begins. We have hours of time. The only constraint is the endurance of my leg muscles, which I trust are up to the challenge.

James

D is an amazing woman. Here I hang completely helpless while she chooses to use me in a most demeaning manner. My role is to react, to respond to each of her thrusts and the incredibly painful pinching of my nipples. But there is a strange level of enjoyment for me in listening to her throaty moans of pleasure.

She is teaching me how to please. And I find myself a very receptive student, particularly when she gently closes the palms of her hands and the steel objects within send a jolt of pain.

But I soon learn the rhythm. First, a pinch tells me she’s about to thrust, and I concentrate on pushing myself open for her. Then, it is apparent after full insertion, with the accompanying strangely pleasurable pressure on my prostate that she wants me to tighten my sphincter as she withdraws.

Judging from her sighs of ecstasy, attempting to hold in the ‘man spreader’ as she withdraws provides a most gratifying sensation on her end. She casually comments at one point that the manipulation of her clitoris is indescribable.

I look down to see that despite all the discomfort, my manhood remains in full stand with fluid dripping down the lengthy shaft. The pain from the weighted parachute is not discernible. Any such signals to the brain are apparently ignored, overridden by the nipple torture and the painful sensation of the furrowed ‘man spreader’ working open my abraded rectum.

On occasion I break the rules and speak. Beg actually. A particularly deep thrust forces me to cry out in agony. But my entreaties are ignored. D is sedulous in thrusting the ‘man spreader’ and my pleas seem to spur her energy.

As the pain of the initial nasty thrust subsides, for some reason a deep need to please manifests in my mind. And there is an oddly warm feeling knowing that with each painful squeeze and thrust, I am helping D bring herself to climax. I am being of service and it is difficult for me to understand why it makes me feel so good, in view of the overwhelming suffering endured by my nipples and anus.

The pacing of her thrusts becomes slower but deeper. The nipple squeezes moderate, mercifully, as I endeavor to precisely time the opening and closing of my backside. Her gasps indicate a heightened level of enjoyment. Then her pace quickens and she lets out a final cry of lust.

She stops.