by J D Stones
This time she had a variety of reddened male buttocks and was holding a hairbrush. "Don't think it's just you that I discipline," she had written as the subject and I scanned the pictures to elicit any further detail; where these the same guys she was screwing in the morning?
"You OK?" Bryn asked. Our conversation had dropped off as I scanned the picture intently and he glanced into my lap to survey the kinky photographs on my telephone screen. “Wow. That one's really red!”
I squawked as his wheels clipped the grass verge and his eyes returned to the country road, full of tight turns and unpronounceable place names. “Have a look when we stop!” I demanded, flicking my phone screen off to ensure that Bryn resisted temptation. His eyes focused on the road after that and a few miles later he turned off into a dirt track before we reached the next village, bumping across the uneven ground.
“Somerset Gardens,” I read as we bounced past the sign, crying out as my body objected to the rough treatment my neighbour was subjecting me to. “What's Somerset Gardens?”
He laughed. “Something that will take your mind away from … other things!” The car accelerated towards a break in the hedges, before pulling into an expansive car park that held over 80 cars. Two naked men walked into the landscaped garden behind it and I glanced at him. “Naturist resort … with a difference.”
“With a difference?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, but said little more as he unbuttoned his shirt. I didn't ask any further; I didn't want to spoil the surprise he was obviously excited about. His smile was broad, his hands feverishly undressing. “T'is amazin' site!” He boasted. “Been twice before.”
I slipped my T-shirt over my head and placed it on the dashboard of his expensive saloon car, before removing my masculine shorts and lacy underwear. He watched me retie my trainers with an impetuous blithesome snort, impatiently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Ready, where do we go?”
“Don't you want to know where we are?” He asked, as he opened the door.
I answered as I left the car, continuing the conversation as we walked across the car park towards the landscaped gardens. “It's a swingers' resort. Normally. But every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday is a special event: uniform, crossdressers, gay, lesbian, heavy kink – you name it.”
“And today … let me guess, gay?”
He snorted in derision. “Hell no.” I felt almost disappointed in a way I shouldn't have done. My relationship with Erin was based on the principle that I couldn't have sex with another woman and if homosexual gratification wasn't allowed then my day could be worryingly chaste.
But then, Bryn had a similar arrangement with Christina and his steps were almost bounds as we stepped through the landscaping towards an elegant house between the trees. “No?”
“Well a bit. It's a submissive male naturist event. Gay, straight, bi; the works.”
“OK.”
“They'll be sadistic women and men, and lots of fun. The last time I came, I had so much sex.” My ears pricked up, as I surveyed the manicured grass lining the well maintained garden. My eyes were drawn to a passionate couple; the busty woman squealing as her legs pressed down on the mouth of a male submissive, grinding her pasty hips to feel the swirling tongue of the punished man, lay across the deep green lawn.
She was brazen. Shameless. Outrageously flagrant with her sexual pleasure as her partner drove his tongue against her delicate folds in the autumn sunshine.
But it was sinfully erotic, lustfully exciting the senses as we watched the lewd display of carnal satisfaction.
And they weren't the only ones; as we neared the house, a man was being beaten by a couple of naked dominatrixes and another man was being plowed from behind as a strapon penetrated his ring.
By the time Bryn pushed open the main door and nodded towards a lady on a battered desk, my cock was incredibly erect. I wanted to play and my partner said nothing as he glanced down at my excited state.
“Bryn Forrester plus visitor,” he announced and glanced towards me. “I paid by PayPal. Password is cuckold.”
She said nothing as she scanned the open folder before withdrawing two sheets of paper and passing us both one each. My name was scribbled in biro across the top of the form and she passed me a pen. “Fill it in, read it and sign it.”
No emotion, little warmth. The form needed next of kin and address details before gave a comprehensive set of rules. It consisted of standard demands: “no means no,” “only join in if asked,” “no photography unless all participants consent,” and so on. It was reasonable rules to protect the participants and I signed the bottom of the form with a flourish of the borrowed ballpoint.
Although the miserable receptionist offered to “show us round” the facilities, I was glad when Bryn declined and led us into the large plaza in the centre of the grounds. A pool dominated the square, and a myriad of sounds surrounded us as naked man and women cavorted in the bright sunshine.
A poster detailing the activities and workshops that day was pinned to the noticeboard as we entered the well lit arena. We scanned the notice. Bryn asked: “Fancy a rope workshop?”
“Workshop?” Bryn noted the disappointment in my voice that I didn't mean to show.
“There'll be plenty of time for playing.” The tone of his voice was playful but his meaning was clear. I slightly reluctantly agreed to attend and we walked across the plaza to an expansive ground floor space. A couple of dozen people sat on the floor and surrounding a large blue mat.
A greying middle-aged woman introduced herself to each person in the circle as Faith; there was a confidence about the short, thin woman. Her breasts were deliciously pert, belying the myth of older women, and her skin youthfully radiant.
“I normally do Shibari instruction,” she called out, bringing the muted chatter to a silence. “But as this is a submissive male event I'm thinking of some cock and ball rope play.” Her eyes darted around the room, drinking in the group's response. She began.
It was informative: her brief discussion on rope play safety was standard fayre and the rope lecturer handed some EMT shears with angled blades around the group as she spoke. They remained in the centre of the room as she passed some rope, a few feet in length, and told us to "pair up."
To my left was a single woman; I didn't catch her name, but the lithe naked woman wearing just a beaded necklace and turned to face me. "Do you mind if I tie your balls?" I glanced at Bryn. "If your boyfriend doesn't mind."
Before I could answer, Bryn giggled and put his hand on my naked buttocks. "Oh, be gentle with him, sweetheart," he teased as he took a length of rope from Faith and turned to the squirming gentleman beside him.
"Where would be the fun in that?" The green eyed lady replied. "I'm love making men squeal in pain!"
I took her in for a moment: she possessed an effortless beauty, sweetness and innocence rolled into a delicate bundle of sexiness. Her breasts were gorgeous, her body hairless and her expression filled with captivating purity that belied her true intentions.
"Peter," I introduced myself, watching the scarlet rope slide through her delicate fingers.
"Kayleigh."
We watched Faith bring her husband onto the mat and she took a length of rope to begin with the "Masthead Knot." Her black rope was tied into three loops that were turned inside out to make a clover-type shape. She pushed her partner's diminutive penis through the centre and tightened, pulling over the testicles to separate the balls.
He looked content; the demonstration was sexually charged. She repeated the tie, and then "the subs" were told to lie on the floor as the rope tops tied their partners balls up.
It felt hot to have Kayleigh knelt between my legs; her soft hands played with the rope and sent shivers of electricity up my cock the moment she touched it. It felt scintillating and exciting; delightfully weird to have another woman man-handle by intimate areas.
She was gentle as the rope slid over my dick and around my balls, tightening the rope
to make me squeal. Faith looked over her shoulder and offered a suggestion, pausing to make Kayleigh readjust the rope and tease my aching cock into an erection with gentle touches and fleeting brushes with her hands.
The rope tightened between my balls, separating my testicles tightly and pulling the skin taught over my delicate genitals. "Did you say be gentle?" She asked my neighbour with a giggle, and dragged her sharp fingernails over my helpless ballsack.
She delighted in my cries of discomfort and shock, pulling my thighs further apart as the innocent girl guiltily appreciated the throbbing pangs of sensual pain she was sadistically causing.
I squirmed but her arms holding my thighs apart were deceptively strong. Her eyes stared straight at mine, taunting me to beg for mercy. To plead to her for clemency and accede to her playful dominance.
But I wouldn't. I glared at her, refusing to surrender as her fingers dug into my sensitive genitals and her lips pursed in concentration. Her fingers squeezed my tender spheres, smiling as my cries became vocal and loud.
"You OK over here?" Faith asked; my anguish attracting her attention.
"I'm just taking advantage of squeezing his nuts while he's helpless," Kayleigh replied, laughing as her hands gripped my tormented gonads.
The torture was eased when our teacher instructed the tops to untie the balls and she demonstrated a "Bottle Top Knot." It looked simpler than the original knot, and tied around the base of the balls and was secured with a couple of half-hitch ties, before dangling the rope between her partners legs. "For adding weights," she suggested and Kayleigh's eyes gleamed.
Her fingers were rougher than before, tying the two loops into a simple array of twists and turns and sliding over my balls as I submissively lay in front of her. She pulled on my genitals, making me wince and then tied the her bottle of water to the end.
I felt little as I lay down, but a click of her fingers indicated I was to stand up. I stood gingerly, slowly getting to a squatting position before the water was ready to be lifted by my balls. I panted, unlike much I had done that weekend, groaning as my testicles stretched downwards to take the full weight of the bottle.
It was pain. A forceful, deep, intense discomfort that lifted that water from the floor as Kayleigh smiled, watching my facial expression of agony fade into one of relief.
Her foot aimed at the bottle, sending the container swinging backwards and into a large arc that had me howling with pain. For a moment the pendulum hanging from my testes and my cries of anguish made me centre of attention.
Everyone stopped and watched. Everyone saw my hands dropping to relieve the pressure in my aching balls and fall to the floor to release the weight on my ballsack.
Kayleigh smirked; she rubbed the inside of her thigh as she hauled me back to standing, taking her water bottle in her hands and untying the weight from my testicles, before leading me around the hall by tugging on my sensitive orbs.
The pain was intense; a gentle pull from her had me yelping in discomfort, but before too long, Faith wanted her rope back and Kayleigh begrudgingly unshackled my intimate parts from her sadistic games.
"Just when I was enjoying myself," she moaned.
Bryn overheard. "I'm going to a cross-dressing talk." He looked at Kayleigh with a conspiratorial smirk. "Catch you later! Oh, and this is Lee."
He introduced us to the man he had been tying up; the shy statuesque guy had a boyish charm but was clearly in his early thirties; he was apprehensive and reticent, shrinking under the sudden attention.
I found his diffidence alluring: the uncertain body language and bewilderment in his eyes made him look like prey. "You on your own?"
He nodded; my lips clamped together as his eyes flicked towards the sadist inches from me. He opened up over lunch. The hosts had provided a giant buffet in a cool marquee and Lee, with his short brown hair and washboard stomach, lost his timidity.
He was single: a man who fantasised about submission and had even paid to visit a dominatrix but admitted to being overwhelmed by rampant sexuality on display.
There was a hotness coursing through him; whether it was his reserved behaviour or his sexy body, the thought of playing with the naturist made my cock stand and leak precum onto my shaft.
And then there was the chatter; Kayleigh had him admit his sexual fantasies: submission and masochism, forced bisexuality and extreme genital torture. Every admission reddened his cheeks further, every muttering of masochistic desires was a torture in itself.
He bared his soul and his inner imaginations to a stranger.
After lunch, Kayleigh teased him in the extensive gardens. She toyed with his sensitive prick and rolled his cock in her hands, pinching it to cause winces of pain. She flicked her lips against his nipples and then bit on the sensitive flesh. She smoothed her hair and gripped his cock tightly, bringing the submissive boy to his knees until he begged for mercy.
Kayleigh showed no mercy. She told him to utter a safeword and his lips mumbled incoherently. His eyes were filled with terror, his body quivering with excitement and fright as Kayleigh brought her bare foot into an arc and slammed into his cock.
He collapsed in pain. The screams echoed off the nearest buildings and she glanced towards me; it was one masochistic torment that I had placed beyond my red lines. Lee was swimming in his deepest fantasies, perversely enjoying the chronic pain in his balls and squirming as blows hammered into his crotch while prone, on the ground.
She ordered him to stand; telling him to take his torture "like a man." Moments later, her knee to his genitals caused the tortured man to collapse once again, yelling as his hands felt for his agonising cock.
He squealed his safeword for Kayleigh to ease off her torture and she clicked her fingers at me. "Kiss it better."
Her mouth creased; watching as Lee tensed, squirming as I knelt down between his legs. The blunt head of his cock looked enticing, the shaft of his cock smooth and hairless.
He winced as my lips planted a delicate kiss on the purple end of his dick. It tasted slightly acidic, a musky, febrile taste that excited the bisexual fervor in my brain and had my damp cock leaking once more.
And I didn't want to stop, slowly rolling my tongue over the thick head and sucking gently as my hands rubbed his muscle-clad stomach. He felt so sexy, so hot, so gorgeous.
He averted his eyes; he looked away then closed them, desperate to not watch the gay blowjob causing his cock to twitch and savour.
Kayleigh told me to kiss his balls too; my lips closed over the first, drawing his smooth spheres of manhood into my mouth and sucking gently.
His cock twitched with every movement; his body whimpering with every swish of my tongue over his loins. Every kiss, every touch, every suck and every caress. Each contact drew excited grunts from his tortured, reluctant body.
And the sadist teased and taunted; she made him open his eyes to see his cock being sucked by a middle-aged man not a diminutive blonde girl. She made him watch as my mouth was impaled by his meaty, thick cock and sucked an orgasm from his body.
And she made him cum in my mouth, coating my tongue with his seed as the straight submissive experienced another man for the first time.
I wanted to play further with the pair, but I sensed that Kayleigh wanted to experiment with her new friend on their own and so I made my excuses, leaving with the taste of semen filling my senses to go to a chastity workshop.
Fiona, a middle-aged blonde woman with her hair tied into a ponytail, was with her partner in the main workshop area and they had a large table full of scary-looking torture devices.
Fiona had a crowd of two-dozen; she took a ball of twisted metal and spoke confidently about the design, before applying a cock ring to her partner and attaching the cage to it.
"I need a volunteer!" There were no takers. "A wager."
"Sure," I shouted.
"For each device I'm going to put on him, I'll give you ninety seconds. If you can make him cum in ninety seconds I'll give you a hundred pou
nds." She strained her neck muscles as I digested her offer. "Deal?"
Her husband was a few years older than me, but I felt my cock twitch at the thought. She picked up a length of rope while she waited for a response, tying her partners hands behind his waist.
"OK. Do I have a vibrator to use?"
"Just your hands and your mouth."
The taste of metal and the feel of the steel clanking against my teeth wasn't pleasant, as the metal cage held his cock well out of the reach of my tongue.
The plastic cage was worse; I couldn't touch his cock at all. She replaced his chastity cage with a spiked variant and I got nothing but cries and whimpers as I tried desperately to draw excitement in his manhood. I succeeded in him filling his cock with blood and caused the metal spikes to bring further agony to his genitals.
Finally, with a Gates of Hell, I felt his balls fall onto my lips, sucking the delicate testicles as his encased cock stretched its restraints. My mouth sucked and caressed the delicate skin on his tender ballsack, drawing underneath his sweaty body to flick the perineum.
His sighs drew Fiona's attention; my cock erect as I lavished oral attention on the second man inside an hour. His sexual energy was intoxicating, his desperate lust and taste of the forbidden was exhilarating as his arousal built.
Alas, we ran out of time; she ruffled my hair as she stopped me, and she drew the workshop to a close. I fantasised about her partner, teased and denied in his chastity tubes, desperately looking at me as if I had failed.
I suppose I had.
And it wasn't until I had a tanned Spaniard pounding my arse did I feel any better. Dom held my legs above my waist, pushing his undersized cock into my rectum while his wife sat astride my face, feeling the lust drain down my cheeks as her hips bucked and her legs quivered.
I was being used. I was being taken. I was being a slut, filling the sexual needs of a bisexual couple as my arsehole relaxed to draw in Dom's member and my tongue swirled over Jade's clitoris.
I loved the feeling of a threesome; I adored the submissive sensations sweeping through my taken body they approached the peaks of their arousals.