by Willow Sears
Back in my Scold Room I decided to tease Mickey with my usual cruelty. Blueberry was consigned to his corner whilst I made Lilya strip naked and dance provocatively. She got her nipples hard and rubbed her cunt. Her puss lips needed no help from pumps to look fat and lusciously inviting. I watched Mickey’s kilt rise with my usual mix of dread and awe. He sported yet another length that seemed too long for anybody, particularly my own. It had a silky look though, and was slender enough for my fingers to meet comfortably as I grasped it and led him to the whipping post. I had him remove the Mickey head. He was younger than I had guessed. Most of the male club-goers are in their thirties at least and the ones with athletic bodies like this were often absolutely sure of themselves, not so much subs as much as guys who had seen and done it all and now wanted to experiment in every way possible. Mickey appeared less confident without his mask. His flushed cheeks were as smooth as his torso and there was an enticing pretty-boy femininity to his features. If I hadn’t seen the speed his cock rose at the sight of Lilya fingering herself, I would have bet on him being gay. I felt absolutely confident in my power over him once I had seen his face.
I secured him with his wrists above his head and then spat on his cock-head and gave him a slow wank up and down his long pole to get him fully hard. It was a nice prick, I have to say. It fitted my palm nicely and the surface was smooth, not rough with bulbous veins like some. It felt iron hard and if I could have brought myself to remove my glove I know it would have exuded a thrilling heat. It was the type of cock I fantasized about tasting. It had been so long since I had sucked one and my memories of it were lost in the cloud of my younger years. I saw it done so often and tried to recall the feeling of your lips gliding over the saliva-covered shaft, the way it filled your mouth, the dirtiness of lasciviously sucking and slurping and flicking your tongue over the straining head, that cunt-wetting burst of shooting spunk inside you. But how could any Mistress perform such an act of servitude and retain her authority? Once you are on your knees you are lost, no matter how much the man is at your mercy, with his most prized possession between your teeth. No, cocks were just for the mouths of slaves, and balls were for tying off to help keep the dirty spunk at bay.
In this instance I used a black silk stocking to tie off Mickey’s balls. You have to hold and fondle the scrotum for a while to get them warm and loose before you make a bow above the testicles, around the tubes. It can be painful and may even cause some swelling afterwards, but it is worth it, since it always keeps the spunk contained for much longer than normal and the final come can be quite a wrench, or so I am told.
I then brought over the cock-horse. For those unfamiliar with this apparatus, it is a mini version of the gymnastic pommel horse, about a foot long with a slim padded top in black leather. It has two legs at each end, splaying out in an inverted V, and they are adjustable, so that it can be brought up to any victim’s waist height. It has two black metal hoops to represent the pommels, and these can be removed completely or raised up and down to trap and hold any girth of either limp or rigid penis. I generally use it to confine a stiff prick before beating the shaft, or sometimes to hold it in place while I threaten to chop the pulsing member off with my Samurai sword or with the shears. But my Mickey Mouse slave had earned a different treat.
I went to my toy box and produced a large mousetrap which I placed on the cock horse below his still rigid tool. I set the trap off once, so he could watch it leap with the force of the snap. As I reset it, his cock began to deflate, his eyes widening as the precariousness of his position sunk in. His softening knob started to gently lower towards the trigger of the trap and despite his efforts to make himself rise again, it drooped inexorably towards its deadly fate. In the nick of time I grasped him and tossed him quickly, engorging his prick once more, seeing it rise to its proudest state. This time as it stretched out over the trap below, I carefully removed the block of cheese from the locket at his neck and placed it on the trigger so that he would have even less to fall before contact was made and the trap sprang shut.
Even a smiling, slowly masturbating Lilya couldn’t help him defy gravity. Once I stopped wanking him he could only maintain his erection for a while before fear and inaction took hold and he slowly begin to deflate. I went to his aid again, just as his panic reached a peak, grabbing him and jerking him hard once more. The process continued and I nonchalantly went over to squirt baby oil into my right palm to ease the friction of my grip and so prolong the tease, making it back just in time to save him from the jaws of hell. I pulled a velvet hood over his eyes so that he would only have his imagination to keep him stiff. I could see his bollocks stirring away and the beads of pre-come oozing from his prick-head as I took him over and over to the brink of explosion before letting him gently soften and shrink.
I have to admit that I thoroughly enjoyed the feel of his penis and almost got carried away with myself. It was just so slender and smooth, like the kind of dildos I preferred for my girl’s bums. If I had been alone, since he was blindfolded, I might have considered baring my cunt and sliding my slippery puss lips back and forth across his length. I tried to imagine it inside me but as always the frigid devil in my head shouted my imagination down and told me that the member was much too big to take, that it would bludgeon my womb and rip me open. I felt the spite rise from my belly, that irrational surge of anger I feel for all men whenever my head dictates that my body is just too tight for their cocks. I have a sudden need to hurt them and make them pay for my inadequacy. I grabbed his balls and gave them a squeeze. They were hot and heavy in my clasp and bulged purple against the shining tautness of his scrotum as his seed backed-up painfully within his constricted tubes. The tourniquet would never keep his spunk at bay forever, though.
Each time I rubbed him hard it took less to bring him to boiling point and longer for his erection to recede, but I am always very controlled and very patient. I whispered in his ear as I flashed my fingers up and down his length, my grip so light I was barely skimming the surface. I told him he was a misguided, misfortunate rodent that was about to lose a very dear friend. I told him he must be one of the stupidest mice alive to come out to play when this particular cat was most definitely not away. I could hear him fretting into the hood now, not sure what to do or say to buy him his release.
The pre-come was now stringing out in threads, threatening to spring the trap with its weight alone. His muffled babbling rose and fell with his hysteria and I grinned at his pleas to let him go, and then the more desperate pleas to let him come, even though he knew that would mean a defeated prick shrivelling slowly to an unimaginable fate. Every time I unhanded his cock to let it slowly fall I prolonged his agony by tapping his length softly with a long riding crop, or used the short soft leather tongue on his thighs or nipples, or to stroke and tease behind his balls, towards his anus. One time I had Lilya wipe her come-soaked fingers over his shaved scrotum and then get down to lap it all off again, but this very nearly set him off and I had to pinch his nipples hard to divert his mind and keep his jizz at bay. He had to withstand close to an hour of teasing torture before I knew that he could take no more, before his cock was so close to exploding that the merest touch would have set it off.
Reluctantly I had to finish the game. His prick bobbed from its latest teasing but this time I went behind him, standing into the post and putting my arms around his chest. I burrowed between his tight arse cheeks and found his hole with my middle finger, sliding it up despite its bold resistance, whispering in his ear that it was time now and that he should just be quiet and accept it. His cock was bobbing and inflamed from my wiggling finger inside him. After a minute of teasing I slid it from him and his shoulders slumped as if knowing his time this time was up. I could feel him shaking with the sobs but try as he might, gravity and lack of stimulation won the day and gently his penis took its slow journey back to its normal size. This time he barely managed a sound. Perhaps he was secretly dying for the trap to spring in the hope th
at the excruciating contact would at last send the spunk spurting from his swollen balls. He didn’t even tense up, he just sank back into the post to feel the comfort of me behind him while he waited for his dripping cock-tip to kiss the block of cheese. The slightest contact would deliver him at last from his torment one way or another.
That contact never came, of course, because I had moved the trap away a long time before, immediately after I had placed the hood over his head. He only started to weep properly when he realised that his shrivelled prick had reached its nadir and not yet been beheaded. I removed the hood and undid the shackles at his wrists. He was utterly defeated and allowed me to move him forward and put him onto his knees, his trim arse up to the heavens. I didn’t even bother to secure him because he was beaten and mine. As always, when I have a man completely at my mercy the sadist inside me surges free. I casually selected a cane and then thrashed him while he screamed. I hit his buttocks over and over, the thin switch hissing through the air before cutting into his defenceless flesh. He took it without moving, his fingers clawing at the hard floor, his eyes screwed shut, his mouth open and drooling. But he took it, even though there was venom behind every stroke and the more I looked at the neat arse and trim athletic body the more I hated him and all his kind for their size and potency, for their lithe powerful beauty that I simply can’t help but shrink from experiencing.
If anything he put his bottom out for more. His tied balls were still bulging and were visible from behind, trapped between his thighs. They must have taken hits–my delivery was too rabid and random to have avoided them. Perhaps he hoped that I could somehow beat the spunk out of them, deliver them finally from their suffering. Poor Mickey was a broken, sobbing wretch with a seared arse and balls aching beyond reason, but I just knew that the kinky sissy loved every second of his excruciating torment. Every burning stroke made his cock pulse and thicken, and as it rose my unreasonable anger fell away. I actually felt a pang of sympathy for him. I even briefly considered professing my delight at his cock and jerking him to the urgently needed relief I had been bent on depriving him. I still couldn’t grant him that sacred privilege though, even if he did make my cunt itching hot.
My strokes faltered against his purpling backside and I decided that enough was enough. I threw down the cane and made dirty Lilya get down behind him and bite his arse cheeks while I undid the stocking tourniquet around his testes. I then ordered her to lick his arse and reach around to wank him off. I could see the distension in his bollock pipes from their release from constriction, a billion sperm all rushing for freedom down his narrow tubes. I didn’t know this poor lad from Adam but for some reason I wouldn’t be content unless I hurt him. Perhaps I knew that all his most memorable climaxes had and always would be the ones that forced tears from his eyes and a scream from his throat, and if there was one thing I wanted from my fucks it was to be unforgettable. He craved the fat welcoming warmth of Lilya’s cunt but I wasn’t going to let him have it. Instead he cursed and screeched and spurted his spunk with ball-ripping force onto the hard floor and I put my hand over Lilya’s to ensure that she kept up her rabid pace and mercilessly jerked every last drop from him.
He collapsed clutching his balls with both hands, his face red and his eyes screwed shut. I let him lie in his foetal heap for barely a minute before chucking his kilt onto his body and digging him sharply in the arse with my pointy boot.
“Fuck off now,” I said tersely.
I perched upon the fuck-seat alongside Lilya, gently caressing her wet cunt as we watched him crawl away. She really was a filthy bitch and probably needed a good spanking and maybe my bare foot right up her so she could lick it clean as she ruminated on her depravity. I squeezed her clit to swell it in readiness but a movement from the dim corner grabbed my attention. I had completely forgotten about Blueberry. His flap had sprung open and his trifling cock was stuck out like an impertinent child’s tongue, enmeshed as before in the blue netting of his underwear. I tutted and shook my head, impatient at his presence when there was a fleshy cunt to be spanked.
“You really are the most unappealing fruit I have ever seen,” I said. “If you weren’t so instantly forgettable I might remember to beat the shit out of you.”
I could see the gleam in his eyes, two tiny dots of lively light behind the slits of his mask that betrayed his excitement. Strange, his cock seemed less ridiculous now I was accustomed to it. It was more a comforting sight, a harmless old friend after the potential danger of Mickey’s long weapon. I should have sent him packing but it felt mean not to humiliate him further. I don’t necessarily need anger to act. Satisfaction for me is derived from using my imagination, from dreaming up new ways to torture and debase my victims. I had him get up and come to me and he stood with his hands behind his back and his little prick poking out like some small sacrifice. I spread Lilya’s legs further to give him a better look at her sumptuous slit as she rubbed her clit in small circles. Burying yourself inside her and squashing your groin to her plump pouch of a quim would have been sublime. I pushed two fingers between her folds and she lifted her buttocks and thrust forward to meet my upward slide. When I withdrew my gloves shone with her leaching juice and I smeared it over her shaven mound and gave her a light spanking to feel the slimy flesh bounce. She spread herself and I slid all four fingers deep inside and then had her suck the juice from my glove. I made her fuck herself the same way and she rammed her fingers inside, stirring her knuckles against the slippery opening in an attempt to get her whole hand inside. It was seeing his little cock bobbing so close to her big, greedy hole that gave me the idea.
I went to the kitchenette and found the watermelon on the side. I often have one or two as refreshment for my gatherings, prepared over the previous week, a little round hole cut into the fatness of its belly so that vodka can be poured in little by little over the days to steep the flesh in alcohol. This one was only a couple of days into the process but it would do for what I had in mind. All I needed was one small sharp knife. On my return, Lilya had all but stuffed her cunt with her fist and Blueberry was leaning forward and peering close to see her juice flowing onto the padded seat. I placed the melon on the seat beside her in front of Blueberry.
“Imagine fucking that juicy cunt,” I said. “The heat on your cock, the warm sea of her cream bathing it and trickling down onto your balls, her fat cushion lips crushed to your body. Trouble is, my fruity slave, I don’t think she would even register your twig prick inside her. It would be like a needle in a bucket of warm oil; so unsatisfactory for you both. I think this is more your thing.”
I swivelled the melon around to display the little hole midway up the body, at the widest point. I sized up his erection again and gave him the benefit of the doubt, cutting away at the hole to widen it just a little. Then I brought the knife slowly to his cock. He whimpered and sucked in his breath as the blade touched his stiffness and ran along the top surface. I could feel his tremble but he definitely pushed his hips forward to offer his prick to me, if only fractionally. I wormed the blade into a hole in the net of his panties and tugged upwards to break the mesh. His little naked penis stared at me, shedding an opaque tear from its one eye. I didn’t laugh this time. I’m not sure what I felt. Certainly not sympathy as such, but a kind of warmth towards it, sure that it couldn’t hurt me. It was a little bit compelling too, in its own way. He gasped out loud as I circled my hand around it and drew him closer. It was like a little pulsing stick against my palm. Again I wondered how it would feel on my bare skin but the thought of actual intimate contact with him made me shiver.
My control slipped momentarily at the flashing thought of his little thing pushing into my tight cunny. I pulled him forward roughly and forced his erection against the hole in the melon, urging him to press on with the penetration until he was engulfed and my guilty thoughts of having this hideous specimen inside me had evaporated. It was a tight fit and he gasped as he thrust into the wet flesh of the fruit. He held the top of t
he melon to keep it in place as he obeyed my instruction and very slowly pushed his prick in and out. Hopefully it pained him terribly to see his manhood disappearing completely inside the fruit when he was so temptingly close to Lilya’s succulent cunt. The feel would be wet but cold and slushy, the tightly fitting ring of the skin the only thing bringing the stimulation he obviously needed. It was a cruel torment. I could see by his hesitation he was desperate not to give in and fuck the melon, not just due to the humiliation but because he wanted to hold back with his load in case he got a chance for the real thing. I worsened his plight by ensuring my bitch fucked her pussy loudly with her fingers. I insisted he continue fucking the fruit despite his attempt to hold back, and slapped his arse hard with a paddle when his thrusting lost its momentum.
“Her cunt is so fat and luscious, isn’t it, Blueberry? There can’t be any feeling more gorgeous than a hot, slippery slut’s pussy milking your cock can there?”
I only put the paddle down once he got the message and began pumping the fruit in earnest, holding the top with both hands like he was giving a face-fuck to some beauty, rather than shamefully pumping a watermelon. I could see he was trying hard to hold back but he was losing the battle. Every once in a while, when Lilya’s fingers rammed in extra deep, he couldn’t help but reciprocate with a harder thrust into the melon that brought his balls slapping against the hard green skin. Lilya tired a little, just keeping three fingers pushed deep inside while she waited for some energy to return to her wrist. I stepped in, spanking upwards onto her quim before sinking my fingers into her beneath her own. She was saturated and swallowed my two digits with ease. I added a third finger and felt a rush of joy when I realised that this was still not enough and nothing less than my whole fist would satisfy her hunger. I kept up my teasing commentary as I eased my hand inside her, squeezing it in under her three fingers, reminding Blueberry how irresistible she was and how pitiful he was in turn. The stark reality was not lost on him–she was stretched and clenching but still able to take my whole hand and more if I chose, whilst he could only slide his skinny prick in and out of a tiny circle cut into a fruit. The shame must have burned him.