Earlier this week, while in bed, my boy and I were sharing a bit of grown up playtime. We were beneath the covers, entangled in one another, and I took him by a fist full of hair and pushed him down, face first, between my legs. I ordered him to pleasure me, to lick me, to clean me, and he did. But on this night, it wasn’t enough for me, and my sadistic cravings were in full force.
I had him get up on his knees and shift his body so that his face was at the lower half of my body, and his ass was up by my shoulders. This gave me perfect access to his dangling cock and balls. I took one of his balls in my fist and started to squeeze. Slowly, tightly, firmly.
His response was to press his face deeper into my dark and womanly parts. It seemed to be a natural coping strategy for him as he sought to manage the pain….sort of like yelling into a pillow. But not.
The squeezing and torturing of his balls continued. I did not let up, I did not back off, and I continued to crush and grind his balls. I took my nails and dug into the tip of his swollen cock. It was edging of a different kind, for it almost brought him to the point of break.
His mouth was fully pressed into me. My pussy, my ass. He shifted slightly so that his mouth fit perfectly over my larger, softer opening and he started to scream as my fist brought him to the very edge of tolerance. I held my grip perfectly. And he screamed beautifully.
None of this is new to us. We have played like this so many times in the past that it is almost routine for us. But what was different this time is that his mouth was like a lid, keeping everything inside of me, letting nothing escape. His screams, his cries had no place to go except up and in. I could feel the baritone pitch as it vibrated off of my insides. I could literally feel my cervix absorb his guttural screams as they echoed and reverberated. I pushed his head a bit lower so that his mouth was over my ass and did the same thing. The results were similar, but it also felt different. It was as though those deep sounds had more places to travel. My pussy seemed to be a cul-de-sac of sorts, while my ass was a winding, tight road that just kept going. The music he was playing within me…..for me…..traveled far and deep and I could feel it at different lengths along the way. It was fascinating to me.
I truly no longer cared about any licking or kissing or worshiping. I only wanted to play him like the instrument he was. At this moment, he was not my boy, not my pet, not property. He is always these things, but right then, he was an object I was using and exploring. At one point he tried to beg me to be more gentle, and the response he got was a growl and hair pull. If he was going to give his voice, he would be screaming it and I would be capturing those screams within me…my own, personalized soundtrack of lust and sweet agony.