We have a new favourite game. I’ve been using a strapon to pleasure my Miss. There’s something ever so psychologically taunting about wearing the harness; the huge cock protruding from between my legs just above her locked cock.
She sets the rhythm, slow and deep. I whisper in her ear as we fuck: How I wish it were my cock in her. How I want to feel her shake and shudder to orgasm beneath me. She may come two or three times from this, which makes me feel like a real sex slave. I am lucky indeed.
Our last meeting was somewhat impromptu. After we’d played this little game for a while, my Miss strapped me spread-eagle to the bed and unlocked her property from its cage. I’m so used to being locked now – and to not getting erect without permission, that I stayed soft until eventually she coaxed me to hardness.
Then – even luckier me – she rides me to the point of O. Over and over until I’m begging to come. When finally she allows, the phrase is as the flick of a switch. I explode, as if on command.
Today – some two days later – she tells me there’s something different about me. My affection and submissiveness has lost its depth and softness. It takes a while for me to twig its probably my refractory period. The gathering again of my submissive energies.
Now I’m lay on her bed, having been ordered to write my diary. When I’ve finished, I must prepare the wrist and ankle cuffs, and the soft rope. This last item, we used for the first time last weekend, when I was left expertly tied and blindfolded on the bed, arms pinioned high behind my back, ankles drawn high up as she pretended to sleep.
I wonder what she has planned now.