Oct 19, 2012
Oct 17, 2012
Fetisch Film Festival 2012 Awards
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Numb
There are times that Mistress robs me of my manhood.
She doesn't want me to have a penis so she denies me of it. She's done this in various ways throughout the years that I've served her but she's gotten it down to a science.
Tied up so I don't thrash, Mistress snaps her purple rubber gloves. She bears a gleefully evil look in her eyes. Her smile borders on a leer when she smears the unguent on her palms. She grips my erection. This kind of manipulation would feel good if only the gelatinous liquid on her palms was something else other than the numbing agent. As soon as her hands touch my dick, I begin to lose all feeling there. Like a deflating balloon, I wither, ending up limp and tiny within moments. For good measure she slaps my lifeless penis. I don't feel a thing.
Between changing gloves she brings her needles close. She holds aloft a rather high gauge needle that catches the light just before it pierces my foreskin. I watch, fascinated, seeing it pass easily through my skin. She passes a silver hoop through the two tiny punctures she's made. Into the hoop she threads a strip of leather. She pulls it, hesitantly at first. Everything holds firm. She pulls tighter until she's stretching out my foreskin until it looks something like an elephant's trunk.
She has me stand and secures another leather strip around my waist. I watch in the wall mirror as she pulls my cock back through my legs and ties the two leather strips together. Having me face forward, I see that my cock is gone. What remains is a shaven patch where Mistress occasionally allows my pubic hair to grow. It's smooth, now, and without a trace of manhood. There's nothing there for me -- nothing visual and no feeling. When she makes me like this, I usually feel a bit detached from myself since my body has become so alien.
I'm Mistress's eunuch. And, deprived of my main source of physical pleasure, Mistress works to make me experience pleasure -- and pain -- via other means. Not distracted by my cock, she finds that her manipulations are more pure.
Sometimes she continues to deny me of sensations. She blindfolds me. She plugs my nose. She seals my mouth with safety tape. She sits close to me and uses her vibrator on herself. The intensity of the sound -- of the vibrator and the sounds of her body -- is incredible.
Sometimes she picks one area on my body and overstimulates it. She knows that my nipples are normally sensitive. Once she played so much with them that I orgasmed despite the lack of feeling below my waist. I still bucked my hips as if I was ejaculating. The emotional and physical satisfaction were present but the physical evidence was not.
Today temporarily castrates me before robbing me of my sight and hearing. I can still smell and taste. She pushes me down to the floor and mounts my face. I feel her thighs on either side of my head, pushing the earplugs deeper. She overwhelms me with the scent and taste of her pussy. There is nothing else in the world except for this. I live for nothing else.
My tongue works hard, rubbing up against her clitoris before diving down deep into her valley, tasting her. Drinking from her. She is my desert oasis. She feeds me with her need. Her taste is like a drug to me. It drives me. It takes me to new heights. It makes me hungrier for her.
My tongue nestles against her, licking slowly, luxuriously. I feel her push down harder onto me. I lick and flick, harder and faster. I can feel her shudder and taste her unleash.
As she cums atop me, I feel stirrings in my numbed sex. I know that she could slap me there and I wouldn't feel a thing but the arousal I feel runs so deep that it awakens the phantom between my legs. My sexuality is so bound to this place that, even numbed, I ache for her.
Oct 16, 2012
Red Wings
I just have a difficult time believing that I've never written about this before. I've done searches through the archives of this blog and have come up empty.
I have a great ability to conveniently forget things. I've managed to hide away a lot of things, locking them somewhere deep inside where I dare not look. I'd like to say that those were things done to hurt or disturb me but, more often, they're things I've done to hurt or disturb others.
My mind immediately goes to a dinner I had with a girl -- now a woman -- with who I went to high school. "You were a real dick back then," she told me. Here I was, painting myself as some kind of loser victim while, apparently, I had been more than a little mean to others. Sure, some of that is perception -- and I know I talk about that a lot on here -- but there is such thing as truth and I truly believe her. I'm sure I was a dick to her and to a lot of other people. It's no wonder I had just a smattering of friends back then. I'm about as selfish and self-centered as they come.
The reason why I'm writing this isn't to confess my sins, however. I'm more concerned that there's something that disturbed me (and still does) that I thought for sure I had written about once before in an attempt to purge myself of the memory at least a bit.
I've written before about how the sex between my ex-wife and I dried up after just a few months. I went from a virgin to regular intercourse to rarity in a matter of months. I still don't know if that sparsity of sex was my ex's way of driving me away but it took years before it finally worked.
In the meantime, the sex we had on those rare occasions was unsatisfying to say the least.
Often we would be fooling around and there would be some kind of unspoken signal that passed between us that intercourse was imminent. She would excuse herself to go to the bathroom, leaving me turgid on our bed. Time would pass. A lot of time. Too much time. I don't know what she was doing in there but by the time she came back, whatever fire had once burned had long since gone out -- usually in her. "I'm tired," she'd say, and that was that.
Other times, there was the added humiliation of her asking me to put on a condom before she left for her interminable bathroom trips. By the time she'd come back, I'd be limp and, if we continued, another condom would be necessary.
But, the worst of it was that the times my ex wanted to have sex usually coincided with her period. She'd be full bore into her menses when she'd get the urge. Having been deprived for months, I would go for it, despite the negative things that went along with this -- namely the odor and the dryness. Even the best lubricant we'd use wouldn't survive the process and, quickly, things would get more than awkward.
However, the worst would come when, just minutes into intercourse, my ex would break out in tears, pulling herself off of/away from me. These weren't tears of pain. They were full on crying jags; the kind where her body would shake and shudder. She'd gasp for breath while practically screaming. And there I was, kneeling with a bloody condom on my shrinking cock, never able to console her.
After a while, even looking at a condom would shrink my dick. I started to lose all desire for sex as it always came with blood and tears (no sweat).
When I told the above to my therapist -- who is usually as cool as a cucumber -- she blurted out, "What she molested as a child?" That was my same theory but something my ex never admitted to, if it happened. Despite years of therapy, nothing ever changed with my ex. If anything, she seemed to get worse rather than better.
Whenever she was given something to help stabilize her mood, her plan quickly became, "How fast can I ween myself from this medication?" She hated taking pills, no matter how much they helped her. Self sabotage? Yes, I think so. But, at the same time, she was sabotaging both of us.
I was there in that circle, yes, playing along. But it took me years to see just how sick it was.
I have a great ability to conveniently forget things. I've managed to hide away a lot of things, locking them somewhere deep inside where I dare not look. I'd like to say that those were things done to hurt or disturb me but, more often, they're things I've done to hurt or disturb others.
My mind immediately goes to a dinner I had with a girl -- now a woman -- with who I went to high school. "You were a real dick back then," she told me. Here I was, painting myself as some kind of loser victim while, apparently, I had been more than a little mean to others. Sure, some of that is perception -- and I know I talk about that a lot on here -- but there is such thing as truth and I truly believe her. I'm sure I was a dick to her and to a lot of other people. It's no wonder I had just a smattering of friends back then. I'm about as selfish and self-centered as they come.
The reason why I'm writing this isn't to confess my sins, however. I'm more concerned that there's something that disturbed me (and still does) that I thought for sure I had written about once before in an attempt to purge myself of the memory at least a bit.
I've written before about how the sex between my ex-wife and I dried up after just a few months. I went from a virgin to regular intercourse to rarity in a matter of months. I still don't know if that sparsity of sex was my ex's way of driving me away but it took years before it finally worked.
In the meantime, the sex we had on those rare occasions was unsatisfying to say the least.
Often we would be fooling around and there would be some kind of unspoken signal that passed between us that intercourse was imminent. She would excuse herself to go to the bathroom, leaving me turgid on our bed. Time would pass. A lot of time. Too much time. I don't know what she was doing in there but by the time she came back, whatever fire had once burned had long since gone out -- usually in her. "I'm tired," she'd say, and that was that.
Other times, there was the added humiliation of her asking me to put on a condom before she left for her interminable bathroom trips. By the time she'd come back, I'd be limp and, if we continued, another condom would be necessary.
But, the worst of it was that the times my ex wanted to have sex usually coincided with her period. She'd be full bore into her menses when she'd get the urge. Having been deprived for months, I would go for it, despite the negative things that went along with this -- namely the odor and the dryness. Even the best lubricant we'd use wouldn't survive the process and, quickly, things would get more than awkward.
However, the worst would come when, just minutes into intercourse, my ex would break out in tears, pulling herself off of/away from me. These weren't tears of pain. They were full on crying jags; the kind where her body would shake and shudder. She'd gasp for breath while practically screaming. And there I was, kneeling with a bloody condom on my shrinking cock, never able to console her.
After a while, even looking at a condom would shrink my dick. I started to lose all desire for sex as it always came with blood and tears (no sweat).
When I told the above to my therapist -- who is usually as cool as a cucumber -- she blurted out, "What she molested as a child?" That was my same theory but something my ex never admitted to, if it happened. Despite years of therapy, nothing ever changed with my ex. If anything, she seemed to get worse rather than better.
Whenever she was given something to help stabilize her mood, her plan quickly became, "How fast can I ween myself from this medication?" She hated taking pills, no matter how much they helped her. Self sabotage? Yes, I think so. But, at the same time, she was sabotaging both of us.
I was there in that circle, yes, playing along. But it took me years to see just how sick it was.
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 12, 2012
Bigger, Longer, Uncut
Though so much of this blog is dedicated to what's between my legs, what's there doesn't often get between my ears. That is, I don't often think objectively about my own penis.
I'm not sure if I've ever stated this on the blog before but I'm not circumcised. It's not something I've brought up because it's not something I think about. It's just me and it doesn't come to mind very often. It only ever crosses my mind when I hear pieces of the never-ending debate about whether it should be done or not. I was assaulted by such a discussion this morning when the clock radio went off, exposing me to the raving lunacy of the "morning zoo" on 96.3FM.
The way that the hosts (one male, two females) spoke about uncircumcised penises was akin to someone jeering at a circus sideshow of freaks. Suddenly, I had Frankenstein's monster between my legs according to these yahoos. The depth of these people's reactionary ignorance never fails to astound me but I don't usually feel like I'm being attacked the way I did this morning.
Listen to the offending discussion
Oversensitive? Perhaps. It just put me in a very strange mood this morning. Then, as things often do, it was followed up by a coincidence. A few hours later I got an email from a recent play partner who said, "I'm curious how it will be to actually have sex with someone who hasn't been circumcised... That will be a first." When I told her about how monstrous my member is seen by these morning show jerks her reply made me smile, "I like it. More to touch, more to nip with my teeth. It was difficult to keep my surprise in check so you didn't think I was repulsed. Which I was not."
Thank you. It's good to hear that my natural state isn't as disgusting as Blaine and Allyson would have be believe.
I'm not sure if I've ever stated this on the blog before but I'm not circumcised. It's not something I've brought up because it's not something I think about. It's just me and it doesn't come to mind very often. It only ever crosses my mind when I hear pieces of the never-ending debate about whether it should be done or not. I was assaulted by such a discussion this morning when the clock radio went off, exposing me to the raving lunacy of the "morning zoo" on 96.3FM.
The way that the hosts (one male, two females) spoke about uncircumcised penises was akin to someone jeering at a circus sideshow of freaks. Suddenly, I had Frankenstein's monster between my legs according to these yahoos. The depth of these people's reactionary ignorance never fails to astound me but I don't usually feel like I'm being attacked the way I did this morning.
Listen to the offending discussion
Oversensitive? Perhaps. It just put me in a very strange mood this morning. Then, as things often do, it was followed up by a coincidence. A few hours later I got an email from a recent play partner who said, "I'm curious how it will be to actually have sex with someone who hasn't been circumcised... That will be a first." When I told her about how monstrous my member is seen by these morning show jerks her reply made me smile, "I like it. More to touch, more to nip with my teeth. It was difficult to keep my surprise in check so you didn't think I was repulsed. Which I was not."
Thank you. It's good to hear that my natural state isn't as disgusting as Blaine and Allyson would have be believe.
Oct 7, 2012
May 8, 2012
May 5, 2012
May 2, 2012
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