'Madam, Me and It' - Part V - More

More

The next session and the one thereafter, Madam played her games. I was not to see It. Never to hear her pet say a word. Strapped down, hooded, Madam would taunt, her hands smoothing about my covered face and head as It shaved me then brought manual pleasure, demonstrating convincingly that the manipulation of my penis was certainly not by the hand of a dominating woman. It was not Madam condescending to bring such ecstasy.

Frustrating, but I was becoming ingrained, being indoctrinated.

Nearing explosion, Madam would inquire... ‘some tongue work?’... and I would protest. I was forced to accept manual pleasure. I could not bring myself to request oral satiation from the unknown.

With my refusal... two more trips home, my testicles aching with incompleteness and need.

Then came a third visit with It’s attendance made evident.

“I am going to have It suck your balls today. You’re much longer now. I think we have added inches to your sac. It finds the long mass of flesh to be attractive. My pet both envies and adores.” 

I am of course strapped down as Madam makes the proclamation. No choice to be offered. No offer of fellatio. I am shaven and the parachute is foregone. It is to adore... to offer oral envy.

Warm, wet, soft... my scrotum was engulfed. New found pleasure. Another apex attained. It’s lips enshrouded, the tongue swirled and swirled, and there of course came the manual manipulation of my stiffness. All this while Madam spoke her words, on this occasion kneading my ears through the cloth of the hood.

Madam was kind on this visit. Yes, despite the dread, having no idea of the who and what of It, I came like a volcano.... gratefully... sheepishly... brought to gratification.

I had strange visions, perhaps It is neither male nor female. Perhaps some kind of animal... marvelously prehensile... but an animal none-the-less. One well trained and orally gifted. How strange. How delusional.

Between sessions I was given to much thought and analysis. Strapped down, hooded, unable to move, protestations futile, could an encounter with the likes of It really be considered homosexual in nature if It turned out to be male?

It was only when offered the choice that my repugnance flared. I did not object to the hand jobs. When It sucked my scrotum, tongue endlessly swishing my balls, I reveled in the joy. It was only when Madam inquired, offered a choice, that my homophobia erupted.

I was not to accept a blow job from a guy. Yet I could be forced... and without an utterance in remonstration.

Deep within, was I hoping Madam would simply give the command... ‘fellate him, It!’. Would my psyche find such a directive acceptable?

But then I am assuming It is male. Correct?