Visit Two

Visit Two

It’s a 9:30 a.m. visit. Limited traffic, I arrive early. In heeding the concern about neighbors I know not to stand next to the side door awaiting the electronic lock. So I sit in my car, staring at my cell phone, hopefully the most accurate time piece to be had.

I think about the initial visit, disappointed that there was only talk, a ‘get to know you session’. The woman’s air of authority impressed, the exacting instructions, her calmness as my heart thumped away in surveying her basement... her ‘workroom’.

My needs... my paraphilia she termed it... seem comparatively blase, images of the vast array of devices so blatantly displayed. I wanted to... well... that’s been well discussed. And I console myself that though her commanding presence brought quirky desire, the hour or more meeting required no fee. Curious economic reasoning.

The cell phone screen quietly slips from 9:28 to 9:29. I exit my car, cross the street, eyes focused on the driveway and the side door. I convince myself not to look about, appear not to be lurking, to be burgling as I try the door.

Locked.

With a pause I try again. It opens, my heart again thumping. I make a mental note that it requires not a full minute to cross the street and traverse the driveway.

Down the half flight of stairs, the lights click on, evidently wired to a motion detector.

Though brightly lit, there’s a sense of eeriness in the extreme quiet. Most establishments of sordid activity have innocuous music... like a dentist’s office.

Instructions are followed... clothing removed... fee placed on the cabinet. There lies the latex hood. I grasp and move to the low platform. I mount, tummy to the low bench. Between the waiting wrist cuffs there is a dildo... it’s shape unusual in that at one end it curls upwards, terminating with a ridged bulbous lump. There I spy a post it note.

‘Termed a Feeldoe. Orally take this end. Warm and wet for me.’ the handwriting more like calligraphy.  

It’s light blue, of firm rubber. For some reason my demented mind expected black.

I kneel, tummy on the bench, buttocks high, parting my knees. I slip on the latex, aligning the opening for my mouth and nose, assuring that when sightless I can locate the rubber phallus. The pose is awkward. In taking the bulbous end of the dildo I must shift about, doing my best to keep my head low with the male end of the dildo protruding. I find I must open my mouth to the extreme, the many ridges of the plump end abrading my tongue.

While I calm myself in wait, it begins to happen. With my testicles swaying about between parted thighs, the sense of self induced exposure and helplessness bring twinges. I am exhibited like piece of artwork. I begin to firm. Thoughts of the handsome woman of color and what I am yielding to her bring arousal. More stimulation comes with the unknown.

When?       

5 minutes, 10, 15?

Is this a sham? I tire, the pose bringing strain.

Finally I hear a door... footsteps. I remain motionless... silent. To be obeisant in the woman’s presence seems... natural. No commands... no instructions... I just kneel in wait.

The footsteps near. There comes a waft of Jean Nate. I lurch as hands touch, pushing at my thighs for further separation... at the small of my back... more arch... a higher pose. It’s ungainly, I struggle. But for some reason I want to comply... to obey... to please.

And with the woman’s authoritative prodding, I feel myself firm more. Penis untouched... a solid erection is achieved. And to complete the sense of thorough capitulation, a hand cups then playfully jostles my balls. Do I hear suppressed laughter?

The footsteps retreat. I hear the rustle of clothing. Yet the sound of boots returns. She has disrobed but her foot attire remain. Such a commanding image! I curse the hood, there is need to gaze at her sublime form... the muscling bringing intrigue.

The Feeldoe quakes, a hand gesturing for me to release my oral grip. I open. It slips out. I then hear wet rubber greeting moist flesh. Is that a sigh?

The boots move to my rear. For some reason though pushed to the limit, I press further apart my knees. Curve further my back. The woman is exacting... demands me to be exacting.

Then come fingers at my gluteal cleft. Up, down, a coolness is applied. Lubricant! Smoothed generously about.

I gulp. Then I feel the tip of the dildo... gently... gently... firmly... it thrusts. I cry out.

Why? This is what I want. This is my paraphilia. The object of much discussion... many messages exchanged.

Still comes the humiliation. I am being fucked... sodomized by a woman!

My penis throbs, the prostate gland celebrating the attention yet denying the joy.

In... out... in... out. I’d so much like to watch. Instead I must merely listen to the slight, repressed sounds of feminine pleasure... the frictioning of rubber against my puckered aperture.

Am I enjoying this?   

Then comes panic. Are others watching? Is the ultimate in male submission being filmed... recorded?

I will not know... cannot know.

A hand reaches to grasp my scrotum. Leverage, pulling back as the dildo thrusts forward. Yes. more control, more humiliation. Hands remaining free, why do I not resist, object, fight, tear off the hood? Step off the platform! Protest! Depart!

But deep within I accommodate, strangely hoping that I am pleasing.

Then the free hand grasps an organ I imagine to be firmed to steel. Expecting a pleasant stroke, instead the rock hardness is slowly and inexorably bent downward toward the platform. I hurts, it aggravates, but my penis remains incredibly firm, yielding to the woman’s grip, the angle agonizing.

More thrusts, more sighs, my erection wavers not and I am chagrined to work my sphincter open as best I can then squeeze to close in a well timed gesture, maximizing the joyous tremors on her end of the double dildo.

Finally comes a muffled shriek. The gripped penis is released, and most significantly the silence ends.

“Come for me!” the free hand firmly slapping my right buttock.

It’s a command... and in abject obedience I feel myself erupt... untouched.