Blistered Lips

First, show me your body; take off all your clothes. I want to see your naked flesh.

Mmmm. Your cock is getting hard. You like me watching, don’t you?

Now brush your fingertips under your balls, then cup them. Does that feel nice? Are they getting tighter? Because I want your nuts real full and tight for me. Do you understand?

Take just the tips of your finger and thumb and run them, very slowly, up and down the sides of your cock. Very slowly, I said. That’s it. Up and down. Up and down. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Slowly, slowly.

Look: there’s already a drop of precum on the tip. Milk the head just a little bit and get a nice, gooey gob of it on your fingers. There you go. So nice and creamy. Now, just with your fingertips, massage that precum into the shaft. Do it very gently and ever so slowly. Make that fat dick glisten for me.

Does it feel good? You want to grab it, don’t you? Be a good boy and just wait. Just wait a little bit and I’ll let you hammer away at it. Then you can blow your load for me, okay?

I’m going to sit down here, righ across from you. And spread my legs. You start a nice slow stroke all the way up to the head of your dick and back down. I want you to look between my legs. Keep stroking. One, two. One two. That’s it. Look right up under my skirt while you are jerking that dick for me. One, two. One two. You see those little black lace panties, don’t you? You’d like to get to the pussy underneath, wouldn’t you?

But not today. Today you are beating off for me. You can look, but no touching me or my sweet little pussy.

Now make a tight fist around that stiff prick. Squeeze it for me. Make that precum bubble out and drip down the side. Yes, just like that. Pull your dick up a little bit; I want to see those balls. Oh my! Your balls are as hard as your dick now. Does it feel good? Move that hand up and down a little faster now. That’s it. Look at those veins popping out.

Slow down. Listen to me. Do what I say. That’s a good boy.

Now I want you to hold your hand around the shaft. Keep those eyes on my hot little crotch. Stop stoking and hold your dick. Very nice. Now, fuck your hand for me; just pump those hips and shove that cock in and out of your grip. Not so fast; slow down.

What? You want to cum? You want your hard dick to cum for me?

Come here.

Get down here in front of me. Point your dick right at my panties. Now stroke it fast and hard. Do it. That’s it. You ready? You ready to show me what a dirty boy you are? Okay, baby. Do it now! Spray that spunk all over this lace crotch.

Oh yeah! That’s it; shoot that cream. Keep jerking; I want every bit of it. Good boy!

Now somebody is going to have to clean these panties. I wonder who.

I wonder who and how?

the scent of her
is on you like a tattoo
marking your greedy mouth
for the servant that it is

your greedy cock
will snivel and bob and strain
but cunt is your drug
and you are her marked man

her claret blood
stains your bloated lips
and cunt is your drug
and you are her scarlet secret

your rigid prick
will bargain and weep and thrum
but cunt is your drug
and you are her clay pigeon

her flaxen piss
seasons your obedient tongue
and cunt is your drug
and you are her golden boy

your diligent meat
will mewl and seize and shiver
but cunt is your drug
and you are her wicked bitch

her butter liqueur
bridles your debauched face
and cunt is your drug
and you are her candy man

the smell of her
is on you like a birthmark
annotating your avocation
previewing your impediment
bookmarking your bewitchment

because cunt is your drug
and she feeds you well

Why? Because it’s not good for you. That’s why, asshole. You get around snatch and lose your grip, become a babbling, sniveling, whining, ridiculous, piece-of-shit excuse for a man.

You do stupid things, too. Your dick gets hard when there’s even a hint of pussy–the scent of perfume, the click of high heels, a glimpse of panties. Then you spend your money, buy presents, lend her your car…whatever it takes to keep her close. Yet all for naught; after the frenzy there you are: Alone and slapping your salami.

And we won’t even talk about your porn addiction, that you sit in front of your computer for hours, jerking it to pictures of girls who wouldn’t give you the time of day. It’s all you think about, all your stupid little mind can conjure. Even though you never get any, which seems to me a waste of time and makes you a waste of space.

Jerk it, stroke it, rub it, and eventually make the little bastard squirt. All by yourself, because…ewwe…I certainly don’t want your skankie pecker- pus anywhere around me. And then start all over again.

BUT….no pussy for you. No pussy…NOT EVER!

I am Cock Socket Lydia. A common slut-submissive with openings in my body which are to be filled often. This, of course, would be my asshole, my whore mouth and my cunt. I am nothing more than a cock socket.

Master tells me this and trains me daily to remember it always.

If Master cannot train me personally, he lends me to trusted friends and they fit their cocks into my various sockets as pleases them. The fact that his friends might be too busy or cannot be bothered to train me on any certain day does not impede Master’s plans for me.

Master is very wise in his ways and, of course, always has a Plan A and a Plan B. Just in case.

Sometimes I am hung by my wrists in the Training Cage with my sockets stuffed by a variety of dildoes. Sometimes one or more of the dildoes may be vibrating. Sometimes not. This is always up to Master. He decides what type of cock-training my sockets need.

At other times, Master locks me into the Slave Stockade where he often arranges the sybian behind me so that my anal socket can be repetively abused. Of course my oral and slut sockets are jammed full as well. Again, Master decides with what.

I am cock socket Lydia. Would you like to fit your cock into one of my sockets?

there is something
in the movement of my body against your skin

i feel it always.

your breath, an endless empty lyric:
that skin deep is not always lawless
nor reckless with secrets.

and so you soap your skin
and keep it slick:
you cannot have me stick after all.
and you hold your breath
like liquid gold might pour from your lips
if you opened wide and whispered the truth.

still I stay close
and still i move my body against your skin
trying to reach you around your corners.

around the corners of you
where on your other side
i will grind mud into your pores
and smack your greedy mouth
again and again and again.

until you scream out.
scream, scream, scream.
and we both see
and you know
(as if you don’t already)
that the secrets of your skin
were only rumors started by you
and the secrets of your held tongue
were merely widely held beliefs.

It is in front of your face. You can smell it. It is cock. It is the cock you are going to suck tonight. Perhaps it is a cock that will fuck you, too. You have no say. You are, after all, only a Cock-Pig.

Once you were a man. You lived a free life, had a fairly successful career. You worked hard, you played hard. Lots of young, hot women. Footloose and fancy free, as they say, living what you thought was the good life.

But then you met Krista. Tall, beautiful and wickedly sexy, she was different somehow. Different than the girls you usually bedded and forgot about. At first, it was just filth whispered into your ears as she fucked you. Then it was porn while she sucked your cock. The porn started getting kinkier, freakier. And you couldn’t get enough, could you? You were obsessed, wanted to be with her all the time.

And that is how she began training you, although you were too stupid to know it at the time. Even now when you think of before and now, you’re not sure exactly how she did it. Soon, though, you began living your weekends in a cage in her basement, your cock in a device that kept it hard, yet wouldn’t permit orgasm. You were an animal.

Krista’s Cock-Pig. That is what she started calling you. She would come to you with a strap-on and make you suck it. Then she would promise orgasm, that she would remove your Cock-Pig chastity device if you bent over and spread your ass and begged for her big, girl-dick. And you did. You would have done anything to cum. The thing is, just like she knew would happen, you started liking it, didn’t you? You started to like taking that big, fat strap-on up your ass.

It wasn’t long before she’d tricked you into leaving your job and turning over everything you had –your money, your house, your car, your savings– to her. She took away your life as a free man and put you in the cage full time. You became her 24/7 Cock-Pig.

That was when she began cum-training you. You would hear her upstairs fucking some guy –you never knew them, at least at first– and your dick would twitch and strain against the chastity device. Later she would come down to you. She’d taunt you, show you her swollen pussy lips. “Remember how tight this pussy is, Cock-Pig,” she’d ask, pushing on her stomach, causing milky cream to drip out of her slit, down the crack of her ass. “Remember when I used to let you fuck me?” You did remember and it made you crazy hot.  So easy for her to make you eat her out, lap up all that cream pie.  You would have done anything to get your chastity device off at that point.

Then she started bringing you down cups of cum, even a bowl of cum one time. “Come here, Cock-Pig,” Krista would say, putting the bowl on the floor right inside your cage. “Crawl over here and get your cup of cum, Cock-Pig. Come lap it up and I will take off your device for a little bit. Maybe I’ll even give you a good, hard fucking.”

And so it went. You really were some new low form of animal, Krista’s Cock-Pig.  But Krista had a plan.  And you soon learned you could even go lower.

“Oh, Cock-Pig,” you heard her calling as she came down the stairs. Only this time  she wasn’t alone.  There was a second set of footsteps.  Heavy footsteps.

And then she was there in front of you, a man beside her. A very big man with his very big cock in his fist. “Now I’m going to show you what a Cock-Pig is really good for,” Christa cooed, opening your cage. “Crawl out here now.” Her voice was as sexy as ever, but there was a breathiness to it you hadn’t caught before. This was exciting her. This was where she’d been leading you since the beginning.

“Suck it, Cock-Pig. Suck this big fat cock. When the cock cums, you get to cum.”

And so you sucked it. When he was getting close to cumming, Krista removed your chastity device and whispered in your ear, “When that cock cums, you can cum. From now on the only time you will ever cum is when you are sucking a cock and it comes.” And she wrapped your own hand around your dick. “Play with it, Cock-Pig. Jerk it while you suck that cock.”

And she stayed so close that you could hear each of her breaths, smell her perfume. Soon the man was grunting, thrusting his hips, grabbing your head. And then you were taking your first load right from that swelling, jerking, squirting cock and cumming all over your own belly at the same time.

And you were finally real. You were Krista’s Cock-Pig.

You’re alone now. Here in the dark.

The smooth surface of the stainless steel tray beside your bed reflects a pinpoint of silverish light: caught from a street light somewhere outside and twisted into a lone north star, the only star here in your very small universe.

Despite the morphine drip, the dull ache between your legs is a relentless throb. The chill from the ice pack –to help control the swelling, she’d told you as she tucked it around your pereneum– has spread across your pelvis and thighs, but the numbness it provides seems to exacerbate rather than relieve. Oh, Miss Kimberly, I love you so much, you think to yourself.

And you do love her. But now you are alone. Kimberly has left and you are lying here in the quiet of this dark room with a body that is changed, altered–deformed forever at Kimberly’s bequest. She’d told you that it would be the ulitimate proof of your unmitigated devotion. Proof that you belonged only to her and would always do whatever she required of you.

From the beginning you’d told her that you would do anything for her–anything to prove your love, your adoration, your complete capitulation to her superiority over you. And your precocious blonde Goddess –after having taken control of your money, cuckolded you relentlessly and insisted upon so many smaller and daily humiliations– had eventually asked of you the ultimate sacrifice.

Drifting and floating in your opiate haze, you hear her voice.

You, sweet man, are incapable–absolutely unable in anyway–of having normal sexual relations with a woman. You know it and I know it. If fact, anybody who knows you knows it. You’re “unfuckable.”

It’s lucky for you I came along  and  gave you some direction in your life.  In the manhood department you are a big fucking zero.  But as a slave, well, I’ve done an excellent job of training you.   And you need to prove you are grateful.   There’s only one way to really show me you are sincere:  Give up those useless little snot-balls of yours.  

Of course, she was right.  You knew even as she spoke that you would give Kimberly what she wanted.

“Get your fucking pants down, now!”

Heart racing, you struggle with your belt. She doesn’t have a right to treat me like this, you think to yourself. You try to ignore the clammy grip of nervous sweat around your balls. I ’ve paid good money after all; she is really nothing more than a whore when you get right down to it.

The more you think about it, the braver you’re feeling. Mistress, my ass! Just who in the hell does she think she is to talk to me like that?

Ignoring your own better judgment, forgetting that your pants are now down around your knees and your dick is sticking straight up, you look up to say something, to somehow defend yourself against her scornful abuse.

“You timid, little piece-of-shit, loser. Who in the fuck do you think you are looking at?”

Her voice is cruel and unforgiving as she looks at you with cold, icy blue eyes—first straight into your face and then down to your naked, twitching cock. She smirks, and you know you are beaten, that she has you, that she knows you for the warped and twisted degenerate that you are. Your bravado is gone, your words caught dry and useless in your throat.

Wiggling her slender hand into a latex glove, stretching and pulling the latex to fit snugly between her fingers, she continues, her voice a wicked snarl, “Don’t even think about smart-mouthing me, asshole. You’re the one who called me. You’re the one who was so damn curious about a “FemDom” handjob. You’re the butterfingers who evidently can’t jerk off your own dick. You’re the underachiever who evidently needs an instruction manual on how to fuck pussy correctly.” Her voice is sharp and cold and you know now that there will be no kindness, no mercy. But your cock is throbbing as you watch her squirting lube into the palm of her gloved hand.

“Five.”

She spits the number out at you as her slithery fist grabs your prick and moves down the length of it. The shock, the suddenness of it, is so visceral that you almost shoot your load right then.

“Don’t you fucking dare, weasel boy. This dirty, nasty, useless prick of yours doesn’t cum until and when I say so. And that would be when we get to the number one. Got it?”

“Christ! Fuck! Shit! Yesssssssssss, Ma’am.”

You hear yourself, a whimpering, blubbering, mindless automaton. You are her toy: a helpless, filthy cock-toy to abuse and molest at her whim.

“Four.”

As her hand moves—once up and once down—you feel her grasp tighten ever so slightly. Oh, she is a gifted Goddess. You know that now and your urge to cum is almost overpowering. You can’t help yourself and begin to actually wail. “Please, Mistress. Please let me cum now. Oh, please.” You hear yourself and are ashamed, but cannot stop. “Please, Mistress. Let me cum now. Let me be your dirty filthy boy and cum now. Please, please, please, please.”

Abruptly she loosens her grip and—before you even understand what is happening—smacks your cock. Once. Twice. Three times. There is nothing, nobody but you and her, her hand and your dick. You actually swoon and feel yourself buckling when she grabs your arm and pulls you you back up.

“No you don’t,” she whispers sweetly, lips grazing your ear. The unexpected change in her manner has you spinning and powerless, totally focused on her. You struggle to speak, to tell her you adore her, to tell her you belong to her while your abandoned cock twitches and drips, pointing directly at her: your Mistress, your Queen.

“You came here for a FemDom handjob. Don’t you remember? Or did your brain melt and drain into your balls and leave you stupid? If you spew already, you’ll miss the show.”

She giggles as she moves away from you to sit in a nearby chair. You are tempted to beg her to come back, to jerk your cock again, that you will be a “good boy.” But seeing the look on her face you think better of it and are silent.

“That’s more like it,” she says, pointing between your legs. You are helpless, exposed. “That dick is now my property, my personal gear shift. Got it?”

Afraid to look at her, you nod, staring straight ahead. “Yes Mistress.”

“I’m going to start again in a moment, but this time I’m going to start counting back from ten.” Unable to stop yourself, you moan in frustration.

“Make that fifteen.” You bite your tongue.

“You’re learning,” she almost—but not quite—purrs as she stands up again and walks toward you.

“Now stand there with your pants down around your ankles like the gimp-loser dick-wad you are while I lube this glove up one more time.”

“And then we’ll try again.”

Humiliation is the beginning of sanctification. -John Donne

A while back, I tackled this topic for the book, Sex Kitten Presents The BDSM Issue. In writing that essay, Erotic Humiliation is Not an Oxymoron, I took a personal journey, an internal retrospective of sorts, recalling my initial shock upon receiving such a request and my eventual delight (and maybe even a bit of sexual excitement) with this particular form of domination.

I wrote:

The slave brings his desire to be dominated and the Mistress brings her dictionary and thesaurus, because it is her facility with language which authenticates her authority in this empyreal dungeon.

It’s no secret that I deeply believe in the power of words. They are, after all, what saved me so very long ago and far away. When I was too small, the world was too big and too many caretakers were impotently wicked and/or emotionally anemic. Even today, a library is consecrated ground for me–my church, my mosque, my synagogue, my cathedral–my sacred place of transformation.

And yes, at certain times, my dungeon.

Think about sex: the sex you do have and then the sex you think about having. I would bet that, regardless of your particular kink (high heel fetish? spanking? hard fucking? cuckolding? controlled masturbation? cross dressing? romantic sensuality?), the sex you think about having includes a lot of verbiage.

i.e.

• Rub your dripping prick down the length of my stiletto heel. That’s it. Now take the tip, just the tip, and run it around the ankle strap. Slowly, very slowly.
  
• You know you’ve got it coming. Over my knee. NOW! Hmmm. Should I use this ping pong paddle or my hand? Such a tender little ass.
  
• Beg for my fat dick, you little slut. Spread those legs like a dirty little whore and jerk off your clit. Beg for my fat dick, and then I’m going to ram it into you so hard that you you’re going to cry like a bitch in heat.
• I love you, baby, but I need big cocks and lots of them. So get in between my legs and clean up the mess, baby. Marcus and Jerome fucked me sooo hard. Look how swollen my cunt is. Lick it baby. Make it feel better.
  
• Do you like it when I wrap my little hand around this thick man-cock of yours and stroke it like this? Oh, you’re throbbing. What if I rub my pretty little French nail back and forth every-so-lightly across the frenum?
  
• Oooh…your cute little satin panties feel so good between your little sissy stick and my wet pussy. But I think little panty sluts deserve a good fucking. Go get the strap-on, sweet bitch-girl.
  
• I love you so much, darling. Fuck me harder, my beautiful lover. I want your cum deep inside of me, honey. I need it. I need it so bad.
  

See what I mean? (and if you don’t, you might want to schedule an EEG)

Anyway, for those of you who haven’t run off to call your neurologist, can you understand how verbal abasement can up the ante for the submissive man or woman? And for some, perhaps even be a more-intoxicating form of domination all by itself? More powerful than whips and chains? And is particularly apropos when the dungeon is virtual, a creation of the imagination, the meeting of two minds? Two well-developed, very kinky brains?

I also wrote:

This is BDSM without the net, unconditional love on Prozac, Creatine-enhanced tough love.

And I believe it.

Some of the most intense phone domination sessions I’ve participated in have been humiliation fantasies. Meaning that I have almost dived –and perhaps even did a very feminine swan dive– into subspace with the target of my verbal venom on more than one occasion. What Tom Petty calls “free-falling.”

Done correctly (dispensing “tough love” requires a measure of love, of trust, of mutual respect), Erotic Humiliation can turn the known world upside down for both Mistress and Slave–defying physical boundaries, transcending emotional and psychological bastilles.

It is a thing of great beauty and deep mystery.

And it all starts with words. Simple, yet all-powerful words.

Now and forever. Amen.

1. Cock Leash
2. Nipple Clamps
3. Studded Collar
4. Large Dog Pen
5. Butt Plugs (assorted sizes, electric, inflatable, etc.)
6. Chastity Cage
7. Wrist/Ankle Cuffs
8. Body Harness
9. Fetish Latex
10. Fetish Leathers
11. Strap-On Dildo
12. Ball Stretchers
13. Catheters
14. Urethral Sounds (of progressive sizes)
15. Enema Bags (varied selection of tubes and nozzles)
16. Cock Ring Assortment (aluminum, rubber, leather, vibrating, etc.)
17. Spreader Bar
18. Vacuum Penis Pump
19. Penis Prison
20. Assortment of Canes, Whips, Paddles & Crops

~In Space No One Can Hear You Scream~