How terrible — I feel hopelessly jubilant. It must be Rick. He has a way of getting to me. It’s his terrible willingness to give himself up for the sake of pleasure.
The fact is, the path between a man’s mind and his orgasm is a maze, full of dead ends and unexpected openings that ultimately lead to release. It’s something I’ve thought about, even studied. Okay. Informally. No statistics here. As a woman who’s mistressed her fair share of men, and as a telephone Mistress as well, I hear and say the things most girlfriends or wives don’t and maybe couldn’t, even if they wanted to. Working by phone, I’m quite aural, and so are the men who call.
The men are providing the physical stimulation — as directed or allowed, of course. But that’s only a small part of it. Any guy can take his cock and his hand and stroke off. Or slide down on a butt plug until it gets clamped into place.
The question with most guys is what do they need to hear? Or say? Or do? Even if they don’t know they need it. By the end of a call with someone, after we’ve taken our little journey together, I own a map of his desires, complete with landmarks, booby-traps, valleys, and pinnacles. It’s that night’s maze, but after a few calls, I have a good sense of what is going to drive him to that point of ecstasy and euphoria that he lets himself go.
Some would think my conversations quite extraordinary. Probably I did, too, years ago. Now, it’s second nature. Now, the calls can get intense. Rick, however, is extraordinary. He needs to be handled with kid gloves, even though he thinks he’d prefer a whip.
Don’t get the wrong idea. Rick is hardly the norm, even for a fetishist. Sure, he’s normal in that he holds a job, is largely conservative in manner and doesn’t know from slang — he’s no closet cross-dresser, or someone who hangs out in swing or BDSM clubs. And, like most of my gentlemen callers, he has moments when he wants to feel completely powerless, vulnerable to being led into his desires for ecstatic, erotic torment — imagined or felt — and pleasure.
He’s a little unusual in that he’s a do-it-yourselfer: he doesn’t want to hear about fantasies. He wants to act out my commands while we’re on the phone. In other ways, he’s one in a hundred, a true masochist who can be quite submissive. Quite. He goes through phases, and at the moment, his desires are heavily anal.
It started with fingers, then a small and then medium sized vibrator and then a small butt plug. After a few weeks (we talk twice a week, for an hour each time), he wanted to expand his, well, horizons. I obliged, happily, and he’s now the proud possessor of a nine-inch vibrating dildo, the size of a fairly well hung porn star’s cock, and a butt plug two-thirds that size. Granted, these things aren’t off the charts, but they’re pretty heavy.
The butt plug is in the shape of a pine tree on a base, a widening phallus that suddenly narrows at the trunk, so narrow that it lets him clamp onto it when it’s nicely in. The base, of course, keeps it from disappearing inside him — he may be a masochist, but he has no desire to wind up in the emergency room being fisted by a doctor or a nurse. Though, to be honest, in one of his more outrageous states, Rick would probably contemplate the idea. If I led him there. And for Rick, the idea of what he would do, or might do, if wound tightly enough, can vault him over the edge. And that is why he needs to be tempted and tormented. But firmly controlled.
But back to reality. I got Rick the toys at his request. Stretching limits, so to speak, is best done gradually, and it wasn’t until he’d had and been using the dildo for four weeks that he was truly comfortable with it. And, I must say, pleased with the sensation. He could take nearly eight inches, and fucked himself with long, slow strokes, hitting the prostate gland in a mesmerizing rhythm. I love the prostate — men’s sorely neglected G-spot. Did you know that if you’re a guy, you can get off just from getting fucked, once your ass gets used to having something inside it?
When Rick got used to the dildo, I wanted to make sure that he wasn’t losing his muscle tone. I do care for him, and there’s no sense in letting him get out of shape. So for the past week, we’ve been working with weights. And the butt plug.
The plug is a wonderfully versatile stimulant. Getting it in, of course, is fun, since at its widest it is wider than the dildo, and the narrow neck is surprisingly useful. Getting it in a little is a mind-bending pleasure. The discomfort as you stretch, then clamp, and then relax to let your muscles adjust is followed by a wave of pleasure that courses through your body. How perfect: take the pain, get rewarded with pleasure. Then it goes a bit deeper, and the process begins again, until your ass swallows it and it’s nestled inside you.
It’s largely useless as a dildo — once it’s in, it’s in. Period. Until you pull it out completely. But you can sit on it, or bend over, or even take a bit of a stroll, letting it ride along inside you, hitting the prostate and sparking desire. Just as fun is turning it, either clockwise or counter-clockwise, or alternating the two.
Surprise is a wonderful thing. After we played with it for a week, when Rick could handle it comfortably enough, I asked him to get some sturdy string and a dictionary. I had him tie several four-foot strands of string around the plug’s neck and then push it inside himself.
“How do you like it?”
“Strange,” he said, “very strange.”
“Yes. Now model it for me. Walk over to a mirror.”
I had him turn his back to the full-length mirror that’s on his bathroom door and then look back over his shoulder. And then bend over, touch his toes, and check the reflection from between his legs. And in profile.
“What do you see?”
“A naked man, erect, with something that kind of looks like a tail.”
“Tell me he’s beautiful,” I said.
“Yes, Beverly, he is. A beautiful sight, a tribute to his Mistress.”
“Reach down between your legs,” I said. I’m not much into yelling. I do like giving orders, but he was giving himself over to me. Why would I want to take such a gift and belittle it? “Got a grip?”
“Give it a tug.”
“Yes, Beverly. Quite tight.”
“Let’s try something new,” I said. I had him sit on the floor, his legs spread, the string stretched out in front of him, and the dictionary between his legs.
“Tie the ends of the string together. Okay? Now open the dictionary to the middle, and drape it across the strings. Take another strand of string and tie it around the dictionary, so it stays closed.”
When he had, I asked him to stroke himself while he rocked back and forth on the butt plug. After all, pleasure is the mother of submission.
“Now, Rick, up on all fours — or threes, since you need to hold the phone. Tell me, Rick, how hard are you?”
“Would you like to crawl for me, pulling the load behind you?”
“Please,” he said, “may I?”
“Slowly, Rick. Keep your balance. Slowly.”
“It’s pulling, and I have to hold on to keep it inside, kind of like I’m being pulled inside out, like something has grabbed hold of me.”
“Of course, Rick. I have. Crawl some more, until you get to the end of your phone cord, and then back. You’re doing very well.”
“Now, stop crawling and kneel. Start to stand, so put one foot flat on the floor. Are you ready for this?”
“Yes. I can try. Please – help me.”
“You’re doing so well, Rick. You need this, Rick. Push yourself – for me. Hold onto the edge of your bed, and start standing. Slowly.”
As he raised himself, I heard him gasp.
“Hold on tight, Rick. You can do it. Squeeze your sphincter, your cheeks together. Do it for me.”
“Yes, Beverly,” he said breathlessly.
Muscle control. Mind over matter.
“Walk,” I said, “slowly.”
Rick’s breath was uneven, cut short by the strain, the desire. His cock, he told me, was bobbing, being so close to his ass, and as he clenched his muscles to keep the plug in, his cock bounced along.
“Hold your cock, and start stroking it.”
Desire is so often a matter of tension. Like the tension Rick felt between wanting to focus on the pleasure of his cock and his need to keep his ass clenched, the plug held tight.
But then, Rick likes the challenge. It’s what motivates him, gets him to that edge where all his senses are engaged, running at full tilt. The image of himself transformed into a tail-sporting creature; the sound of his breathing, caught and then running fast, and of my voice, coaxing him to take another step; the sense of his hand on his cock, the plug in his ass.
“Look how well you’re doing, Rick. Walking, letting the book sway like a pendulum, holding on. You can hold on for me, can’t you?”
“Please, yes, help me.”
“Oh, yes, Rick. No one’s done this for me before. I’m so pleased that you’re able to hold it, after learning to accommodate that big dildo. Did learning to take so much give you pleasure?”
“Yes, Beverly. Thank you for helping me learn to love it.”
“What else will you learn to do for me, for your own pleasure?”
“Ohhhh – I … don’t … know.”
I love Rick’s “please,” how willing and how desirous he becomes when stimulated. The more surprising the challenge, the greater the stimulation, the more intense the release. But maybe you know that. And the prospect of what’s in store, just a flash of an image, is what can trigger Rick.
“You’re doing so well, Rick, that I think next time we’ll have a lot of fun. Maybe the string should be tied around your balls…”
“The book dangling like a pendulum…”
“Please no …”
“You love to obey me … “
“No, no, please…”
“Won’t you? Stroke, Rick, harder, and beg for it.”
As Rick lost himself in the thought, as the image and idea of two books dangling and swaying, pulling at his balls, flashed through his mind and sunk in, as he twisted his hand as he stroked himself, he lost it, coming hard, squeezing his ass, overloading his senses. I asked him to crouch down, then kneel, and place his forehead on the floor.
The landing in these flights is sublime, a quick transition from a warm, weightless world of euphoria to a sense of freedom and liberation, a shift from darkness to dawn that Rick, and so many others, find refreshing. It makes him a little giddy, and it’s infectious. To be honest, it’s one of my cravings — hearing him become immersed in his desires, and then freed. I love being a captor, and I love just as much setting my slaves free.
Until the next time I take them prisoner.
copyright – MsLondoncalling.