“Thoughtless sprinkles! Yum. That’s it, shake them all over.”
She was really getting completely into this torture. I lay on the floor, on my increasingly troublesome stomach which was making some extremely disturbing noises. Right in front of my face, where She had just set them out, sat a bowl full of, you guessed it – prunes. I was adding the zest of the little white email orbs I had torn, rolled and offered as a vain penance. I had done so many of them that my left thumb had seized up on me.
“Now clean your plate for me and don’t forget to mix in your brainless little email balls.”
She was wearing one of her tight little bath wrap dresses. The ones that ride up her strong swimmer’s thighs. The ones that every now and then just completely malfunction and expose some delicious body part or another. I was gazing at her armpit in olfactory lust.
“What are you looking at?” She mocked. “My armpit? Are you thinking you’d like to lick?” she teased. “Here, wash the lovely little garnish down with some nice, tasty juice.”
She had explained that not long ago she had eaten a few too many prunes herself. She’d been spearing them with a toothpick and they tasted so good she lost count. All of sudden she had grabbed her stomach and made a mad dash for the toilet. There she’d spent the rest of the night sweating, groaning and expelling. She said when she read my email it made her feel the same way.
“Can you feel it yet?” she gleefully grilled.
“Yesssss!” I moaned, as a completely involuntary groan left my throat.
“Good. I want you to feel what I felt,” She explained rationally.
There was nothing rational about how I felt. My insides were spinning and reeling like a Coney Island Tilt-A-Whirl. My brain was a broken circuit. But my dick? My dick was hard as a rock, baby. She made me eat all the prunes and email sprinkles in the bowl. Then she poured prune juice into the wine glass, soaking my little shriveled white balls throughly.
"Drink it up like good little plaything," she directed encouragingly.
I drank and ate until it was all gone.
"Come sit by the end of the bed and rub my footsies. Didn't you buy me some special heel cream?" She cooed seductively.
I stroked and caressed the tanned and gorgeous feet I so love but had no grunt and groan control. My moan was my massage. The vicious knots in my stomach flowed up through my core and out into the air in a desperate whimpering whine for relief.
I know She let me go. She allowed nature to take it's course. But it all became a haze. She sat in her bath and laughed at me. At one point she made me close the bathroom door and she slid another two emails under it on the floor.
"Use these. At least they're good for something", she commanded. As I rubbed the letter sized xerox paper together to soften it, I had an intense flashback to my mother. She grew up very poor and when she was a kid her family could not afford soft toilet paper. Even as an adult she would rub her Charmin to ease non-existant chafe. I called out to She that I was having a flashback.
"About your mother?" she uncannily crystal balled. "You know how inappropriate it is that you know she used to do that, don't you? You know what a wonderful, cute, little pervert you are, don't you?"
I loved She's punishment. I didn't do anything wrong by asking her to come visit. But She wanted me to suffer because she wanted me to feel what she felt. I'm sorry I made her stomach heart. But I'm not sorry I needed her. And I loved that She loves me enough to punish me.
Prostate - Milking vs Orgasm
1 year ago