Female dominants, male submissive

She tugged my hair, sighing “that’s damn near as good as coffee, first thing in the morning,” her body quivering from the an early morning climax. “But still, coffee. Would you make it?” she asked.

“I started it when you got up to pee,” I answered, getting to my feet.

“Good boy,” she responded. “Let me have a peek,” and I turned to face her. Immediately, her eyes moved to my erection, her hands reaching out. “I love how hard you get pleasing me,” and with that, she gave my cock a quick slap. Adding a “coffee now,” before getting out of bed and leading me by my cock to the kitchen.

“What’s up for today?” I asked, sipping that first sip of magic juice.

“Oh, the girls are coming over for a bit, I think we might do some crafting together.”

“So I should make myself scarce?” I offered.

“That won’t be necessary,” she answered. “In fact, I think you should participate.”

“I have my talents,” I responded, “but I’ve never been good with that crafty stuff.”

“I think you might enjoy today,” she said, with an evil grin, then traced a finger along my penis. I, immediately, grew erect once again. “Why don’t you shower? I’ll clean up.” And as I turned my back to head upstairs, she added “I don’t think you’ll need any clothing for a little while.”

I looked back at her, a perplexed look on my face. Her gaze went to my erection and she smiled that evil little grin of hers. “Chop chop,” she said, clapping her hands twice.

And with that, I went upstairs to shower. I cleaned myself, dried myself, and made my way back downstairs. Immediately, I see that there are four sets of cuffs tethered to the sofa, which had been turned around so the seats were against the wall – and I started to realize that I was to be part of these “crafting plans” she had determined.

She bent down, placing a cuff around my left ankle. Then my right ankle. My right wrist. My left wrist. In truth, I was expecting to be put in a prone position, or on my knees – but I was quite comfortable – just tethered to the couch.

She came forward with a blindfold. “I’m gonna head into the shower, myself,” she said, leaving me without sight. “My friends should be here soon.”

Time passed — but just a few minutes, and I heard her head down the stairs. Immediately, she started stroking my penis, getting me hard, though, truth be told, the whole “what is going to happen?” had me half-erect already. “Just what…”

“Now now,” she interrupted me. “There will be no need to talk.” And with that instruction, the doorbell rang.

“Hey Gloria,” I heard from the doorway. “Thanks for bringing the wine.”

“I must say I love the way you’ve decorated,” I heard a foreign-to-me voice explain. Feeling “on display,” I felt my penis grow harder.

In quick secession, two more women joined. From conversation, I managed to glean names of Helen and Jenny.

The next several hours, I had little clue as to what was going on. They ladies chatted – idle chit-chat turning to gossip about people I had never heard of. They started talking about their favorite television shows. They detailed plans of upcoming vacations and home remodeling. Helen, I think it was, talked about how much she hates car shopping.

For the first half of the gab session, I was little more than a non-entity, with one exception. Whenever my erection even hinted at waning, someone was by to stroke my penis. Every now & then, it was Mistress– but often the hands were colder or warmer than usual. It felt that there was some tacit arrangement in which I would be kept hard without ever getting close to release.

This seemed like something Mistress would mastermind.

Now, you know that disclaimer in Viagra commercials? How erections lasting four hours should seek immediate medical attention? I remember when Viagra was new & the thought “wow, four hours and I can still be going?” was pretty fucking phenomenal. What you don’t realize, though, is that hours of an erection – drug-induced or not – is painful. That pain starts as an ache, and soon it’s a needle in your genitals. Your balls feel like they’re actually growing – being overinflated. Desire flows from the genital epicenter becoming a full-body flu. The shaft feels like it’s about to come painful to the touch — yet, me, the owner of said shaft, was willing to do anything to keep any touch going whenever one of these ladies saw that my level of erection just might have downgraded from “can be used as a hammer substitute” to “erect enough to fuck”.

So, this is where I was when I started to notice one set of hands on me far more than the others. And the contact became less “someone is masturbating me” to “I am being inspected.” But (please see my recent thoughts on the pain of a prolonged erection) any contact was welcome contact — needed contact. Even if it felt that this contact was becoming overly inspecting and clinical.

“Well ladies,” I heard her say, “I think it’s time for show & tell.” Then she switched to a whisper “it’s about to be very very bright for you,” and she took the blindfold off of my eyes. “Helen, why don’t you start.”

“Well, I upcycled,” said the woman to my left with an enthusiastic voice as she held up a gray flogger, letting the ends sway and looking menacingly at me. “A few weeks ago, I spilled a coffee on my suede coat. I took it to the drycleaner & they informed me it was beyond hope.”

Helen’s wrist made a flick and I felt a light *thud* against my butt. Followed by another and another, as the flogger made circles. She continued her story “so, I cut some long strips from the jacket and attached them all together with a shit ton of duct tape.”

“How much duct tape?” said a woman holding two knitting needles in one hand and sipping a glass of white wine with the other.

“I don’t know, a shit ton of duct tape,” Helen responded, shrugging. “And I put knots in the ends of the little strips, to keep things from fraying,” she added, before stopping the flogging. “And to make it hurt that much more when I do this,” and with that, she made a quick whipping motion with her wrist, and I let out a loud “oomph” as those thuddy impacts left for a far-more acute pain.

“I’m going next!” interjected the knitting-needled friend.

“Yes, Jennifer,” was her response, “I want to see just what you have there.”

“I knitted myself a glove with this super stretchy yarn,” she exclaimed, holding up five fingered glove that looked like it would fit a four-year-old. She started to put the glove on her right hand before reaching for my cock. With her index finger, she traced along the underside of my stiff member and I let out a groan which left my tormenter cackling.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said in a voice that made it seem that she hadn’t actually forgotten anything, but was adding to her storytelling. “I put thumbtacks in the fingertips, so I can do this.” And with that, she grabbed my testicles, eliciting pain that made me gasp aloud. “And this,” she said, tracing four fingers from the base of my shaft to the head, bringing forth a high-pitched squeal as I tried to keep my composure. I very nearly dropped to my knees with overstimulation.

“Ouch, Jenny!” the one I assume must have been Gloria, as I hadn’t seen her speak just yet, responded.

“He’s being a baby. I dulled these points. They’re not going to hurt-hurt him,” she said, before grabbing my scrotum once again, eliciting a loud grunt, adding “just regular hurt him.”

Closing my eyes from everything, I next heard Mistress proclaim “I got to practice my decoration skills.”

I opened my eyes & looked at her – she was holding an implement — not dissimilar to a ruler – but longer than a foot, split along the middle. “It’s called a tawse — British schoolmasters used them to punish naughty children.”

And with that I felt a sharp sting at my penis head as the implement made contact.

“I feel like a cheated a little bit,” she continued. “You all started with something seemingly lying around & I started with a piece of stiff leather I just purchased at a craft store,” adding another swat to my penis, making me wince. “But I carved some really pretty flowers into the leather – I’m very proud of this.” And with that, she held the implement up, demonstrating her handiwork to her friends.

“Obviously, schoolmasters weren’t using something like this to hit the penis of incredibly turned-on men,” she said, snapping the leather against my dick once again. “They would have a student place one palm up, and hold their other hand directly beneath that hand, ensuring the impact was that much more devastating.”

I’ll fully admit that I was expecting another blow, but it didn’t come just here. “See,” and I felt the leather pressing against the head of my dick, “there is no resistance, it just moves wherever it’s directed,” she said in her “just stating the facts” voice. “I guess I could unfasten a wrist and let him hold himself for me, but Jennifer — while I certainly don’t want to hit you,” she said, “but maybe if you grabbed that penis around the base…”

I felt that gloved hand once again, those pins pressing into me. Then I felt the leather atop my shaft, as she pressed down. Between Jennifer’s hand & my erection, there wasn’t much motion.

And then I felt the blow. The prior hits hurt – I cannot deny this. But this made me cry out. And one was followed by three more. I felt tears welling in my eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” I heard her voice say, as my eyes were closed as I attempted to manage the pain. “Just look at how hard he is — he’s loving this.”

It appears that my penis is a tattle-tale.

“You are enjoying yourself, aren’t you my dear?” she asked me.

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered, blinking the tears out of my eyes.

“I thought so,” and she delivered one more blow with the tawse as Jennifer let go of my engorged sex. “But Gloria, what have you been working on?”

“It’s not done,” the first new-to-me-voice-of-the-evening stated. “But I think it’s a good start. “A branch fell the other day in my front yard, and I decided to bring it here,” she said, pulling out what was obviously a carved penis. I looked, half in horror, half in amazement, at a replica of my own phallus.

“This needs to be shellacked before you even think about using it,” she exclaimed, holding the base of the dildo against my hip, right next to my own. She had the length, girth, angle correct, down to seemingly the most minute detail.

The other women looked upon, awestruck. “This is great work,” I heard from my Mistress. The other women murmuring in agreement. “How shall we use it?”

With that, Gloria traced a finger down my butt. “I was thinking, after I finish it and add a base to it, you could use it with a strap on and fuck his ass with his own dick!”

My ears grew red with embarrassment. And at the same time, I felt my erection involuntarily bounce, as if to say “I like this idea.”

I heard giggling, with Helen pointing out “look at all that precum dripping out of him!”

“I think”, Mistress said, tracing a finger along my shaft, “I’ll have him in a chastity cage – have him put on the strap on, and he can fuck me with a replica of his own cock!

This drew hoots of laughter from the crowd. “He’s blushing, he’s truly truly blushing,” Jennifer noted before making little circles around the head of my penis with that evil index finger of hers” to join Mistress’s teasing.

“Would you like that my dear?” Mistress asked me.

Somehow, I mustered voice amidst my lust and embarrassment. “I always want to please,” I answered.

“That’s a very good answer,” Mistress said, reaching for my bound right wrist. “I think we’d all enjoy some entertainment right about now,” she said as my wrist dropped, free from its bound. “Jerk off for us.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. Four sets of eyes stared at my sex as I reached to perform and act I’ve done countless times, though always with a veil of privacy.

“You’re going to cum on my feet,” Mistress ordered as I stroked myself. “And ladies, will you take care of the remaining bonds?” I felt the cuffs about my ankles and remaining wrists fall loose. My masturbatory exploits did not leave me “entertaining the crowd” for too long after being teased for so long.

I felt my body spasm. I saw the splooge about Mistress’s feet. “Now, on your knees, lick it off,” I was ordered.

As soon as my knees hit the ground, I felt the thud of the flogger against my butt. It continued as I lapped up my own mess.

“I think this was a very successful craft day,” Mistress ordered, looking at me. “Maybe, once these fine ladies leave, you can prove yourself better than coffee?”