IVAN IN THE DARKROOM: Bondage, CBT and Prostate Orgasms
from
Recon News
02 May 2019
Ivan, also known as member candiflip, is an academic historian of sexuality. In an ongoing series, he shares some of his favourite fetish encounters (in a whole lot of detail), as well occasionally fill us in on the history of kink:
I kneel, eyes closed, waiting for the sound of his footsteps to approach me from behind. I don't turn when he stops. His hands reach around my face to put a blindfold on me and he hoists me to my feet. I know this feeling: the calm that sinks into me when he takes control. I take deep breaths and let myself drift until I find myself where we finished last time. There is a continuous strand in my life that threads from scene to scene with him. He makes me trust my body when I can no longer think for myself, washing up on the same beach with me in the calm after a storm. That is where I am going. That is where we will meet.
He pulls off my shirt and takes my hands above my head; I hold the suspended steel ring he puts in my fingers. He ties ropes around my wrists, and around the ring. I am his now. If he kicks out my feet, I won't fall. He kicks them apart, so my arms are up straight and ties a length of bamboo to each of my ankles, holding my legs spread so I am fully stretched. My back starts to arch; I am imagining watching myself. He says nothing.
He pulls down my jeans, and I hear him pick something out of his bag. He spits, then grabs my cheek and exposes my arse while pushing my back down with his elbow. "Open." It is one cold word. I love his silences because I have to wait longer for his words. I stretch back for him and feel cold steel against my arse hole. An anal hook.
He grabs me around my hips in the crook of his elbow, and moves the hook, pushing against me. I feel my body start to open for him. He spits again and rubs the ball of the hook in it as it dribbles down my arse. He bends forward and spits right on my hole. He pushes harder, and I stretch around the ball until it pops inside me. He puts it in the right position against my prostate, feeling his way by my groans, and then ties another piece of rope tight around my waist, and attaches the hook to it. With every slutty movement, I feel waves of pleasure. My hands are tied so I can't quite push down hard enough onto it to make myself come, but every micro movement is edging me along a journey into myself. I am so focused on how this hook feels that I have to remember to breathe. Now that it has warmed up and disappeared into my body, the hook is hard to detect. The feeling is so precise; a foreign body held inside so perfectly that I can make the rest of the world disappear when I focus only on the points where it touches me.
"Look at you, slut," he says. He kicks the hook so it thuds into me, a shock that brings me back to centre. I remember where I am. I am here with him. For him.
"I can't see," I say when I am recomposed. He laughs at me, says nothing, and pulls up my jeans roughly, so that the ball of the hook is hard against my prostate. Even when I stand still, I feel like I am close to the edge. I can feel the blood rushing to my cock.
He takes something else out of his bag. I feel him in front of me, and the fabric of my jeans pulls tights. I hear him cut into the denim with heavy steel fabric scissors, and my breath stops. I am so frightened that he will cut me that I cannot move. I concentrate on my stillness and feel myself sink back into the zone he wants me to occupy. Sometimes I think I am too nervous for him, but I see the pleasure he takes in making me still. He plays with me. I feel the steel of the back of his shears against my balls as he cuts. I wince when he grabs my cock roughly and tells me not to move. That slow sound of the scissors cutting close to my balls puts me on edge. It draws in as it bites into the denim, a tearing sound that speeds up, a Doppler effect until the relief of the click: I was not cut this time. The final click, then the zip of my jeans hits the ground with a metallic scratch. He roughly pulls on my cock and balls, playing with them now there is nowhere for me to hide.
I feel exposed standing immobile. The air is cold on my bare skin. I do not know what he is thinking. He is in front of me, but does not move for a long time, until he takes his hand around the base of my cock and balls, squeezing them slowly. I can tell he is watching my face. His fingers get tighter and he pulls his hand away from my body. This happens so slowly that I cannot tell if it is painful. When the limit of my stretched skin is reached, he tugs more until my balls are far from me, and I gasp as his squeeze reaches the point of being too much. With his other hand, he wraps a cord around me, and starts to tie me up. I settle into the pinch of the rope, feeling him jerk me around as he wraps me. I love it when he handles me roughly, once I am in this submissive space where will let him do anything to my body that he desires. He pulls the cord tight around my scrotum, separating my balls from my body by binding them, making them swell and become sensitive and vulnerable. The skin tightens. My cock engorges. Every heartbeat makes it throb a little harder and I know that I will be unbearably sensitive by the time he is done with me.
"I am sure that you want to watch this," he says in my ear, undoing my blindfold.
I am in front of a full-length mirror. The room is dark, but spot-lit so that all I can see is myself hanging there. He has made me look great. My legs are spread and my genitals are exposed. My arms are stretched above my head, my armpits open, my flanks vulnerable. So many times have I been strung up like this and beaten or used. Today, it is my pleasure that has me hanging suspended in the light, my cock throbbing and hard, my balls tight and unprotected, my body there for me to watch. Today he is just an obscure figure ministering to me – not a man to whom I sacrifice myself.
In his black leather I can barely make him out in the shadows. His boots clunk on the dark floor. I hear him put on some black latex gloves, then cover them in lube. He stands behind me and reaches underneath me, between my legs, and holds me around my balls, which stick out from my body, vulnerable. The silicone lube is slick. He holds me tight, and squeezes until the pressure builds up and my balls are popped out of his hand in release. The sensation is intense. He grabs me and repeats it, observing me in the mirror. All I see of him is a shiny black glove around my balls, me isolated in my pleasure. After every squeeze he grabs them again and they get darker until they are Burgundy red. I push myself into his hands, helping him hurt me, pushing myself further into him, writhing for him. I swoon when rough he is with me. I like feeling that he is going to pull them off when he doesn't let go and stretches my skin against his ropes. I feel totally his, but all I am to him is my strangled balls in his gloved hand. My cock is hard but flops around unattended, ridiculously. My balls ache. Every move I make pushes the steel hook deeper in my arse. I love the pleasure and love the pain that makes me want more pleasure to relieve it. When he smacks and punches my balls, I jerk myself away involuntarily and am washed over with pleasure. He squeezes until my skin between his gloved fingers is throbbing and purple. It feels like he will never stop, and I am deep in a space where I had become nothing but the intense sensations in my balls, and the reflection of my long body writhing itself against the steel in my arse. I feel abjection with every orgasm that fails to ejaculate. I am reduced to the tension in his fingers. I whimper and howl and try to hold myself so it hurts less, until I find myself getting myself off on the steel in my arse to take me away from this desired agony. Once I breathe into the pleasure, tears wet and rolling on my face, he hurts me too much to let me enjoy it. I am in masochistic ecstasy. It is all give and take at once and I cease to be myself.
"Look at this," he says under his breath. My cock is leaking precum in glistening strands that are starting to pool on the floor. He puts one hand on my cock, and the other grabs the hook in my arse. "I want to see which gives you the most pleasure, your cock or your arse." With long deliberate strokes he lubes up my cock. I am so swollen that every vein has popped, and the skin is so tight that every movement is amplified. He starts jerking me off, first with the latex of his fingers barely touching the surface, and then with a tighter grasp, hard, his grip in tune with my breath, building me up and letting me subside, never letting me fall over the edge, stopping and making me beg if I looked like I would orgasm before he wanted me to. He rubs his fingers at the tip of my cock, squeezing it open, pushing a fingertip into my urethra to scoop out some more precum, and rub it over the head. The scent overwhelms me; nothing smells more like sex. I cannot stop myself moaning and moving my hips. When I open my eyes, all I can see is his shiny black hand on my dick and my body writhing in pleasure. This is what ecstasy looks like. When he removes his hand completely, my cock is twitching desperately, dripping viscous precum onto the floor, its long strands caught in the light as they descend.
He holds the hook with the other hand, and moves it slightly within me. A sharp jerk snaps me back into a world where he is in charge and does not need to speak to control me. He lets go of my cock, and holds me around my hips so he can rock the hook in and out of my arse. His extra weight only intensifies my pleasure. When I feel my orgasm build up and feel my bowel move in waves over the surface of the hook in me, I am totally in his power. He is making my body react in the most exquisite ways. Not stopping to let me enjoy the after glow of my orgasm, he continues to pound me, building me up into more intense pleasures moments after the last has subsided. I hear the wet, splashing sounds of the hook pulling in and out of my gaping hole. I feel my body swell with sensation. Every time I open my eyes, I see a middle-aged man pushing his hairy, tattooed body back against the steel hook being thrust into him. I am seeing myself from the outside. I close my eyes and sink back into this luxurious world where the slightest movement of this toy in my arse concentrates to become the most intense pleasures. He does this over and over and over until my body is screwed up so tight that I feel myself leaking and spurting out onto the floor and my body pushes the ball of the hook out. My jeans are drenched. I open my eyes. There is a puddle in front of me. He has made me squirt. The warm scent fills the air. He steps back and I am left hanging there, light reflecting off the puddle on the floor.
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