A Gift From James Page 10

  I had been in Eve’s basement before but always when her mother was home and when we were engaged in some form of harmless play on a rainy afternoon.

  Now the circumstances were more earnest.

  In the far end, I knew there was an open area and I instinctively moved there. Eve would want some space. And it is interesting to realize in my reminiscence that the particular section was the best lit part of the basement, with a large fluorescent light fixture above and a comfortable old shag rag on the floor.

  Why did I stand there without being so directed?

  I looked about at Eve’s nearby doll collection, which filled the shelves of an old bookcase. An interesting juxtaposition, I thought. The toys of Eve’s childhood situated where she was about to display a most precocious level of sexual curiosity.

  After a moment, Eve came down the stairs. She carried a notebook and as promised it was filled with photos. We sat on the rug and she opened the cover.

  “I’ve made copies which are well hidden so don’t think you can run off with these,” she cautioned. “But I can make more copies for you if you’d like.”

  Eve’s offer was ignored as my attention quickly turned to her camera work. My face flushed with shame as she turned the pages. Unfolding before me was the entire photographed sequence, some of which was unfamiliar to me since on that Saturday morning I had closed my eyes with the overwhelming combination of humiliation and ecstasy. And of course, as each photo became progressively more sordid, my ‘Little Dicky’ responded as expected, which Eve was waiting to see. She noticed me fidget as the sensitive tip became entrapped in my underwear.

  “No one’s home, James. You’ll feel more comfortable showing it to me. It’s so cute when it stands for me. You can take off all your clothes down here. Mother won’t be home for hours. No one will see you but me.”

  I hesitated.

  “You know you’ll feel better if you do, James. And of you don’t these photos can be mailed just about anywhere...”

  Yes. I stripped. Naked. Completely. Nothing, not a stitch did she permit me. I tried to stop with a couple of undergarments remaining, but Eve wanted me completely naked. And what Eve wanted, Eve got. That I knew. Why I attempted to keep some covering I don’t know.

  And when I finished, Little Dicky seemed to be larger and firmer than ever before, bringing a broad smile from Eve.

  On that afternoon, Eve drew up a chair and calmly ensconced herself for the duration. There were no furtive glances needed as a precaution against neighbors or other interlopers. No one could interfere with her antics. Eve knew we were alone, that we would remain alone without interruption, and that she was in control.

  “Move your hands away, James, I want to see it.”

  So I just stood under the bright fluorescent lights and under went her thorough visual examination. My penis stood so straight for her...and once again the more I tried to avoid the shame of my tumescence the higher it seemed to stand.

  Eve no longer giggled. I suppose over the years she had become seasoned. For her, my display no longer satisfied a girlish curiosity. Instead it seemed to be fulfilling a sexual need. A desire to observe and learn of the opposite sex. Unlike other girls, for Eve with this desire came the urge to control, to demonstrate authority not to mention the obvious enjoyment of my shame.

  After a few moments she instructed me to turn to the side. I suppose the profile view highlighted my state of erection even more. And in complying with her demand, Eve seemed to take even more relish in her authority, realizing anew that the possession of the photos was an unlimited source of power over me. And I suppose they were.

  She just made me stand there and I closed my eyes and subconsciously moved my hands to my sides.

  “Why not just put your hands on your head and leave them there James. I want to look at your entire body.”

  I guess I moved my hands so quickly that she was again impressed with her own power. For she began to make me move, to turn my back to her, spread my legs, bend over, kneel, and stand again.

  A younger Eve would laugh and giggle with girlish trepidation of being in the presence of a nude boy. This Eve did not. Her orders were crisp, directed with clarity, and verbalized with the expectation that she would be obeyed. Which she was.

  And ‘Little Dickey’ reacted in its characteristically embarrassing manner, standing at full attention the whole time.

  D

  I awake revitalized and still aroused. When I look over and see James fidgeting, I become more aroused. His cute erection remains standing which indicates to me that he is dreaming or hallucinating. He has found the harness to be comfortable, as expected.

  I retreat to the sleeper car and change. James has not before seen me in black latex, and my skintight slacks and halter make quite the impression.

  The thin halter perfectly forms to my breasts, clinging to my nipples. The slacks have folds, which can be pushed aside to form an opening at the crotch, allowing me to wear my dildo harness with the ‘man spreader’ attached.

  I unpack the necessary supplies: dildo harness, ‘man spreader’, my delightful insertion, lubricant, and towels. A quick glance in the bathroom mirror brings a smile.

  A rather imposing figure, I think to myself. At 31 I’ve worked hard to stay in shape and the effort shows. The light reflects off the shiny latex and highlights my muscles. The abdominals appear to be impressively masculine, and each movement of my legs stretches the rubber slacks in a very suggestive manner.

  I retrieve a pair of special nipple agitators then return to the lounge not wishing to leave James alone in suspension. I draw the blinds down. A scheduled station stop is approaching, and our activity will most likely be deemed inappropriate by the inhabitants of the small dairy town.

  I remove the headphones and hood. I want James to watch. A beautiful dominant female is going to painfully penetrate his well-stretched backside and thoroughly enjoy herself, as he begs for both mercy and attention to his libido. He’ll receive neither.

  ‘Well, James, it just isn’t your day’, I think with a diabolical chuckle.

  He hangs at just the right height. With his ankles drawn up and attached to the waist belt, his buttocks are not entirely accessible. But the man spreader is a very long phallus, and I’m confident that the bulbous tip can be inserted followed by enough of the furrowed shaft to give James a good work over.

  I insert the female end into his mouth. He graciously lubricates it while I stand before him and slowly smooth an oil covered hand down the lengthy male end. His eyes widen with the sight of me in black latex.

  Yes, James. A little different side of me. Not the prissy psychologist you dated months ago.

  As written, he has a thing for my breasts and he gapes with an amusing degree of sexual fever. The thin latex halter presents my mammaries in a manner that is as close to being uncovered as imaginable. He would be very disappointed to learn that it’s as good a view as he’ll get, until he presents his gift, of course.

  “It’s time James. Do be a good boy.”

  The ingeniously designed female end is retrieved, attached to the male end, threaded through the harness, and then it’s time for the fun. My personalized toy is slipped through the slit in the crotch and between my lips. I’m in heaven. Already wet in anticipation, the little phallus gently kneads the walls of my vagina. And a clever burl tickles my clitoris. It’s enjoyable just to walk about and feel the implement work its magic. And to have it perform its magic while impaling the waiting aperture of my male toy makes me wet with anticipation.

  I decide to leave the parachute attached. The weight hanging from his scrotum will produce an interesting counter movement to each of my thrusts, and watching James cope with the double pain will be most amusing.

  I pick up the nipple agitators and step behind him. He’s ready, if the male animal can ever be termed ready for sodomy.

  The nipple agitators are intended to obtain James’ attention. Sometimes when placed in overwhelmingly
painful and humiliating scenarios, the submissive male fails to listen, with the pain signals blocking out perception. An agitator is comprised of two simple pieces of serrated surgical steel hinged together. The nipple is placed between the pieces, which are gripped in the palm of the hand. A squeeze of the hand squeezes the nipple, most painfully.

  I’ll use them to guide James through his ordeal. He will not forget who is in control. Despite the possibility of distraction from the unbearable pain, if he does not follow direction, he will endure more.

  I stand behind James and ‘knock’ on his back door with the tip of the ,man spreader,. I then reach around with each hand and carefully encase each nipple in an agitator. When I ever so gently pressure the agitators, James jumps in his harness.

  “Open nicely for me, James.”

  Yes, I have his attention. His rectum seems to swallow the hideous male appendage. The back pressure sends a wave of pleasure through my love pot, and the slow heavenly sodomy of my toy begins. We have hours of time. The only constraint is the endurance of my leg muscles, which I trust are up to the challenge.

  James

  D is an amazing woman. Here I hang completely helpless while she chooses to use me in a most demeaning manner. My role is to react, to respond to each of her thrusts and the incredibly painful pinching of my nipples. But there is a strange level of enjoyment for me in listening to her throaty moans of pleasure.

  She is teaching me how to please. And I find myself a very receptive student, particularly when she gently closes the palms of her hands and the steel objects within send a jolt of pain.

  But I soon learn the rhythm. First, a pinch tells me she’s about to thrust, and I concentrate on pushing myself open for her. Then, it is apparent after full insertion, with the accompanying strangely pleasurable pressure on my prostate that she wants me to tighten my sphincter as she withdraws.

  Judging from her sighs of ecstasy, attempting to hold in the ‘man spreader’ as she withdraws provides a most gratifying sensation on her end. She casually comments at one point that the manipulation of her clitoris is indescribable.

  I look down to see that despite all the discomfort, my manhood remains in full stand with fluid dripping down the lengthy shaft. The pain from the weighted parachute is not discernible. Any such signals to the brain are apparently ignored, overridden by the nipple torture and the painful sensation of the furrowed ‘man spreader’ working open my abraded rectum.

  On occasion I break the rules and speak. Beg actually. A particularly deep thrust forces me to cry out in agony. But my entreaties are ignored. D is sedulous in thrusting the ‘man spreader’ and my pleas seem to spur her energy.

  As the pain of the initial nasty thrust subsides, for some reason a deep need to please manifests in my mind. And there is an oddly warm feeling knowing that with each painful squeeze and thrust, I am helping D bring herself to climax. I am being of service and it is difficult for me to understand why it makes me feel so good, in view of the overwhelming suffering endured by my nipples and anus.

  The pacing of her thrusts becomes slower but deeper. The nipple squeezes moderate, mercifully, as I endeavor to precisely time the opening and closing of my backside. Her gasps indicate a heightened level of enjoyment. Then her pace quickens and she lets out a final cry of lust.

  She stops.

  “Hold,” is her final command, as her hands pull away from my nipples and she releases the long phallus from her harness.

  I look over my shoulder to see the divine, latex-clad feminine shape retrieve my hood. She returns me to darkness and as expected the headphones are slipped over my ears.

  The ‘man spreader’ remains inserted. I feel my testicles begin to ache. The more subtle pain signals from the parachute resume.

  D

  Not bad. As I have long suspected, James is quite the male whore. He tried very hard to please and his response to direction was adequate. It can be improved and after our visit to the spa he’ll have a lifetime of opportunities. It’s the attitude that counts more than anything, and he put my enjoyment well above the level of pain he had to endure. He’s learning that his suffering pleases me. And he’ll soon be put in a position where he’ll suffer often and the only pleasure he’ll receive well be vicariously through mine.

  I pour a refreshing glass of Champagne and return to the couch, sipping slowly while watching James swing in harness and while relishing the afterglow of a most wonderful orgasm.

  It’s nearly 5:00 p.m. I reamed James’ backside for over an hour. Time passes so quickly when engaged in passionate recreation...

  I’ll let him hang a while longer. The galley has been well stocked with food. I’ll begin to mold James’ serving skills in another hour or so. Four hours in suspension is pushing the envelope for the initial episode. But over time, he’ll find himself comfortably hanging for many hours. Of course Laitai will be in charge going forward. She will determine the level of discipline and control required.

  James

  It feels as if I have just completed a most satisfying session of sex and I am perplexed. D did not touch my penis for the entire ordeal, just letting let it bob about as she thrust into me.

  There seems to be no feeling of physical frustration in failing to achieve my own orgasm and mentally I feel somewhat invigorated knowing that D has used me to achieve hers.

  The static of the headphones brings my thoughts back to Eve. There seems to be developing a mental connection between my state of darkness and static and long lost remembrances of the irritatingly assertive little girl of my adolescence.

  I’m back in her basement reliving one of my many subsequent visits. The bright fluorescent lights seemingly illuminate memories I have tucked away in the dark corners of my mind.

  It’s a few months after Eve had me strip naked and then inspected me in the first home visit. Her photo album was growing, for at times she would bring the camera down the stairs with her and snap some most embarrassing shots which she would then gleefully add to the collection. And add to her level of control, for she used the evidence of my sordid exhibition to the hilt, absolutely commanding when I would make an appearance and perform for her.

  Eve’s mother had found a job, deeming her children mature enough and responsible enough to be left alone after school. Little did she suspect how mature Eve was.

  Well, one can imagine to what uses Eve could put the quiet secluded area of the basement, knowing no one could possibly interrupt. No one that is except Eve’s younger brother, who thankfully was home after school three days per week.

  But on Friday, Eve’s brother had band practice after school, and when my precocious tormentress would stop me in the school hallway to ‘invite’ me to her house, I would tremble in anticipation for the remainder of the day, knowing I would be hers for some two hours.

  Obviously at that age, it was not physically possible to masturbate for the entire period. So Eve thought up the most lewd games to play, all with her fully clothed and me stripped naked for the remainder of the afternoon. Sometimes with camera. Sometimes without. The common theme being extreme exposure and humiliation. It was only the pending dinner hour that curtailed the ordeal.

  And it was only at that appointed time when she allowed me to pleasure myself, tossing a towel to the floor and taunting me to aim carefully and thus ending the afternoon in a most demeaning climax.

  She had taken to removing my clothing from the basement. Hiding it I knew not where, she reveled in the control it provided her. For without covering I could go no where, not that it was possible to disobey without threat of a photo being mailed home, or to my father’s office. Yes, Eve was that shrewd, well aware that mail sent to my house could be intercepted, she often showed me the envelope, pre-addressed to dad’s office, where I could only guess who would open it first and glimpse my naked, obedient body standing or kneeing in some perverse manner.

  Taking possession of my attire gave her an added thrill. And after a time, each session ceremonious
ly ended with her ‘gifting’ to me my own garments, in mock condescension. In her own humorous way indicating that, but for her munificence, I would walk home naked.

  “You may dress now,” her gracious consent vocalized with firmness.

  Our deviant escapades progressed over several months of weekly meetings. She was fascinated looking at my developing body. The spreading patch of pubic hair made her quite curious and she gazed raptly at its weekly growth. And, of course watching me masturbate highlighted the afternoon. I think she knew that I ardently stroked myself to self-gratification with not only a mental image of her but also fantasizing over the touch of her hand.

  So my memory of the progression of events was punctuated by that afternoon when she no longer just watched.

  “I want to feel you shoot that stuff,” was her girlish phraseology.

  At the time, she had me kneeling and bent over backwards with my legs tucked under me. The back of my head was touching the carpet. She often commented that ‘Little Dickey’ looked so big in that position and she often insisted that I assume it, as awkward and difficult as it was. It was in that position that she would measure me, as my purple pride stood straight up toward the basement ceiling. She seemed fascinated by the fact that it grew ever so slightly from week to week.

  Well, she was sitting in her chair observing closely as always. She had learned that a short skirt assisted in arousing me, and as I lay on the floor, I could look up to catch flashes of her frilly underwear and her soft, smooth upper thighs. The later recalling of which, I may add, caused many a pleasant twinge of passion during late night masturbatory sessions home in my bed.

  “Sit here, James. It’s my turn to play.”

  As I responded to her rather forceful suggestion, she reached for the towel and laid it on the floor in front of her. This always signaled the beginning of the end and I quickly arose and stepped toward her.

  “Face away from me, spread your legs and sit down on my lap.”

  I complied and as I lowered myself she hiked up her skirt. I was in heaven. My naked legs were permitted to touch her creamy smooth flesh! Straddling her legs, she positioned me just about at her knees. She told me to stroke, a command I heard so many times, and I obeyed.