For years, I'd delved into the intoxicating world of BDSM, honing my skills as a submissive. With a sense of newfound confidence, I posted an ad on Craig's List, advertising my willingness to guide aspiring dommes on their own journey into this realm. The first response came from a captivating individual named Annie.
As the front door creaked open, Annie glided in—her presence impossible to ignore. She was a bewitching blend of races, sporting a slim figure encased in a long, body-skimming red dress. Her modest curves were accentuated, almost demanding to be noticed. Her sense of style was eclectic, a harmonious blend of bohemian and alternative vibes—highlighted by her choice of ugg boots, and an assortment of hippy-like bracelets jangling at her wrists.
Navigating through the initial awkwardness of our first face-to-face meeting, I led her upstairs to my bedroom, the sanctum of my most secret desires. On the bed lay my BDSM toy box, its lid ajar, hinting at the forbidden pleasures within.
Her eyes widened, gleaming with an almost predatory curiosity as they scanned over the objects. I lifted a spreader bar from the box. "This can be used on either wrists or ankles to immobilise the submissive," I clarified, always aware that first-time dommes might not be well-versed in the terminology. She responded with a knowing smile and a simple "okay."
Continuing my brief tutorial, I introduced her to a penis pump, an electric shock device, and a selection of strap-ons and chastity cages. These lay alongside the standard but indispensable ropes, floggers, and handcuffs.
Pulling out a tape measure, I revealed, "I'm into small penis humiliation." Annie's smile broadened at this, piqued. "Why the humiliation?" she probed.
"It was my gateway into femdom," I confessed. "But, at its core, it's about empowering the woman, allowing her to exploit a perceived weakness in her submissive partner."
Laid out before her, the bed now resembled a canvas waiting for an artist's first stroke. Annie's eyes danced over it, deliberating. Eventually, she selected a candle and a lighter. "May I see how hot this burns?"
"Absolutely," I reassured her. "You're free to explore." She ignited the wick, placing the candle on a nearby table, letting the wax melt into a small, glistening pool.
As the room filled with the soft aroma of the melting wax, Annie revealed she had toyed with the idea of professional domination. "Well," I offered, "each session varies according to the submissive's preferences. For example, ass and pussy worship are frequent kinks, but you might not want to give yourself to him in that way. Also, it's up to you decide if he gets to cum, and if so, make him do it himself."
She nodded contemplatively, her eyes fixed on the liquefying candle. Finally, she dripped some of the molten wax onto the back of her hand. "Oh, it's not too hot," she remarked.
"It's a different sensation altogether on more sensitive areas," I said, handing her a cloth to wipe away the wax. "Trust me, it’s a different sort of burn."
I offered her a suggestion, "a good start might be to instruct me to undress for your examination." A grin crept onto Annie's face as she commanded, "Go on then." The simple words held a weight of authority that made my skin tingle. I complied, feeling a flicker of vulnerability as I unbuckled my belt and removed my clothes. She emitted a little giggle, a contrast to her newfound domineering tone, as if delighted by her power over me.
Now standing utterly exposed in front of her, my anticipation heightened. "Shall we play a game?" Annie suggested, her hand alighting on a pair of ballbusting dice from my toy collection. Each die was a gamble in itself—one bore actions like kick, punch, flick, slap, squeeze, and knee, while its partner indicated a number from one to six. Rolling the dice would dictate my forthcoming torment.
"Perfect place to begin," I affirmed. Though her curiosity was piqued, Annie sought clarity. "So, is there a 'right' way to bust balls? Seems like it could go quite wrong if you're not careful."
"True, but it's actually quite difficult to cause any lasting damage," I reassured her, "my balls have been through their fair share of trials."
Satisfied with my response, she handed me the dice. "You roll, your choice of punishment."
I cast the dice onto the bed. 'One' and 'flick', a merciful start. With a playful chuckle, Annie stepped closer and delivered a deft flick to my right testicle, her eyes sparkling with a mix of curiosity and sadism.
On the next roll, 'two squeezes' appeared. My legs parted instinctively. "How hard?" she inquired.
"Wrap your thumb and forefinger around the base of the ballsack and encircle it," I coached her. "Take them gently in the palm of your hand and then apply an even squeeze for two to three seconds." As she did, her eyes met mine, studying my reaction. She let out a small, satisfied laugh, her fingers exerting two cautious yet firm squeezes.
"I don't want to do it too hard," she confessed. "I can take quite a bit," I encouraged her, and she took this as a sign, smacking my erect penis sharply from the side according to the next roll of the dice.
Once again, the dice tumbled onto the bed: five slaps. Annie's hands became instruments of pleasure and pain, alternating in a rhythmic slapping of my cock. I mentally counted, and when she paused, I queried, "Was that five?"
"Only four," she corrected, her voice laced with playful malice, before delivering the final, stinging slap.
Yet another roll produced a repeat. "I want something different," Annie complained, casting the dice onto the floor. They displayed 'five punches,' much to her delight. "So, this means punches to the balls, right?"
"Exactly," I confirmed.
"Lie down," she instructed, a hint of excitement creeping into her voice. I complied, lowering myself onto my back on the floor and parting my legs.
Annie took her position between my thighs, squatting like a predatory feline. Her fist found its target with surgical precision, eliciting a guttural grunt from me as waves of intense, searing pain radiated through my abdomen. She followed this with two more punches, each one as deliberate and forceful as the last.
"Should we establish a safeword?" she asked, noting my reactions.
"Normally, yes," I replied. "But for now, I'll communicate if it's too much. Though, I doubt it'll come to that."
Seemingly pleased with this, she unleashed another punch and queried, "Softer or harder?"
"You're on the harder end of the spectrum, but you could push a bit further," I encouraged her.
And so she did, putting every fibre of her being into her final punch, the culmination of our mutual journey into the boundaries of pleasure and pain.
The air was electric with tension, and Annie seemed ready to crank it up—literally. Her eyes landed on the electrostimulation device strewn on the bed. "I'm curious about this one," she mused, picking it up and handing it to me.
I felt a mixture of apprehension and exhilaration as I slid my testicles through the larger ring, which functioned as an electrode. The cold metal held my balls tightly as I then fit the second, smaller ring around my cock, pushing it snugly to the base. I handed the controller back to her, my breath shallow with anticipation.
Annie studied the small wheel on the handheld controller, her face a picture of concentration. With a tentative nudge, she activated the device. The sensation was akin to fireflies dancing across my skin—a tingling that was strange but not unbearable.
"How's that?" she queried, her eyes oscillating between my face and my now electrified crotch.
"It's fine at the moment," I assured her, intrigued by her growing confidence.
Egged on, Annie turned the wheel a fraction further. A biting jolt of electricity surged through my cock, as if a live wire had made momentary contact. I gasped, my muscles contracting involuntarily. A laugh escaped her lips, both delighted and sadistic.
The air seemed to thicken as Annie toyed with the device, her fingers dancing along the wheel with the grace of a concert pianist, each tiny adjustment eliciting different shades of pain and pleasure from me. My body twitched and convulsed, reacting to the oscillations of her whim.
However, as the moments passed, a flicker of dissatisfaction crossed her features. "It's a bit underwhelming, isn't it? I expected it to make some sort of zapping noise, to be a bit more... theatrical," she mused aloud, almost disappointed that the device didn't audibly celebrate its own sadism.
Annie's eyes glinted with curiosity and a hint of devilish glee as she picked up the acrylic ball crusher. This deceptively simple contraption consisted of two clear acrylic plates connected by screws at each corner. My pulse quickened as I threaded my cock and balls through a hole in one plate, and then isolated my cock through a hole in the second plate, effectively trapping my balls between the two sheets.
"Before we continue," Annie said, handing me a blindfold, "you might want this."
I lay back on the floor, blindfold on, aware only of the ambient sounds and my heightened senses. Annie crouched over me, her focus entirely on the task at hand—my balls. I felt the cold acrylic tighten, each turn of the screw amplifying the pressure incrementally.
"It takes some time to tighten these screws," she noted, her voice tinged with concentration.
"The pressure is already building," I warned her, my nerves tingling with each twist. "I'd say it's a one on a scale of ten for now, but it escalates quickly."
Without a word, Annie continued her calibrated tightening of the device. "How is it now?" Her voice held a mix of genuine concern and sadistic intrigue.
"About a five," I responded, bracing myself for what would come next.
Just then, a sudden cold, prickly sensation jarred the tip of my cock. I knew it well: the Wartenberg pinwheel. Designed to test sensitivity, its spikes don't pierce the skin but can be unbearably intense. My whole body tensed, awash in overstimulation.
"I need to get one of these," Annie murmured, clearly fascinated by my reactions. Her movements became more deliberate, the pinwheel carefully navigating the tight space between the acrylic sheets to graze against my taut, engorged scrotum.
"How long can you handle the crusher?" she finally asked, tightening the screws another notch. Her voice dripped with a blend of cruelty and curiosity.
"At this level, quite some time," I reassured her, though her subsequent turns of the screw made me question my own words. I moaned and writhed as she continued to wield the pinwheel, every spike igniting new constellations of sensation across my genitalia.
Deciding she'd had enough, Annie released my balls from their acrylic prison. I felt both relief and a pang of loss as the tension abated. She then reached for the penis pump—a black acrylic chamber connected to a hand pump. "You can remove the blindfold," she commanded.
I complied, and watched as she slid the chamber over my erect cock. With each squeeze of the hand pump, I felt myself being pulled further into the device, each tug more forceful than the last. "Is there a limit?" she inquired, her eyes never leaving mine.
"There's a point where no more air can be sucked out," I explained. Satisfied, she set the pump aside, her attention shifting to the assortment of toys and devices strewn across the bed, each one holding the promise of new realms of pleasure or pain.
By this point, we had been immersed in our intimate exploration for close to 45 minutes. As the clock ticked on, the air between us was thick with a combination of sexual tension and a sense of accomplishment. Our time together culminated in an eclectic mix of kinks and devices, showcasing the spectrum of our interests.
Annie seemed particularly eager to experiment with chastity devices, her eyes lighting up as she surveyed the array of cages and locks I presented. Each metallic click as she locked and unlocked the devices seemed to amplify her confidence and command over me. "It's almost like shopping for jewellery, isn't it?" she quipped, though the grin on her face was laced with more than a hint of sadistic joy.
Shifting gears, Annie decided it was time to show off her nascent skills with rope work. She retrieved a length of black silk rope from her bag, and with nimble fingers, proceeded to loop, twist, and tie around my cock and balls. Each knot pulled tighter than the last, effectively binding me but also producing an artful, erotic tableau. I marvelled at her craftsmanship and the paradoxical pleasure it brought; constriction that felt strangely liberating.
"And now for something a bit different," she mused, her hand reaching for another ball crusher. This one had a more industrial feel, with heavier steel and rubber grips. She adjusted the contraption until my balls were once again under pressure, and without warning, hot wax dripped onto my taut, strained flesh. Each drop was a molten kiss, contrasting sharply with the cold steel and tight squeeze of the crusher. I gasped, a cocktail of pain and pleasure coursing through my veins.
As the session wound down, it was evident that Annie was unlike any other domme I'd ever met. She wore a radiant smile throughout, revealing in her newfound power over me. Her experimental zeal was infectious; it was clear she found genuine delight in each wince, moan, and shudder she elicited.
It's my hope that this shared experience provided her with the encouragement to further explore her dominant side. After all, there are countless men who would give anything to be on the receiving end of her unique blend of joyous cruelty.
