I have been wearing the butt plug since lunch. Mistress instructed that I wear it all afternoon, as much for her own pleasure as mine. She knows me-and my asshole-extremely well. She knows that I am a true ass slut. Any insertion causes waves of pleasure to surge through my entire body. The thought of finishing my work-day with Mistress's very large plug stuffed up my ass caused true fear, though this emotion also often causes desire, and I know better than to refuse her any request.
The slightest whimper of contradiction from me will cause harsh words of disapproval from Mistress, which cuts deeper than any knife. Anything more than a whimper, such as a refused request, or even once, a hesitation to immediately not follow her direction, to trust Mistress, warrants her worst punishment.
What kind of hell does a sadist Dom, my Mistress, an owner of another, give to her masochist toy, her boy, her slave, as a punishment? You might already be conjuring cruel rituals: evil, painful, and hard to live through. You might believe that punishment for one so used to great pain as reward would have to be harsh, harsh enough to teach lessons, to never do again what warranted the punishment.
And you would be right.
Mistress quickly taught me that any hesitation to follow every rule, every request-whether they are something I desire or not-without haste and complete trust, would cause punishment.
But what does that truly matter since giving myself completely is my desire? And I rarely have made that mistake again, for her punishment is horrible and painful and humiliating and something I don't think I can ever live through again: I am forced to get dressed and leave. It is that simple.
Cruel Mistress knows that anything physically painful or degrading might be mistaken as good or cause pleasure. So she does the one thing that will hurt me most, ignore or banish me.
Any hesitation to not do as Mistress requested was instantly dismissed. While at lunch I went to the men's room with my "shaving kit" and standing with one foot up on the toilet seat, spreading my ass wide, I slid the thick four-inch cock-shaped butt plug swiftly into my lubed asshole until it filled me and my sphincter cruelly gripped it tightly in place.
I did cry out. I couldn't help it.
The sensation was overwhelming: my knees buckled and I half-fell to the side of the stall my head banging loudly against metal, and I shook. My whole body shook as a fierce body orgasm swept through me from foot to head and the muffled cry I let out when the plug first massaged against my prostate turned into several louder whimpers of pure pleasure.
I must have sounded like I was having a most painful bowel movement. I've heard other men moan in similar positions. But I've never heard a whimper.
From two stalls down came a voice: "You OK over there, fella?"
And that did it. I came. My cock spurting load after load of cum onto the toilet, the floor, and my shoes, each ejaculation directly in tune with the plug rubbing fiercely against my prostate and my asshole clenching around its base, causing extreme pleasure, and even more noise. I hadn't even touched my cock. I cried out, louder than any schoolgirl losing her virginity.
I heard a flush. Through the gauzy haze of my vision, I reached out and flushed the toilet I was hunched over. "Fine. Fine. Thanks," I feebly responded, while closing my eyes and milking the rest of my cum from my sensitive cock.
My bathroom mate might have even thought it was a lunchtime hand job he had heard. He only had to look under the stall at my legs to see I wasn't shitting, nor was I with another getting my dick swallowed. No, he would have seen my pants at my ankles and the back of my dress shoes, or rather just the one for the other was still on the toilet.
He might have thought it was a one-legged man pissing, if it weren't for the rain of cum all over the floor. It didn't matter, when I regained my composure, I cleaned up my cock, shoes, toilet and floor as best I could with toilet paper, dressed, washed my hands and face, and left. No sign of whomever it was, no corporate bathroom sex patrol waiting for me outside when I exited.
But the pleasure didn't end with my bathroom orgasms and messy ejaculation. No, the afternoon was pure torturous hell with me sitting at my desk, forced to grind the silicone cock up my ass again and again, filling me up, against my prostate. I hardly remember the details, just the unease it caused.
And how, mid-afternoon while answering an in-office email memo from my supervisor, I leaned over quickly to get a folder containing figures and came. Hard. Unexpected. I bit down on my tongue and filled my underpants with another load of cum. Thank God for the little privacy the office dividers offers!
Of course, Mistress knew it would go like it did. Usually I would worry about her unhappiness with me coming without her permission, but I, in essence, had it. She knew what the sensation of cock in ass would do to me, for Mistress has certainly been on the cock end of fucking me many times before. She knew that when milked from the inside out I usually would shoot without touching myself. She also knew that the afternoon would be torture.
And Mistress knew, that her boy, and his stretched out asshole, would be ready for an evening of hardcore fucking.
The minutes tick by very slowly.
Each journal will be updated weekly.
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