An Unexpected Adventure in BDSM Exploration

Adventures in Gay BDSM Part III

Yes, that really threw the gasoline on his fire, and he thrust even deeper, and the head of that fat penis went past my tonsils and it was quickly determined that little gasps be taken when the angry member withdrew. Copious mucous began to dribble down the sides of my mouth as I "erked, erked." Serenely, Peter remarked, "I love watching you suck me."

I knew from female blow jobs that what would come sooner or later was a gush of hot sperm, and to this I steeled myself. But as he reached a shivering crescendo, the penis rapidly withdrew and I gagged up another mouthful of mucous; a preview of coming, or cumming, attractions, I was sure.

Peter disappears for a few minutes, leaving me to wonder my fate, is there where the branding irons come out? No, he brings out an enema bag, and a slender nozzle to which, I was to soon find out, an inflatable retention balloon. Never had an enema before, and wasn't sure what to expect as he deftly slid the greased tube into my constricted orifice, and that is when I discovered the grommet allowed passage of the hose to the bag. He gives a quick couple of pumps and the inflating balloon just about gave me a stroke. The sensation was wildly erotic, pressing, as it did, upon my helpless prostate gland and my stone hard penis is craving some relief. Then the water began to flow.

Water and power, so they say. As the water flowed int, the urge to ejaculate became unbearable. Unbearable yes, but the stricture of the pillory and my chained ankles made it impossible to go anywhere, so I uttered a combination of erk and gah, which only caused Peter to gaze down on my lovingly, like a lion as it disembowels an antelope. This went on for some time, and Peter busied himself taking color slides of my perdition (back then digital photography didn't exist, and to create pornography one had to send the films off to a laboratory in New York).

That's when I felt this hot, hungry, wet, male mouth consume my dripping glans, and I received my first blow job by a man, ever. Outside of the magnificent Mistress Mir of New Jersey I had not yet had so such a thunderous, rip roaring, mind bending orgasm in my existence. Between the internal pressure of fluids draining into my colon, the pressure on my male G spot, being the prostrate gland, the sheer audacity of this submission, and this expert mouth and tongue I screamed and actually bent, a little, the hinges on the pillory and what seemed like quarts of my reproductive secretions were gleefully swallowed by Peter.

Was there any pain? No. There was not. There was unbearable sexual stimulation for which no human could sit still for, unless trussed, as I was, like a Christmas turkey, which only made the unbearable even more unbearable. There was the post orgasmic crash that follows from dopamine depletion, and then began the post orgasm torture, as it is called, of Peter's relentless mouth and tongue milking out the final bursts of seminal fluid, and that made me scream some more. That was not painful, but in the sense of being overwhelming, it was a particular brand of torture.

Released from my bonds, I scurried to the toilet where I spent the next 30 minutes in a daze as my intestinal tract cramped and emptied out. The cramping, one might note, was uncomfortable, but did not approach the intensity and despair of the post orgasm blow job. Showered, I dressed and wished him a good night, as he grinned at me. And the next day...I called him up and set up another date, and another, and another and another, and this heterosexual White Anglo Saxon Protestant college kid, a complete virgin to the realm of Gay men and Gay sex, found himself yearning for the taste of sperm, and craving the bondage adventure to my marrow and worse, craving it with Peter.

Did it ruin me? Well, damn real it changed me into a very different animal. Worse, I still adore women. True that.