8271 in our own kind of love

[Lancerexford]

2025-03-27

8271 in our own kind of love
This is my diary about my partnership of forty years and our sexual adventures. I plan to start with today (now yesterday) and will search my docs for other days. I admit to using flowery language but one promise: what I write, happened, or I'll label it a fantasy.

March 26, 2025

My wife controls my anal orgasms. I am not talking about whatever is going on up front. Nothing more than an occasional dribble comes out of my penis during this kind of anal orgasm. It centers in the anus and involves the surrounding muscles that join together in creating explosions… earthquakes and their aftershocks.

My wife controls my orgasm by starting a gentle rhythm that gradually builds stronger and deeper as my fear gives way to surrender. Then with one giant thrust she shocks my system into an emergency short circuit, a contraction that emanates in waves that branch out until there's one giant clutch like the universe finally reaching its apogee then retreating at lightning speed back into itself and collapses into a puddle. Like that. Then she starts me off again.

We try to have sessions like this every Wednesday afternoon when the house is empty for a few hours. What happened today was something new and outrageous. She spoiled my orgasm.

I was in her lap facing her, the dildo (the Big One) up me. She put me through two of those earth-shaking orgasms, and after a break, started again. Even though I said I didn't have the energy to go back up there, she just smiled and gave a little chuckle. It had been her plan to wreck me all along.

Selfishly the cock started shoving the sensation of pleasure deep into my ass, rocking once again, prodding me deeper than I wanted to go. I anticipated her ultimate salvo and deflected it by collapsing off my pillows. I escaped being sent into the electrical ether; instead stayed in control of my body. I felt at fault and needed to apologize.

It was hurting. My poor bum had had enough. When I told her that, she snorted as if I were a sissy and took me up again. I deflected again but then, I guess what she was waiting to see. This time she built carefully and kept me teetering on the edge of pain and surrender.

When she read it in my face she took her shot and up I went. But as I reached the pinnacle and was about to explode, she grabbed my flaccid penis and pushed it aside to expose my testicles. With her other hand she reached back as if to smack… and watched me flinch away from the orgasm. Then she gave me a push with her cock to send my attention back inside… and watched again… and showed me her hand again.

With each flinch the orgasm lost energy and gradually sank into a puddle. She had ruined my anal orgasm with threats of a shot to the balls. Then she smiled. And let me climb off. I remarked with some amazement at what just happened. She replied in a high, innocent voice as if she hadn't known exactly what she'd been doing, "I didn't even smack them. I only threatened with my little hand."

A new weapon in her arsenal of control, the flinching game. I predict we will be playing it next Wednesday.

 

[Lancerexford]

25-04-03

8271 our own kind of love

This is my second entry in my diary. I hope I'm doing this right by replying to the first.

Pierced by my wife,​

This happened, I think, more than 15 years ago. We were rolling on mdma when she gave me a PA. Years before, when I was Dom, I had pierced her inner labia using an ear-piercing gun borrowed from a friend. In those days there weren't piercing parlours, but I would never have it done there anyway. I was shocked when they began to proliferate, and folks were having themselves professionally pierced. It seemed to me that what could be a powerful symbolic ritual was being relegated to a stranger.

We'd been playing for about an hour, mostly putting things up my bum. MDMA takes away my erections. It's also a bit of an anesthetic for which I was very grateful. The effects of the psychedelic were at their peak when she declared, "We're going to do the piercing now."

"Yes," I replied, clearing my throat.

"You're sure it's sanitary?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "if you keep things sterile."

"And afterwards?" she asked.

"They say mostly water."

"Wash your penis before we start." I got up and staggered to the bathroom. Shuffling not from the plug, which I'd almost forgotten. It was the stone. I returned and lay down, stretching out before her, preparing for another of a myriad of surrenders. She spread a white piece of lace on my chest like an altar cloth and arranged her tools on it.

"I'll sit on this chair beside the bed. If you jump when I stick the NEEDLE in," she said, emphasizing the word that might trigger me, "it might go in the wrong place. We wouldn't want that." I watched her shiver at the fear in my eyes. The pain would be a bonus for her but I knew the power she held over me in that moment filled her heart with pride and glee. She was in a zone. So was I.

"You're so kind, Mommy."

She sat down beside the bed, put on latex gloves and motioned to the bedside table. "Bend that light down here. Spotlight on your cock." Holding the desk lamp, I couldn't lean up to see the situ, and focused the light down to where I knew my member was.

Small, wrinkled, the shrivel was partly the M, but mostly the anticipation of what was about to be done to it.

I held my penis up to her and said, "I love you," with a tone that said, "You better take care of it." She took it with one hand, and lowering her head, kissed it with closed lips on the tip the way a mother would kiss her child's forehead… or was it the bacio della morte? Then she smiled into my eyes. My face was a confusion of fears and excitements.

"Pass me a wipe," she said. I had donned gloves as well. We were now a team, conspiring together to pierce my manhood. Certainly, the pain will be scrumptious for her, but more so the symbol, the mark, the ownership as if I were a stray calf, lassoed, tagged, and smacked back to the herd. With a fingertip, she pushed a baby wipe down the hole and circled the inside of my penis.

"Now the needle," she said.

"Should we talk about this some more?" I asked. "God, I'm really stoned."

"Me too," she said wondering if it was safe to continue like this. She looked unreliable now, unpredictable. She might pierce me anywhere, lost in the bliss of the moment. Was she too stoned to do this properly? Safely? Did she feel the floor swaying and her head spin? But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered now but the anticipation of the thrill. Sticking that needle right through my cock. She had to do it.

"I'll be careful," she promised herself.

"Maybe you need to mark the place with a marker first." I was trying to delay. Anyway, searching for a pen now would be a challenge, even walking, as I'd just discovered walking to the bathroom.

"I can figure it out another way," With one hand she spread the opening to my penis as it lay flat on my belly. "I was thinking this," she said, putting the blunt end of the needle into my urethra and giving it a slight upward pull.

"Ow." I flinched.

"Hold still," she commanded. "OK. I see where I'm going to do it. I'm turning the needle around, pointy end first." She did and placed the needle back where the other end had been. "I'm not pressing hard enough to break the skin yet. Just enough to show you where the outer hole would be. Look." she said.

Her hand blocked the view from my drug-glazed eyes, but I said, "Yes, that's good," and lay back. She could tell I didn't know, but my words were the green light she needed. I was swirling in fear, love and wonder all at once as she drove the needle upward.

"Oww…!" I screamed. "Oww…oww…oww…it hurts," I continued in shock. It wasn't through. She saw the impression where the needle tried to poke its way out and felt the skin resisting it. Ignoring my screams, she pushed harder. "Like putting a needle into leather," she said. Blood was now oozing and she couldn't tell if it was coming from inside my penis, or if the needle had pierced through. This annoyance would have to wait until she crossed the finish line. If I'd begged her to stop at this point, it would only make things worse.

Suddenly resistance to the needle collapsed and she saw the slender silvery point appear behind the head, right beside the frenulum. "There, it's through," she announced. Mission accomplished.

My red face glistened with sweat. "Oh God! "I exhaled, and then, started to smile as the pain eased. "Look what you did! You pierced me!" "Yes I did, honey."

We could both now see the red drops of love that glistened on the eye of the 12-gauge needle which remained half through the hole it had created.

She said, "Now go see if you can wipe up that blood." I carefully negotiated myself out of bed and standing and keeping the needle from colliding with anything, I rinsed my poor pierced member at the sink. In a moment I returned, carefully holding my penis to avoid the sharp point which would be needed to guide the ring. The bleeding had mostly stopped.

"How should we get this ring on?" she asked when I emerged. I loved seeing my little penis with a needle sticking through it, but if we needed to keep that hole as a permanent reminder, we needed jewelry.

"I think this one," I said, motioning to one resembling a horseshoe. I picked it up from the little cup of alcohol it rested in.

"Yes," she agreed. But how to push it through? She'd done something similar in an earlier life, but her needlework was with fabric, not human flesh.

"The needle is hollow," I said. "You can put the end of the ring into it."

"Lie back down," she said. "This is going to be tricky." She didn't understand the simplicity of the hollow needle and so lined up the point against the end of the shaft, wiggled it and pulled the needle back the way it came. If she kept her hands steady, she just might make it. It wouldn't be easy to reinsert the needle back into the same spot, so she had one chance. She put her delicious stone to the side and focused on following the tip of the needle with the barbell, slowly, maintaining contact with the two metals. It worked; soon she could see the thicker metal coming through the tiny hole and out the mouth of my penis.

"Give me the bead now, quickly."

I almost dropped it. "Slippery little thing," she said, holding her palm out. With care she brought it between her finger and thumb but needed to roll it about it to make the threads match.

"Oh dear. This is tiny. Too small to be seen with eyes wavering like ripples in a pond, the ball finally docked to the shaft. Breathing a sigh of relief, she screwed it as tight as she could. If it stuck there forever, all the better. She let my wounded penis go.

'You did it, you did it," I said, beaming at her. "Thank you, Mommy." I reached down to the head of my cock and examined her work. Once satisfied, I dropped it and reached my arms out to hug her.

She bent down to receive my affection, but the embrace wasn't long. "Get my strap on," she said, letting me up from the bed.

 

[denied_one]

This is an amazing read. Thank you so much for sharing, and yes I like the style you are using...the "replying to yourself" fashion

 

[Lancerexford]

Thank you. It's a chapter in a DS novel I'm writing (almost finished). The book is fictional but there are parts (like this one) that are descriptions from life.

 

[denied_one]

Thank you. It's a chapter in a DS novel I'm writing (almost finished). The book is fictional but there are parts (like this one) that are descriptions from life.

Descriptions from current life or life in the past?

 

[Lancerexford]

Descriptions from current life or life in the past?

You mean the novel or this journal? The novel is a story of two people in this lifetime, with flashbacks and fantasies. In this journal, my first post happened last week. This piercing incident about 15 years ago... about. The event is very present in my mind but I'm not always good with exact dates. Anyway, I'm still married to that same wife and our flr has deepened.

I just read about you getting spanked by your kh and her friend. Yikes. I survived a needle pricked through my prick, but I don't think I could have withstood your paddling. I actually don't like pain. The thought of it rarely excites me. I offer it because I know it's good for her.

 

[denied_one]

You mean the novel or this journal?

Shit man I'm not even sure now lol!

The novel is a story of two people in this lifetime, with flashbacks and fantasies.

got it

In this journal, my first post happened last week. This piercing incident about 15 years ago... about. The event is very present in my mind but I'm not always good with exact dates. Anyway, I'm still married to that same wife and our flr has deepened.

That's awesome! When did you two stop rollin?

I just read about you getting spanked by your kh and her friend. Yikes.

Yes man!! Wheeeew! Ouch Ouch OUCH!! I got paddled by the two of them a total of FIVE times! Good times indeed?

 

[Lancerexford]

Humiliation or Abuse?​

We were talking about the pictures in the cross dressing gallery, and Goddess Gaia said:

I have to say, as a keyholder, most of these captions make me sad. As do most of the captions on the Mansion as a whole. I see little romance, or union, or partnership. A lot of it is women straight-up abusing their partners. I want nothing to do with whipping or punishing or forcing a man to give another man a blowjob.

I don't like seeing the women in these pictures disrespecting and degrading their partners. I hold chastity men in higher respect than the general population. Relationships are supposed to be about love, security, safety, mutual devotion and growth. I think chastity is very romantic. Captions where women are mean don't speak to me.

My sadness at abusive language mirrors yours. It makes my heart contract. But at least, in these images I'm the victim, not the mean one. Yours is the role of the perpetrator so I imagine an extra hurdle for the partner/KH to tolerate.

The irony, of course, is that it is the victim himself who seeks this treatment, and patches together a fantasy of his helplessness. Perhaps this is why the search for the escape-proof cage is the chaste's holy grail. We create our own Stockholm Syndrome.

Through my life (I'm 82) I have identified in fantasy with lots of different scenarios of dominance and submission. I went through a period of needing my Dom's denigration and verbal abuse. At some point I became aware that it was detrimental to my ego, my sense of worth. To diminish myself like that, even in fantasy, did not serve me. But I'm grateful to have had the fantasy. It pointed to where my self-negativity came from and lit a path of healing. It also offered me some insight and empathy.

It's fascinating in the Ds crowd, especially the chastity folk that there is this fine distinction between humiliation and derision, the distinction between "Your penis is too small for my pussy," and "You are worthless."

I view all of my sexual fantasies through a lens of love: How to be loved and how to be allowed to love. They are about being angry at not being loved. They are about what must I sacrifice so you'll accept me. Having discovered that all my fantasies spring from the same root, I've been picking the most exciting ones, and playing in that playpen. The ultimate gratification is not in the sexual release but in being loved. And my hope is that those who put themselves down will explore their path and discover an expression of love that serves better.

 

[madams-sissysub]

Thanks for sharing!

 

[Lancerexford]

2025-04-29

Our sex has arrived at a new ritual. Pegging on Wednesdays and a once-a-week ejaculation on Fridays. Recently her attention to those 'details' had waned. When she hadn't noticed Wednesday nor Friday, rather than pursue her I decided to let it go. A few days ago I took off my cage to address an irritation that was forming from the ring rubbing. After the abrasion healed I left the cage off to see when I'd be motivated to put it on again, if at all. Well, this is the evening of the 4th day of hectic activity and travel, and finally back in our own beds, she patted my crotch which was beneath the covers and said, "I see you haven't put it back on."

"No." I said.

"I think that's been enough."

"I'll put back on in the morning."

"Good."

So all is right with the world again.


2025-05-03

A club member was reporting his wife's enjoyment in denying his orgasms, and thought he might not be ready to give them up. I answered,

"Would it be appropriate to suggest to her all the different ways there are to restrict, tease, minimize orgasms and all the fun ways to play before seriously ending them?"

My wife is happy with one jerk off orgasm a week (Fridays). Although this morning I said to her that I was down in the dumps yesterday and she said, "Yes. It's always on Friday" and she gave me a look that said, "You and your bothersome squirts." I think giving up that one jerk off squirt, as infrequent and quick and alone as it is, would still be a painful sacrifice. I guess deep down I'm still hanging on to a sense of my penis still useful (besides regulating my hormones and turning me to jelly).

I don't know if giving up ejaculations is in my future. I have gingerly offered that sacrifice to her, but she prefers to know 'your little penis' is working. My journey into submission and flr is a logbook of sacrifices: pleasure, penis, masculinity, manhood. The first sacrifice I remember was offering not to spill my come inside her anymore. It was a game in the missionary position. I dutifully helped her to a come using my cock. When she was bored with me having in-and-out pleasure, she'd tell me to finish. In those days I could. Hold until told, and then in about 20 seconds I'd say, "I think I'm getting close," and she would place her hands on my hips, swaying to my pendulum. My face would scrunch up and I'd say, "I'm… I'm…," and she would push me out. I would collapse on her and she would feel my cock's dying shudders, pressed between our bellies.

The second sacrifice I remember was penis spouting in salute, hands free, on my knees.

I don't remember which came next, no more sucking or no more fucking. We never marked the days. It was just a hot idea to play with until it just pretty much was the normal.

There was giving up her ass. I don't remember the last time. But subjecting mine to what I'd done to her for when I was her dom, that last time was Wednesday.

And revenge paddling and the whole evolution of the ritual of the pain, the squeezing that accompanies her every orgasm.

And so the whittling of my manhood down to boyhood until in bed together she is my Mommy and I am her little boy. A little boy must not go inside his Mommy.

 

[BR_Saiph]

25-04-03

8271 our own kind of love

This is my second entry in my diary. I hope I'm doing this right by replying to the first.

Pierced by my wife,​

This happened, I think, more than 15 years ago. We were rolling on mdma when she gave me a PA. Years before, when I was Dom, I had pierced her inner labia using an ear-piercing gun borrowed from a friend. In those days there weren't piercing parlours, but I would never have it done there anyway. I was shocked when they began to proliferate, and folks were having themselves professionally pierced. It seemed to me that what could be a powerful symbolic ritual was being relegated to a stranger.

We'd been playing for about an hour, mostly putting things up my bum. MDMA takes away my erections. It's also a bit of an anesthetic for which I was very grateful. The effects of the psychedelic were at their peak when she declared, "We're going to do the piercing now."

"Yes," I replied, clearing my throat.

"You're sure it's sanitary?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "if you keep things sterile."

"And afterwards?" she asked.

"They say mostly water."

"Wash your penis before we start." I got up and staggered to the bathroom. Shuffling not from the plug, which I'd almost forgotten. It was the stone. I returned and lay down, stretching out before her, preparing for another of a myriad of surrenders. She spread a white piece of lace on my chest like an altar cloth and arranged her tools on it.

"I'll sit on this chair beside the bed. If you jump when I stick the NEEDLE in," she said, emphasizing the word that might trigger me, "it might go in the wrong place. We wouldn't want that." I watched her shiver at the fear in my eyes. The pain would be a bonus for her but I knew the power she held over me in that moment filled her heart with pride and glee. She was in a zone. So was I.

"You're so kind, Mommy."

She sat down beside the bed, put on latex gloves and motioned to the bedside table. "Bend that light down here. Spotlight on your cock." Holding the desk lamp, I couldn't lean up to see the situ, and focused the light down to where I knew my member was.

Small, wrinkled, the shrivel was partly the M, but mostly the anticipation of what was about to be done to it.

I held my penis up to her and said, "I love you," with a tone that said, "You better take care of it." She took it with one hand, and lowering her head, kissed it with closed lips on the tip the way a mother would kiss her child's forehead… or was it the bacio della morte? Then she smiled into my eyes. My face was a confusion of fears and excitements.

"Pass me a wipe," she said. I had donned gloves as well. We were now a team, conspiring together to pierce my manhood. Certainly, the pain will be scrumptious for her, but more so the symbol, the mark, the ownership as if I were a stray calf, lassoed, tagged, and smacked back to the herd. With a fingertip, she pushed a baby wipe down the hole and circled the inside of my penis.

"Now the needle," she said.

"Should we talk about this some more?" I asked. "God, I'm really stoned."

"Me too," she said wondering if it was safe to continue like this. She looked unreliable now, unpredictable. She might pierce me anywhere, lost in the bliss of the moment. Was she too stoned to do this properly? Safely? Did she feel the floor swaying and her head spin? But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered now but the anticipation of the thrill. Sticking that needle right through my cock. She had to do it.

"I'll be careful," she promised herself.

"Maybe you need to mark the place with a marker first." I was trying to delay. Anyway, searching for a pen now would be a challenge, even walking, as I'd just discovered walking to the bathroom.

"I can figure it out another way," With one hand she spread the opening to my penis as it lay flat on my belly. "I was thinking this," she said, putting the blunt end of the needle into my urethra and giving it a slight upward pull.

"Ow." I flinched.

"Hold still," she commanded. "OK. I see where I'm going to do it. I'm turning the needle around, pointy end first." She did and placed the needle back where the other end had been. "I'm not pressing hard enough to break the skin yet. Just enough to show you where the outer hole would be. Look." she said.

Her hand blocked the view from my drug-glazed eyes, but I said, "Yes, that's good," and lay back. She could tell I didn't know, but my words were the green light she needed. I was swirling in fear, love and wonder all at once as she drove the needle upward.

"Oww…!" I screamed. "Oww…oww…oww…it hurts," I continued in shock. It wasn't through. She saw the impression where the needle tried to poke its way out and felt the skin resisting it. Ignoring my screams, she pushed harder. "Like putting a needle into leather," she said. Blood was now oozing and she couldn't tell if it was coming from inside my penis, or if the needle had pierced through. This annoyance would have to wait until she crossed the finish line. If I'd begged her to stop at this point, it would only make things worse.

Suddenly resistance to the needle collapsed and she saw the slender silvery point appear behind the head, right beside the frenulum. "There, it's through," she announced. Mission accomplished.

My red face glistened with sweat. "Oh God! "I exhaled, and then, started to smile as the pain eased. "Look what you did! You pierced me!" "Yes I did, honey."

We could both now see the red drops of love that glistened on the eye of the 12-gauge needle which remained half through the hole it had created.

She said, "Now go see if you can wipe up that blood." I carefully negotiated myself out of bed and standing and keeping the needle from colliding with anything, I rinsed my poor pierced member at the sink. In a moment I returned, carefully holding my penis to avoid the sharp point which would be needed to guide the ring. The bleeding had mostly stopped.

"How should we get this ring on?" she asked when I emerged. I loved seeing my little penis with a needle sticking through it, but if we needed to keep that hole as a permanent reminder, we needed jewelry.

"I think this one," I said, motioning to one resembling a horseshoe. I picked it up from the little cup of alcohol it rested in.

"Yes," she agreed. But how to push it through? She'd done something similar in an earlier life, but her needlework was with fabric, not human flesh.

"The needle is hollow," I said. "You can put the end of the ring into it."

"Lie back down," she said. "This is going to be tricky." She didn't understand the simplicity of the hollow needle and so lined up the point against the end of the shaft, wiggled it and pulled the needle back the way it came. If she kept her hands steady, she just might make it. It wouldn't be easy to reinsert the needle back into the same spot, so she had one chance. She put her delicious stone to the side and focused on following the tip of the needle with the barbell, slowly, maintaining contact with the two metals. It worked; soon she could see the thicker metal coming through the tiny hole and out the mouth of my penis.

"Give me the bead now, quickly."

I almost dropped it. "Slippery little thing," she said, holding her palm out. With care she brought it between her finger and thumb but needed to roll it about it to make the threads match.

"Oh dear. This is tiny. Too small to be seen with eyes wavering like ripples in a pond, the ball finally docked to the shaft. Breathing a sigh of relief, she screwed it as tight as she could. If it stuck there forever, all the better. She let my wounded penis go.

'You did it, you did it," I said, beaming at her. "Thank you, Mommy." I reached down to the head of my cock and examined her work. Once satisfied, I dropped it and reached my arms out to hug her.

She bent down to receive my affection, but the embrace wasn't long. "Get my strap on," she said, letting me up from the bed.

That was a great read! I found myself grimacing and wanting to look away as the needle went through, lol. Well done!

 

[Lancerexford]

25-04-03

8271 our own kind of love

This is my second entry in my diary. I hope I'm doing this right by replying to the first.

Pierced by my wife,​

This happened, I think, more than 15 years ago. We were rolling on mdma when she gave me a PA. Years before, when I was Dom, I had pierced her inner labia using an ear-piercing gun borrowed from a friend. In those days there weren't piercing parlours, but I would never have it done there anyway. I was shocked when they began to proliferate, and folks were having themselves professionally pierced. It seemed to me that what could be a powerful symbolic ritual was being relegated to a stranger.

We'd been playing for about an hour, mostly putting things up my bum. MDMA takes away my erections. It's also a bit of an anesthetic for which I was very grateful. The effects of the psychedelic were at their peak when she declared, "We're going to do the piercing now."

"Yes," I replied, clearing my throat.

"You're sure it's sanitary?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "if you keep things sterile."

"And afterwards?" she asked.

"They say mostly water."

"Wash your penis before we start." I got up and staggered to the bathroom. Shuffling not from the plug, which I'd almost forgotten. It was the stone. I returned and lay down, stretching out before her, preparing for another of a myriad of surrenders. She spread a white piece of lace on my chest like an altar cloth and arranged her tools on it.

"I'll sit on this chair beside the bed. If you jump when I stick the NEEDLE in," she said, emphasizing the word that might trigger me, "it might go in the wrong place. We wouldn't want that." I watched her shiver at the fear in my eyes. The pain would be a bonus for her but I knew the power she held over me in that moment filled her heart with pride and glee. She was in a zone. So was I.

"You're so kind, Mommy."

She sat down beside the bed, put on latex gloves and motioned to the bedside table. "Bend that light down here. Spotlight on your cock." Holding the desk lamp, I couldn't lean up to see the situ, and focused the light down to where I knew my member was.

Small, wrinkled, the shrivel was partly the M, but mostly the anticipation of what was about to be done to it.

I held my penis up to her and said, "I love you," with a tone that said, "You better take care of it." She took it with one hand, and lowering her head, kissed it with closed lips on the tip the way a mother would kiss her child's forehead… or was it the bacio della morte? Then she smiled into my eyes. My face was a confusion of fears and excitements.

"Pass me a wipe," she said. I had donned gloves as well. We were now a team, conspiring together to pierce my manhood. Certainly, the pain will be scrumptious for her, but more so the symbol, the mark, the ownership as if I were a stray calf, lassoed, tagged, and smacked back to the herd. With a fingertip, she pushed a baby wipe down the hole and circled the inside of my penis.

"Now the needle," she said.

"Should we talk about this some more?" I asked. "God, I'm really stoned."

"Me too," she said wondering if it was safe to continue like this. She looked unreliable now, unpredictable. She might pierce me anywhere, lost in the bliss of the moment. Was she too stoned to do this properly? Safely? Did she feel the floor swaying and her head spin? But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered now but the anticipation of the thrill. Sticking that needle right through my cock. She had to do it.

"I'll be careful," she promised herself.

"Maybe you need to mark the place with a marker first." I was trying to delay. Anyway, searching for a pen now would be a challenge, even walking, as I'd just discovered walking to the bathroom.

"I can figure it out another way," With one hand she spread the opening to my penis as it lay flat on my belly. "I was thinking this," she said, putting the blunt end of the needle into my urethra and giving it a slight upward pull.

"Ow." I flinched.

"Hold still," she commanded. "OK. I see where I'm going to do it. I'm turning the needle around, pointy end first." She did and placed the needle back where the other end had been. "I'm not pressing hard enough to break the skin yet. Just enough to show you where the outer hole would be. Look." she said.

Her hand blocked the view from my drug-glazed eyes, but I said, "Yes, that's good," and lay back. She could tell I didn't know, but my words were the green light she needed. I was swirling in fear, love and wonder all at once as she drove the needle upward.

"Oww…!" I screamed. "Oww…oww…oww…it hurts," I continued in shock. It wasn't through. She saw the impression where the needle tried to poke its way out and felt the skin resisting it. Ignoring my screams, she pushed harder. "Like putting a needle into leather," she said. Blood was now oozing and she couldn't tell if it was coming from inside my penis, or if the needle had pierced through. This annoyance would have to wait until she crossed the finish line. If I'd begged her to stop at this point, it would only make things worse.

Suddenly resistance to the needle collapsed and she saw the slender silvery point appear behind the head, right beside the frenulum. "There, it's through," she announced. Mission accomplished.

My red face glistened with sweat. "Oh God! "I exhaled, and then, started to smile as the pain eased. "Look what you did! You pierced me!" "Yes I did, honey."

We could both now see the red drops of love that glistened on the eye of the 12-gauge needle which remained half through the hole it had created.

She said, "Now go see if you can wipe up that blood." I carefully negotiated myself out of bed and standing and keeping the needle from colliding with anything, I rinsed my poor pierced member at the sink. In a moment I returned, carefully holding my penis to avoid the sharp point which would be needed to guide the ring. The bleeding had mostly stopped.

"How should we get this ring on?" she asked when I emerged. I loved seeing my little penis with a needle sticking through it, but if we needed to keep that hole as a permanent reminder, we needed jewelry.

"I think this one," I said, motioning to one resembling a horseshoe. I picked it up from the little cup of alcohol it rested in.

"Yes," she agreed. But how to push it through? She'd done something similar in an earlier life, but her needlework was with fabric, not human flesh.

"The needle is hollow," I said. "You can put the end of the ring into it."

"Lie back down," she said. "This is going to be tricky." She didn't understand the simplicity of the hollow needle and so lined up the point against the end of the shaft, wiggled it and pulled the needle back the way it came. If she kept her hands steady, she just might make it. It wouldn't be easy to reinsert the needle back into the same spot, so she had one chance. She put her delicious stone to the side and focused on following the tip of the needle with the barbell, slowly, maintaining contact with the two metals. It worked; soon she could see the thicker metal coming through the tiny hole and out the mouth of my penis.

"Give me the bead now, quickly."

I almost dropped it. "Slippery little thing," she said, holding her palm out. With care she brought it between her finger and thumb but needed to roll it about it to make the threads match.

"Oh dear. This is tiny. Too small to be seen with eyes wavering like ripples in a pond, the ball finally docked to the shaft. Breathing a sigh of relief, she screwed it as tight as she could. If it stuck there forever, all the better. She let my wounded penis go.

'You did it, you did it," I said, beaming at her. "Thank you, Mommy." I reached down to the head of my cock and examined her work. Once satisfied, I dropped it and reached my arms out to hug her.

She bent down to receive my affection, but the embrace wasn't long. "Get my strap on," she said, letting me up from the bed.

July 5, 2025

This is the third, I think installment of the blog or whatever. It is a story I'm writing, and pleaseplease give feedback..

Mrs. S​

Mrs. S lived down the block from us and would have me over to do chores. But that is a story for another time.

Mrs. S selected me to be her daughter's husband quite early in my life. She took me under her wing and endeavoured to teach me all I needed to know to be a perfect servant and subservient toy to Maida.

Maida and I played sexual games in her room or the basement. Maida was always the boss, and the games usually involved me exposing myself and doing tricks to amuse her. When she became flushed with excitement she would lie down on her bed or the couch in the basement playroom, and I would crawl up under her skirt. I would lick her while she dreamed her private dreams. After she came, she was usually finished with me.

One day I asked Maida if she would be my date for a party given by a classmate. We would be out late. Maida told me to ask her mother. Mrs. S said that if I was going to date Maida, I would have to prove that I could be trusted to control myself. I swore I could be trusted, but Mrs. S said I needed a test. She told me not to play with myself that night and come straight to her from school.

That night I was tremendously excited, wondering and anticipating what was in store for me. It was terribly hard not to touch myself, but I knew that if I lied to Mrs. S, she would know. I could hide nothing from her. I eventually slept.

The next afternoon I found her naked in her bed. I took off my clothes and lay next to her. I began to stroke myself. I told her that my fantasies of the night before had left me frustrated and deprived. She turned toward me and snuggled into my shoulder. With a little laugh she pushed my hand aside and replaced it with her own. She stroked and caressed until my helpless penis was as hard as a rock, lying stiff with desire against my belly.

"Don't move. Don't even let yourself flinch." Her voice was warm and soft yet filled with the authority of perfect knowledge. Both of us knew I wouldn't stir an inch as she curled into my penis to nurse. As she sucked, her thumb and finger gently rubbed and vibrated the shaft of my penis, encouraging and torturing me to heights of frustration and need.

It took all my concentration to try to keep myself relaxed and open, but sometimes my body would tense. and an uncontrollable shudder would surge through me from my loins to my toes. This would make her laugh, take her mouth away and admonish me as she spanked me hard on the rump. The slaps on my ass helped me regain control of myself, but soon I was whimpering with frustration, then moaning, and then crying as the waves of pent-up neediness coursed through me.

For her my cries were like caresses. She cooed with pleasure, calling me a good little boy, and encouraging me to take more. Her delight in my predicament became a support for me and helped me behave myself. A big part of me was overjoyed to sacrifice myself to her pleasure. The more miserable I was, the happier I became for her, grateful that I could be abused for her enjoyment. I fell in love with her pure and guiltless cruelty.

Mrs. S must have sensed my new and deeper surrender because she decided to take me further. "That's a good boy. Now be very, very careful," she instructed. With one hand grasping my balls and the other on my ass she began to rock me back and forth, in and out of her mouth in a rhythm of fucking. With little sounds of encouragement and support,

Rocking my cock back and forth in her mouth, she lifted me off the ground, floating me into an ether of sensation and yearning, as if the barrier keeping me from coming had become the thinnest veil. Just as my pent-up fluid was about to burst through, her hands stopped. Amazingly my jerking stopped dead in its tracks. My body released not so much as a shiver, but my tortured voice cried out in despair. I had never experienced this depth of helplessness and frustration before. Gripping my balls like a vice, she pulled me out of her mouth and laughed and laughed. She was in heaven. I was deeply and utterly defeated. My sex had been conquered.

Now it was time for her to gloat, to enjoy her handiwork. She placed my hand on my throbbing cock and instructed me to stand, rubbing myself in front of the closet mirror. She was clearly delighted with her mastery, and with the toy I had become. I was a piece of clay she had molded into her masterpiece. Now I was to be glazed and polished with a coating of humiliation.

She made me masturbate and watch myself. She called me her little jerk-off and told me how ridiculous I looked. But once again I was overwhelmed by how the joy of cruelty in her voice was also a joy of love. She loved her little jerk-off. I was a treasured jewel. The painful degradation she heaped on me became a badge of pride. I adored her. I would do anything to please her and see the joy in her face.

With her encouragement I acknowledged aloud that I was a jerk-off, my cock a miserable, helpless toy which belonged not to me but to her. She smiled and gazed at me as I jerked off in front of the mirror. I begged her permission to let myself squirt, to obtain some kind of miserable release, even if only biological.

She thought about it for a moment and then instructed me to pick up my underpants. "Put them on," she said. "You will not squirt your little penis until tomorrow. Go and have a pee. That will be your only release until after your date."

"But that's not until tomorrow night!"

"Good. Maida may play with you if she wishes, and when you bring her home you will give her your underpants to examine. If she reports anything coming out of that little penis, or even a stain on your pants, she will report it to me, and you will never be allowed to date her again. Is that clear?"

"Yes Ma'am."