Latex fetish bondage, fucking the cum out of him with dildos, & edging -An October Visit to Silver (Part II)

Part 2 of my trip to further claim Silver, body, mind, heart and soul. If you are looking for part 1 you can find it here.

He bought the latex sleep sack off etsy to celebrate his promotion. It’s one of those things that only exist in the realm of perverse desires and has no practical use, neck to toe swaddling, sleeves inside to hold the victim even more immobile. Etsy is a wonderland of bespoke sex toys, both as a sole shop front for many small fetish ateliers, and a never ending fetish fair artisan’s alley where you can browse established makers together and make comparisons.

The sleep sack was fairly cooperative to wrangle, thinner latex that didn’t fight too much to get him in- if I were honest he could probably have sized down, but it’s a good thing to have a bit of stretch. And hey, my lithe man is in a bulk stage of putting muscle back after covid closures carved him down into non-gym access size. It certainly was tight enough to do its job making him feel restrained. 

This was only one of several purchases- he also got me the most lovely underbust corset and pencil skirt combination from libidex and an experimental pair of stockings by the same maker (and gloves, which I got distracted and forgot to put on). I made him help me into the skirt, which even if covid has given me ten pounds from lack of walking, still squeezes up nicely. Squuuuish. ^_^

If you saw me naked, you would realize I am magnificently formed around a small waist and hips that occupy the size realm of things that influence the tides. Pencil skirts, tight tailoring and things that stretch and cling are the only solution other than custom tailoring to avoid all that vanishing into my clothing. This skirt plays into my strengths completely.

So, you can imagine I occupied that nicely empowered zone of knowing I looked sexy as hell. The stockings, alas, were a miss. In the first place I have 0 idea what possessed the designer to put the seam in the front. The cuban heel reinforcement suffered what a lot of socks do and sat too low on my foot- I’m a large 9 or a small 10 and all socks seem cut for a 7 by default. Meanwhile the top band did not flatter. These were not stay ups, so they wanted to roll down, but also somehow dig into and deliver up the fat of my thighs like whipped cream busting out a piping bag.

That is to say it still looked delicious, it just also looked clumsy.

Only after I was cinched and lovingly glossed was it time to slide him into his own restraints. Feet first, then with those settled, rolled over and arms thrust into those sleeves inside, before the back zipper pulls him from naked man into a sleek grey package.

Yum. Now to play with him…

This design had a little access zipper in the front if I was inclined to play with him that way, and, reader, I was. I used his wand, the Domi by lovense, to tease all the spots I had learned on his cock that make him most desperate and needy.

I hadn’t anchored him to anything, so he could roll about or fold up in the middle, but otherwise, he was completely helpless, and very flatteringly so. A lot of strict bondage looks more jury rigged than aesthetically pleasing, but I am happy to say the pictures I took were very pleasant for both our later admiration. Probably as an acknowledgement of my name for him, he’d bought it in soft grey, a colour that flatters his natural colours and is quite unusual for latex. 

Just before I visited I had bought him a tantus curve super soft, and now I pushed it into his mouth and down his throat, training him in being able to swallow as deeply as I liked. I told him the NASA trick, clutching his left thumb in his fist, while I plumbed his helpless helpless mouth until I was satisfied. I don’t think a lot of dominants cared much about his oral skills, but there was something intense about watching his gag reflex trip and his body shoot up to seated, only to have me hold his helpless cocooned body close to me.

I love seeing the strings of throat goo ooze down the dildo in strings as I pull it away from his pretty, small full lipped mouth.

The stockings I mentioned that were less than they should now be earned their keep as a gag and a blindfold. While disappointing to wear, they are long and stretchy enough to bridge my own stocking fetish with his fuller immersion in the latex world. It was a nice mix of helpless and hazy, objectified but still humanly vulnerable.

Of course the convenient crotch access zipper wasn’t to go ignored either, and the wand helped me further tease his poor cock, hitting some place deep in early proto fantasies of enveloped and squeezed victims. Poor Silver, his cock wasn’t the only thing that was dripping by that point. Another bit of latex rolled on his cock, and soon he was being ridden for the second time ever in his life, and getting that increasingly frantic look of a man who knew I was going to force another orgasm out of him.

A part of Silver never wants to come. And thus a part of me will want to force him because ultimately we’ve got that staid, conservative no hair out of place nerd and manic pixie dream domme thing going on, and it’s delightful to fluster and terrify him by taking away the last vestiges of his self control from him.

That’s what happened when I used the same dildo on the other end of the man.

I have discovered I can get a uniquely vulnerable reaction when I reach between his legs and grab his cock by the root, pulling it back so he’s forced to bend over. It’s an “in case of emergency dom urge, pull handle” instant switch to turn him into a whimpering “yes miss”, perfectly meek fuck slut.   

That’s how our first evening went, him on all fours on his bed, milked with my hand before I opened his tight little ass up with my fingers. He’s got a cute one, pert and muscular, but boy can he crunch down. Sometimes, as would happen this weekend, my finger and a hand on his cock would be enough but this time I wanted to strapon fuck him.

I have long since updated my affordable, generic sportsheets harness with the scratchy nylon straps and stupid bullet pocket for a sleek, no nonesense real leather one from Aslan Leather, and it’s noticeably easier to use and fit. Still, between my inexpertise, the memory foam mattress giving me no brace point, and Silver’s bucking eagerness to be fucked, it’s like operating a ping pong paddle while whitewater rafting.

At least Silver is not particularly tall (at 5’8”) so I don’t need the pathetically twee use of a phone book under my knees or a steppy stool (aww, does the dommie need a booster seat?) to reach his hole and start the business of trying to slam the shit out of him until I exhaust myself. However, after a point of ream, ream, ream- adjust, ream, ream, stumble, cover with butt slap, ream, whoops, ream– I figured we had covered practice time long enough. I had moved from feeling dominant about using him like a practice toy and starting to feel frustrated, so I switched to fucking him by hand.

Still on all fours, I angled just so every thrust hammered his poor prostate, and whether he wanted it or not, I forced a foot long thick cream puddle of cum from him, one of the more intense displays of that kind I’ve witnessed in my life.

This wasn’t the only time I fucked his ass, but it will go down as particularly memorable in a four day period where there was an immersion in hedonism that satisfies a part of me that has been neglected for far too long.

The constant edging was magical in its own right, too.

With his rabbit like libido, and the power I have over him, it takes me very little to arouse him, again and again. Although I am rather cum hungry, more often, and erection is an excuse to put him in his place. I like to see him on his knees, hypnotised and hazy or dark eyed and afraid, pumping his cock for me, getting closer and closer to coming, but never being permitted to finish.

And, as a woman, my body responds. It’s pretty reliable, aroused or not when I started, unleashing that dominance on him, in turn, makes me wet. Sometimes I come, sometimes I save up those memories and that sexy energy for later. Either way, I am satiated to a glowing comfort in control. The days after I returned home and even now, there was a lift in my mood and a little bit of a feeling that ultimately everything is ok.

And, I satiated myself on another thing, the mundanities. To be in love is to be insane, in those heady, heavy first months, and although ultimately Silver and I have linked our days through our easy ability to send messages back and forth, these four days (really 2 full and 2 halves) are the anomaly. Parted by the border, we are aware that we see only glimpses of each other’s full selves.

So I gorge myself on the mundane. I go with him to a tire realignment. We collapse into his bed and nap for two hours. We go to his favourite dumpling place, the one where he’s sent me so many post crunch selfies with his mouth stuffed full and his eyes exhausted. I make him make me a midwest casserole and compare the flavours of canned beans melding, surprisingly well, with the deeper subtleties of expensive beef. 

Will I bend him over, ease him open and ream him out with a thick, rigid dildo while he whimpers? Cuff him to his bed and play at stealing his breath while sternly telling him I don’t think he really needs air? All these things connect back, from the elaborate and lewd, to the very commonplace.

But, reader, I need those two parts for the third, the willingness to let him make me happy with his own agency. To love someone and to want to possess them is not the same as to allow them to love you in such a way that you are open to them. I’m a prickly person who never can cast herself as a thing to be nurtured, so I marvel at finding, in him, a new channel of hedonism that says – let’s trust when he picks up a weighted blanket because I mentioned I was thinking of trying one, that I am safe to enjoy it, to let him be his whole self with me, including that part of him that wants to give.

I write this next to a lush bouquet of autumnal flowers, sent one week after my return to Canada. It’s not the first flowers a man has ever bought me, and yet, I feel a certain trust that I can set an expectation of how I will be treated that, as I slowly test, allows me to build a little more trust in this, every day.

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