MattNicholson Posted June 24, 2023 Posted June 24, 2023 A NIGHT AT THE NUTCRACKER SUITE Copyright 2023 Matt Nicholson. All rights reserved. There is a fine line between being extremely kinky and taboo. My girlfriend and I used to skirt that line, or at least we had fun pretending to. But when she died in the wreck, the games we’d played died with her. I was through leaving bruises and bite marks. I was also done being left with them. The doc-in-the-box scares were over, and any reality that had existed was gone. Since then, my sex life has been fantasy, and the line-skirting became nothing more than word games with anonymous on-line people somewhere else in the world. She’d been gone almost two years, and I was good with the status quo. I wasn’t looking for a hook-up. I didn’t plan to change enough to satisfy someone new. With a nearly perfect partner behind me, dating was more trouble than it was worth. I’d only be comparing those women to the one I lost. Maybe they’d have a quality or two I liked – they might even be better at some things – but no one could replace her. So, I’d gotten very good at using my hand and a couple of steel-toothed automotive clamps that bit my balls long and hard enough for the urge to go away. It saved time, ***, and headaches. That said, shilling stories for years on kinky forums – making ‘friends’ and ‘loving’ pictures of tits, tit ***, and CBT in the name of book sales – had resulted in only a few real acquaintances. Mistress Shelby was one of them. I’d met her – if met was really the word – right after my girlfriend died. I’d ‘loved’ several dozen of her pictures, the ones focusing on her gorgeous tits and the majority of her *** shots. Those kinds of pictures were usually all I spent time look at, but something about Mistress Shelby’s beautiful smile earned ‘loves’ most other people didn’t get. Just as I would have done if she’d given my pictures or stories that level of attention, she’d messaged me to thank me for all the love. With no illusions, we struck up one of those rare chats that eventually found us feeling comfortable that the other wasn’t just trolling for wank fodder. That’s when we started opening up. At first, we stuck to persona. As ‘Brett Davidson’ I’d spent years torturing tits for the Forbidden Pleasures BDSM webzine, and touted myself as something of an expert. Since quitting that gig, I’d written and edited hundreds of stories for the Forbidden Pleasures book line. I could write tit *** stories in my sleep. It was a way to let one of my fantasies loose. Many of my stories included liberal doses of biting, and I could very creatively write my way around the taboo that took that fetish to extremes. In fact, my faux gynophagia stories were easily my best sellers. But, despite my love of tit ***, when my publisher asked me to write the first story in their new femdom line, I’d jumped in feet first. It wasn’t long before I cranked out cock and ball *** stories with just as much enthusiasm. It was an outlet for my other favorite fantasy, the one with me on the receiving side. I drew most of my inspiration for both topics more from my fantasies than from real life. I could really cut loose on my girlfriend, but I’d always kept my enjoyment of harder ball *** in the closet. So I researched stories on myself. It got me off and gave me a better idea about how some of the things that happened to the victims in my stories might feel. Still, since I couldn’t risk a trip to the doc-in-the-box any more now than before, I self-***ed conservatively and dreamed big. That’s where my chats with Shelby came in. Her profile said she was a decade younger than I – still young enough to have plenty of energy while being dedicated to sexually punishing, dominating, and humiliating anyone that walked into her lair. Regardless of whether or not her playthings were male or female, her writings and pictures made her look very good at it. Over time, I learned that ‘Mistress Shelby’ was almost as much a role for her as ‘Brett Davidson’ was for me. All the pictures of her knees crushing crotches, high heels smashing testicles, needles pin-cushioning genitals and the other sadistic fun were real. But, away from the camera, the reality of her life was almost as different from what she portrayed as mine was from my stories. So, we talked. And, since neither one of us was into cybersex, we talked some more. ~~~ “Isn’t that what it’s about for you?” I looked at her words on my monitor and raised an eyebrow as I typed my reply. “No, not really. I just want to play hard. I just like the way they feel and the way they look when I cut loose. Domination doesn’t have much to do with it.” “Bullshit. You’re telling me you’d get off just as much if she just laid there taking it straight-faced than if she whined and struggled?” I started to respond. For me, it’s always been about playing using punishment to enhance the senses. ***, bruises, and cuts just come with that territory. My fingers hovered over the keys while I thought about what to type. At the same time, my mind flashed a quick comparison. In my head, some anonymous, pretty, twenty, thirty, or forty-something lay naked and spread-eagle across a bed. Her full tits were already red and welted from being whipped or belted. Her battered nipples were rock stiff and begging for me to bite them. She just lays there, bound and waiting for the next lash. She seems just fine with life while I play. Then the scene shifts. She’s crying out into her gag, writhing, pleading with her eyes for me to stop. Her ***d tits bounce even harder for her struggles. Her fantasy’s gone too far. She wants me to slow down, back off, but she’s agreed she’s mine to do whatever I want to do with. It doesn’t matter what she wants. I watch her pleading eyes as my imaginary belt cracks across the struggling girl’s tits and leaves another wicked welt. Just imagining the second scene made my cock hard. Shelby was right. I did like the domination. I paused and re-read what she’d asked, then tapped out my reply. “I’d never really thought much about it,” I said, not quite ready to concede. “You just played it out in your head – some girl pleading with you to stop while you punished her tits. I’m right, aren’t I.” I sighed in surrender. “Okay. Yes. It’s better when they struggle.” “Now we’re getting somewhere. So, I *** subs until they think they can’t take any more and it takes a couple of weeks for them to walking right. And they let me. Instead of doing it, you write stories about it. Same thing, only you miss out on the real fun and the biggest rush of all.” If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn she was gloating. “What’s that,” I replied, curious to hear what she thought the biggest rush was, despite having to concede her point. “The biggest rush is when they beg me to let them come back again, even after I’ve hurt them so bad. Tell me that isn’t great.” I thought back to my imaginary thrashing victim and what I’d do to her after I was done beating her tits. It would be great. But, for me, it was a dream. Still, Shelby wanted an answer. “Yes, it would be great.” “Was that so hard?” “Yes.” She LOLed, and then another line popped up. “So, I know what you’d do to some slut’s tits if you could. The only question is whether you’d cover them with honey first. What about you?” “Not sure I follow…” “You almost never talk about the other side. What’s the craziest thing you’d want a woman do to you, if you could?” I was happy for the change in topic from my inner motivation back to straight fantasies that made me horny. I’d never really seen myself as domineering or sadistic, just kinky. Realizing I might be more cruel than I thought left me a little confused. “You’re kidding, right?” I typed. “You’ve seen what I’ve ‘loved’… What was that, 50 eight gauge needles through that one guy’s balls?” “That’s not crazy, that’s just intense. I mean crazy. Impossible. The last thing on your bucket list if you knew you were gonna die five minutes after.” A niggling feeling started to tickle my brain, as if she was setting me up. Still, with my little head back in control, I played along. “Wow… That’s tough.” “First thing that comes to mind. Describe it.” “Okay... I’d want her to do the same thing to my balls I’d want to do to tits. “You want to do all sorts of shit to tits, silly. You’re a writer; describe it like you’re going to put it in a book.” “Okay…well…” I thought about it for a second, picturing it in my mind. Then I started typing... “We’re out in the middle of nowhere – a cabin in the woods kind of thing. Maybe I’ve wrecked on some backwoods road and she’s pulled me out. She’s tied my wrists up to ceiling hooks and spread my ankles with a bar so I can’t get away. Once I’m ***, she sucks my cock until I’m granite hard. Then she sets up a portable burner between my legs. I can’t help but watch any more than I can’t help but enjoy her fingers grabbing my balls right before she plops them in a pan of warming water. The only reason my cock isn’t in the warming water with them is that it’s pointing straight up at the ceiling. She’s making sure to keep it that way. It’s not long before the water’s scalding and I’m squirming in ***. Soon, it’s burning so badly she can’t keep me hard. I try to stand up on my toes, but she kicks my foot to the side so I can’t. The only way I can keep my cock out of the water is by lowering my balls deeper into it and letting my failing dick d*** outside the pan. “No *** control techniques work, and I’m about to try bumping the burner over with my crotch. Laughing at me, she pulls the pan and burner away. My balls still sting and drip hot as she starts icing them down. My sack slowly draws tighter until – when it’s freezing, hard, wrinkly and numbing – she starts nipping my tender scrotum as she makes me hard again. She works on one side, biting harder and harder, moving from spot to spot. Just when the *** becomes too much, she stops and waits just long enough to let me cope. When my dick gets hard again, she starts on the other side. “Bringing me up and down like that, she takes her time slowly mauling my sack. It isn’t until my scrotum’s in ruins that she stops and watches my nuts churn while she gives me a hand job. As badly as I hurt, it takes a while, but I finally start to cum. That’s when she dives in and includes my balls in the fun until they’re ruined, too.” She prefaced her reply with another ‘LOL’. “That’s why I love to read your stuff. You should hang on to that one. You could call it “A Night at the Nutcracker Suite.” After another LOL, she typed, “Too bad I’m not there with a burner.” She’d never really made it personal before. Neither of us had. Even though I felt comfortable with Shelby, my guard automatically went up. I tried to steer the conversation back toward safer ground. “I thought you didn’t do that stuff with subs.” “I don’t. I never use my mouth. But my fantasies aren’t about subs, any more than yours are about willing women.” “Hey, just because I admitted to like them squirming, doesn’t mean they’re not willing.” “You’re playing word games again. Go the distance and somewhere along the way they’ll all want you to stop no matter what contract they signed or agreement they made. If you don’t stop, it’s not ‘willing.’” There was a few seconds pause before she typed again. “And you did it again.” “Did what again?” “You changed the subject.” “Sorry. Habit. Anyway, it’s a fantasy. I’d never be able to take that kind of punishment no matter how much I dream about it.” Still, she persisted. “But you’d love to try, wouldn’t you? Tied up *** while some woman plays out your ultimate dream. All you can do is hang there and take it.” My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Still cautious, I waffled some more. “You know I’m not submissive.” As quick as her reply popped up, it was obvious she’d expected me to say something like that. “You wouldn’t have to be. It doesn’t matter whether you’re submissive or not if you’re tied up.” Try as I might, I couldn’t stop from putting myself in the place of some of the men in her pictures. I was about to grab my throbbing cock when her next message popped onto the screen. “So, want to trade?” Maybe, I should have seen it coming, but I stopped in mid-cock-grab. I hesitated again. This is when I usually bolt. On-line relationships were way too dangerous. But I thought of her full breasts and her incredible, dark nipples surrounded by hard bumps and wrinkles in every picture she posted. I thought of her red lips on me, her white teeth playing at my balls, of how she’d ply her trade as a Mistress and find that perfect balance between my fantasy and reality. I imagined her smile as she did it. My fingers moved. I couldn’t help but ask… “Trade?” “Sure. You’re into musicals. I’ve never been. Rent a nice hotel room in Dallas. I’ll meet you there. You’ll be my sugar-daddy for an evening. Front for a five-star dinner and a show. Afterward I’ll be your Mistress and teach you a lesson. I bet we can come close enough to realizing our crazy fantasy.” My brain screamed a line from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Run away, run away! But she’d said, ‘our crazy fantasy.’ She wanted what I wanted. How could it not be a win? My fingers moved over the keys. “Which show do you want to see?” “They’re showing Wicked next week. Can you get tickets?” Run away, run away! “I’m pretty sure.” “Tell me when and where. You’re in charge everywhere but in the hotel room. Then I’ll take the reins.” I stared at the monitor, wondering what the hell I was thinking as I typed. “You’ve got a deal.” ~~~ I’d stood in the crowd under the awning outside Fair Park’s Music Hall with my umbrella ready, watching cabs come and go for about fif*** minutes. We still had twenty minutes until our dinner reservation when a Yellow cab pulled up in the center lane, just past the valet stand. The back passenger door opened and a pair of tightly-woven black fishnets hugging two long legs swung around and out the open door. As a pair of shiny, black platform heels hit the wet pavement, I had a hunch it was her. I watched the black leather-clad curves unfold gracefully from the cab while I moved her way. By the time she stood, I was beside her, holding the umbrella over her. She smiled and took my arm as if we’d met before. “Brett, I presume?” There were just enough wrinkles at the corners of her eyes to give me credibility as having good taste in younger women, rather than being a cradle-robber. The extra twenty-something pounds she carried had settled perfectly into her breasts and hips. It made her look beautifully Reubenesque. It definitely added to the illusion I was a man with good taste. It felt natural to smile back. “Mistress Shelby.” She laughed and looked around at the other women in the crowd as we stepped up onto the curb. “This isn’t business, silly. Shelby’s fine.” She looked around at the crowd. “My dress is scandalous enough without our advertising anything else.” I wouldn’t have called it ‘scandalous’. It showed just enough cleavage and thigh to draw eyes – mine included – without being tacky. Had it been a decade earlier, it may have raised more brows, but in the more relaxed atmosphere at the music hall these days, the white lace-trimmed black bodice and thigh-length black skirt still showed far better taste than the jeans and shorts several people wore. In fact, Shelby pulled the look off so well, it rivaled a fair number of the more classic evening dresses hovering about. “There’s nothing wrong with ‘scandalous’,” I quipped as I opened the door to the hall and stepped aside to let her in. “Makes a guy like me look good.” She reached up and ran her fingers through my somewhat salty, pepper hair. “Stop that. You aren’t old, and you look quite good without an arm hang – which I’m not, in any case.” It was a comfortable gesture of familiarity that made the last vestiges of the unease tugging at my gut vanish. I folded the umbrella and handed it to a valet. After giving up our tickets, we strolled through the crowd, working our way toward the indoor open-air restaurant in relative silence while she looked around at the framed playbills, posters, and souvenir booths. We chatted lightly about the crowd and the show, Dallas, and her drive, as we walked into the restaurant and through the high-priced buffet line. We both took an extra helping of rare roast beef and a lobster tail, and then we followed the maître de to our table. Shelby sat primly while he put the napkin on her lap. I didn’t miss her slight smile when she caught him glancing down her cleavage. Her smile brightened even more when she saw me looking at the same place. “Thinking about dessert?” I was in the middle of biting into a slice of roast beef at the time and wasn’t at all sure whether she’d meant the timing deliberately or not. We hadn’t actually talked about what was on the menu, as it were, and I told her so with another glance at her breasts. “I didn’t know they were on the list of options.” She speared a cherry tomato and brought it up to her lips. “The night’s young. We’ll see what’s on the dessert menu after I’m done with dinner.” Her lips caressed the fruit, and then her teeth popped it. I had no doubt she meant the timing then. “How do you know you’d like being dessert?” “If we get there, I’ll know. Trust me.” “Okay, but how do you know?” None of her pictures had shown her breasts as anything more than pristine mounds of temptation. “It’s not like you go there, after all.” She laughed. “Oh, I go there. I just don’t advertise it.” I raised a brow, my curiosity piqued. “Oh, really? You’ve never mentioned…” She laughed at my response. “Yes, really. It’s not something I tell many people. I have a reputation to keep, after all. Why do you think I loved so many of your pictures?” “I just thought you were being polite.” “Polite is loving two or three, not two or three dozen. I’ve also read all your books.” “Really? All of them?” “Every one. Are you ever going to do a sequel to Carameled Teats and Dragonberry Ale? It was like Dungeons and Dragons meets The Story of O. I loved it. And The Gold Medal Rack… I’m not sure what was more fun, the hunt, or the campfire afterward.” She paused in the middle of bringing a forkful of rice pilaf to her mouth. “Oh, and Deal with the Devil, what she did to him after he finished with her… Oh. My. God!” I tried to hide my surprise. She had read all my stuff, really read it. All the stories she’d mentioned were among my favorites, too. They all involved some pretty intense breast biting. Switch or not, I couldn’t believe she leaned that far to the masochistic side. I kept the conversation going on the assumption it was the outdoors settings of all three stories. “You like the outdoors stuff?” “Yeah. And the rest. Definitely the rest.” She dipped her fork toward her left breast, watching me watch as the tines dimpled her creamy flesh. “You make the banquet scenes…” She glanced quickly at the surrounding tables and then slipped the fork beneath her bodice. When she twisted it, there was no doubt where the prongs jabbed. “…so hot.” “You think so?” I said, carving another bite of meat. I was very happy the tablecloth kept my crotch hidden. She speared another cherry tomato. “Most definitely. Almost as hot as A Night at the Nutcracker Suite.” I’d forgotten the reference and frowned. “Your bucket list story,” she reminded me. Her lips slid around the ripe fruit, and then she popped it between her molars with a wink. “I can’t wait until after the show.” ~~~ I’d already seen Wicked three times, so – as much fun as the trials of Elphaba and Galinda were the fourth time around – my mind spent more time conjuring images of roast beef and cherry tomatoes than it did on Oz. By the time the show was over and we’d wound our way through the crowd and out the door, the rain came down in buckets – sideways. In the few seconds it took us to get from the covered awning into the cab, she was half-way to soaked despite the umbrella. I was drenched. It was good that the Adolphus was only five minutes away. It was even better that I’d checked in in advance. We entered the lobby hand-in-hand, all but sprinting. She led. As we neared the elevator, she snatched the key card from my hand, glanced at it, and punched the call button. When the doors parted to an empty box, she dragged me in and punched the number four. While rubbing her arms, she looked me up and down. “This place better have plenty of hot water and a sauna. A fireplace would be great.” The way her eyes had settled on my crotch made me think back to some of her pictures, and a few of our chats. Our room had both the Jacuzzi and the fireplace. For the price of admission, I thought it damned well better have the hot water. In any case, I prayed she wasn’t looking for a cozy fireside chat. When the elevator dinged, I stepped aside and let the doors split apart. Once they were open, she took a quick look up the hall. Seeing no one, she deftly unzipped her bodice’s zipper and took off at a brisk trot toward our room. By the time we made the fifty-feet or so, she’d shrugged completely out of her top and let her bare, granite-tipped breasts bounce in open invitation. Laughing at my wide-eyed reaction to her daring show, she swiped the card and burst through the door the moment I opened it. After pausing long enough to get her bearings, she tossed her purse onto the foot of the bed and moved toward the cherrywood bathroom door. “Get out of those wet clothes and meet me in the shower.” Seconds later, the door closed behind her. I couldn’t get undressed fast enough. I tossed my clothes into a heap across the back of the nearest leather-bound chair and slung my underwear off my toe toward a corner. When I opened the bathroom door, I saw that the Jacuzzi was empty. Steam fogged the glass shower door. Shelby hands moved languorously up her breasts’ lower curves silhouetted behind it. When she heard the door close behind me, she smashed the sudsy mounds against the glass. Her nipples caved back into her areola as they flattened against the clear door. I watched them slide for a few seconds. My cock was stiff by the time I went in after them. Once inside, I couldn’t help but stare. It had been almost a decade since the Forbidden Pleasures e-zine had gone tits up, which was the last time I’d seen a living naked woman besides my girlfriend. It had been far longer since I’d been in the shower with one. I felt like a ***ager again, amazed at the incredible view in front of me, full of nerves I’d thought numbed by a decade of peddling BDSM on the side. Her laugh mingled with the sound of the shower as she grabbed my hands. “How cute.” Her breasts were still soapy, her nipples hard rocks that she pressed into my palms. I wasn’t certain whether to squeeze or pinch or soap them some more. I opted for the third. “What’s cute?” “The look in your eyes.” She put her hands over mine and squeezed. “Is the famous Brett Davidson acting like a ***ager over a pair of soapy tits?” Watching the water run in rivulets around them, I squeezed harder. “Well, the rest of you has a lot to do with it, too.” Her hands left mine and moved to my upper arms. “I’m flattered, but I’m already clean. Time to get you soaped up.” She turned me around until the warm water splashed down my back. Then she tapped my feet apart with her toes. After she snapped the handheld showerhead from its silver holder, she grabbed the soap and lowered herself to her knees in front of me. A second later, the slippery bar cupped in her hand lifted my balls. A thrill rushed through me. My cock bounced to the touch. “First we clean ‘em…” The sound of the water against the ceramic tiles told me she’d adjusted the flow to a tight spray. It wasn’t until the needle-fine jet hit my scrotum that I realized she’d also turned up the heat. I gasped in *** as the burning water jetted into me, scalding my skin and beating the testicles cupped in her hand. It wasn’t like I hadn’t used scalding water the same way, but I controlled it. Still, stopping her was the last thing I wanted to do. I knew the hotel wouldn’t let the water get dangerously hot, or at least I tried to tell myself that. “It’s not quite the boiling pan you’d wished for, but it kills two birds with one stone.” She commented while she sanitized my balls with a wicked mixture of soap, blistering water and fingernails. “They’ll be warmed up and clean enough for me to bite.” She kept the spray off my cock, stroking my throbbing hard shaft with soap rather than subject it to the same cruel scalding. She didn’t take long, but by the time she was done, I was moaning and panting hard. Her hand had me just moments from coming, while at the same time it was all I could do not to pull my burning balls from her grasp. When the spray fell from my crotch, she showed me the razor. “I forgot to bring shaving cream, so soap and water will have to do.” The wicked glint in her eyes as she brought the burning spray back up to my balls told me she enjoyed every second of *** she caused me. Though I didn’t see her do it, I was suddenly certain she’d turned the temperature up even more. This time, it was hotter than even I could take. I tried to roll away, but she just giggled and followed my balls with the spray. I tried to swing away again, but she followed. She played that game for a bit wile laughing at me desperate “oh, fuck!” mantra. Finally, she tugged my balls hard to control me while she brought the razor against them. I wasn’t certain what excited me the most, the feel of her fingers on me, the lingering burn, the ***ness, or the uncertainty of what she planned. With the blade now sharp against my skin, I couldn’t move unless I was willing to risk being slashed. She moved the scalding water around just enough to keep me from screaming out loud and slowly shaved my scrotum. By the time she finally finished, I’d thrown my head back, gasping oh, fucks even faster while thinking my balls were literally being boiled. While I caught my breath and felt the sting start to subside, she pushed the glass door open. Her voice was mischievous as she gently shoved me out then grabbed a towel from the wall rack and tossed it at me. “Close enough to a pot of boiling water?” I checked to make sure nothing had blistered. “Definitely, close enough,” I croaked. My balls and the area around them were beet red, but they only felt parboiled. When I looked up, she laughed. Let’s take your mind off those poor babies for a minute.” She walked toward me, her jiggling breasts in the lead. I dropped my towel on top of hers and stood my ground, watching until her nipples collapsed into her breasts as the heavy mounds crushed against me. She grabbed my shoulders and pushed me backward with her boobs toward the open door. I back-pedaled a step. She pushed me harder, aiming me from the bathroom toward the bed. I wasn’t certain how much of the twinkle in her eyes was mischief and how much was sadistic desire. The cooler air from the living area teased my scalded scrotum until it retracted and pulled tight around my balls. Her nipples reacted the same way, pulling into pebbled, thick, ruby-red buds that looked like raspberries. Her areolas drew into tight, hard mazes of ridges around them, thick and dark on her jiggling tits. It was all I could do not to attack them. When the backs of my legs bumped the bed, she shoved me hard. I fell back onto the floral bedspread with a bounce. “Lay back and spread your arms and legs.” They were the last words she said before shoving a towel under my ass and reaching for her purse. Not surprised when she pulled out the rope, I stretched into an “X’ across the mattress. Conversation wasn’t something either of us seemed much interested in, so I just watched, excited, my cock twitching as she tied me up. She’d done this often enough to be the expert she claimed – much more so than I was in my day. She had me securely tied, spread-eagle, in just a couple of minutes. There was nothing safe about the ties. I was completely unable to escape. I mostly just watched her naked body as she worked, the way her muscles played in her thighs, her breasts’ gentle swaying, and her bottom jiggling. I thought about resisting a bit so she’d have to fight me and make the sway turn into more of a bounce, but I was too anxious for whatever was coming to bother. When she finished tying the last knot around my left wrist, she stood. Her eyes were less mischief and more sadist than before. They found my balls. Her wide smile seemed evil. “Just one more thing.” A minute, she’d stuffed my mouth with a washrag and strapped it in with tape. I’d never been gagged before. At first it was hard to swallow. For a bit, I almost panicked. After scooping a glass of ice from the wet bar’s ice machine, she watched me while toying absently with one of her nipples until I got used to the feel of cloth in my mouth. Then she crawled across the bed until she was kneeling between my legs. My hard cock swelled even harder when the frigid ice touched my balls. I closed my eyes, relishing the burning cold as she slowly chilled them. I felt water trickle down my scrotum’s bottom curve. It tickled my skin as it dripped lower. It wasn’t until my sack had pulled into a hard, cold ball of wrinkles and stung with cool numbness that she seemed satisfied. She popped the remaining ice into her mouth, set the glass on the floor, and bent down between my legs. With a wicked smile, she probed my balls with her fingernails. “No safeword. Now, it’s all about me” My throbbing cock hushed the part of me concerned about what she’d just said. Regardless of the potential for something crazy, testosterone and rabid desire made me absurdly confident that my high *** tolerance would see me through whatever she did. Her warm breath was a wash of pleasure that lasted only as long as it took for her teeth to touch me. I’d expected her to suck and nibble, warm me up slowly. Instead, she trapped a thick fold of cold, tight, skin over my right testicle. Then she slowly added pressure. It wasn’t long before the *** became wonderfully intense. While biting still harder, she leisurely stroked my cock. The *** went beyond intense. I held my breath and tensed up. When it got even worse, I groaned, arched my back and started gasping. The feeling wasn’t just in my sack any longer. It shot back through me, up my spine and down my legs. When I tried to pull away, she growled, gnashed her teeth together, and yanked with her teeth. It had taken only that long for her to show me how lacking my tolerance really was. I couldn’t help but cry out, which was when her open mouth pressed into me. Her lips smashed a testicle. My scrotum bulged between them. I actually heard her teeth snap when they closed back on my skin. Before my startled, ***-driven cry had faded, she bit me again. Another sharp *** rushed back through me. It was just as severe as I expected and much more brutal than my fantasies had allowed. I would have screamed for her to stop, but we both knew she wouldn’t. It was why I hadn’t argued about the gag. Instinct drove me to try to pull my knees up to protect myself, but the rope held my legs fast. Her teeth ground into my sack, crushing it – maybe even cutting. The *** washed over the pleasure. My erection wilted in her hand. Then, just like that, I was free from her cruel ***. Her laugh echoed through the room as she watched me panting in relief. “Oh, we’re just getting started.” I thought I saw traces of *** on her lips just before they hugged my limp shaft. Her mouth was warm, her tongue soft. Her fingernails stroked my balls, not overly hard, but lightly – as if her gentle nails were the good cops to her cruel teeth in a good-cop/bad-cop scenario. It took no time at all before I felt the *** throbbing through my hard penis again. I expected her to stop stroking me, but she didn’t, at least not until my rolling hips, groans, and desperate breathing let her know I was close to cumming. That’s when her hand squeezed my cock and her lips found the right side of my scrotum again. Holding my penis in a steely grip, she sucked my sack deep into her mouth. For a second, her lips and tongue soothed the lingering *** from before. Then she let me feel her molars close on my testicle. The dull *** swelled until my gut began to hurt. When she felt my body get stiff, she let my ball pop from between her teeth. The hard points snapped into my skin and grated together. If it hadn’t been for the gag, I’m certain someone would have heard my scream. Agony washed through me. Some of the steel-toothed clamps I used on myself bit almost as cruelly, but I always kept them in check. She didn’t. I bucked, raised up as best as I could, yanking on the ropes. She just held on, following my sliding hips, treating my sack like a mouthful of meat. My mind screamed red, RED, but I’d passed on that option when I let her gag me. Even so, I tried to get the message across with my eyes and my desperate groans. She didn’t care. I fell back into the bed, pressed my shoulders in the pillows, trying not to scream again. It wasn’t until I actually started seeing stars that she sucked my limp penis and started massaging my ravaged scrotum with her fingertips. Though the *** remained, the pleasure she gave me drove it back. The ebbing, dull reminder of her wicked teeth cutting my skin became the perfect complement to her tongue and lips on my cock. I found myself glad I’d been unable to stop her. It took longer this time, but she still made it seem easy to make me hard. Once my shaft was throbbing again, she brought me back to the brink of cumming with just as much ease. When it was obvious I was close, she stopped again and laughed some more. “Oh, you aren’t allowed to cum yet.” But, instead of going back to work, she rubbed her breasts languorously and stretched, watching me watch her as she did. Smiling at my cock’s eager bouncing, she stood and swayed back to the bar. After filling a glass of ice with straight Jim Beam, she stabbed a straw into the drink and sat back beside me. At first, I thought it was cute that she drank her bourbon through a straw. When she capped the straw’s open end with her fingertip and lifted it from the glass, I realized drinking through it had never been the idea. “Mouths are so dirty,” she said as she hovered the dripping straw toward my crotch. “This should be as good at killing germs as alcohol.” The first trickle hit my skin. A half-second later, the sting set in. The malicious gleam lit her eyes as she dribbled the burning liquid over my sack until it had drawn back again into a tight, stinging, ball. “And it’s so much more fun.” With a wicked giggle, she bent over and drew a long, wonderful lick up the left side of my sack, ending with a wicked nip. Holding my skin in her teeth, she looked up my bare belly and met my eyes with hers. They gleamed cruelly. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She bit even harder and slowly pulled back, watching my face. Panting through the ***, I looked down at my stretching skin. Held by a half inch of screaming flesh in her glimmering, pearly-white teeth, it looked just as well-bitten and ***d as it felt. Her eyes held mine, gleaming as she let my skin sc*** from between her teeth. After lapping and sucking my balls until the bourbon was long gone and I rolled in pleasure again, she launched back into me. The first bite caught my left testicle, squeezing it cruelly. When it eventually popped from between her teeth, I tried to double up in ***, but the rope held me fast. She pumped my cock hard, barely managing to keep it erect. The points of her back teeth crushed my skin, and another feral yank broke more flesh. Another cry muffled around my gag. It grew suddenly shrill when she trapped my other testicle. Seemingly voracious now, she didn’t bothered choosing one side over the other. When she wasn’t biting my testicles in her attack, her lips and face crushed them, rolling and shoving them out of the way so she could fill her teeth with my scrotum. Reading me like the proverbial book, she paused only when she sensed I might be hyperventilating. Even then, she barely gave me time to recuperate before she dived back in for more brutally sadistic fun. By then I’d lost all sense of time, and I was well past wondering whose fantasy she was really living out – though there was still something of mine in the game, it was definitely hers. While she didn’t quite pop either of my balls like the cherry tomatoes, the roast beef metaphor felt much more real. The collateral dull *** ebbing back into my gut from my bruised testicles was only a backdrop to the constant, sharp agony of her biting my skin. Yet, through it all, I felt the heat slowly build and the tell-tale tingle start to swallow my cock. That alone was evidence of her skill, but the fact that I wasn’t certain I wanted it to end spoke even more of her talent. She, however, had decided it was time. Her thumb slid up the underside of my cock, pressing expertly, quickly, from side to side in the “V” at its head. I moaned and bucked, half urging her to finish me off, half wanting the experience to go on. When her mouth sucked my balls and sack deep, and her teeth sc***d me again, the building tingle blossomed into the inevitable explosion. It was the most intense, incredible, orgasm I’d ever known. The fact that I’d only now noticed what she was doing with her free hand – how she had buried it between her legs as she worked her pussy as hard as she worked my cock – made it the perfect ending to my fantasy. Then I felt her molars trap my left ball, crushing deliberately, maliciously. Unable to stop rolling, my wad shot in hard, long, hot spurts into her wavy brown hair. While still milking me, she clenched her teeth. A wave of agony just as intense as the orgasm consumed me. She bit harder still, and the agony became something much more. She dropped my cock and slapped her hand up to a breast. Her fingers first dimpled then buried into the soft mound, leaving brilliant red scratches as they closed on its tip. Her nipple twisted and buckled between her fingernails, and her ravenous mouth moved right, slurping in my other ball. As my dick went limp, her feral growl somehow made its way to my ears through my desperate moans. Ignoring my writhing, she kept at herself with her hands, frantically fucking her pussy and tearing at her tits while biting my balls between ragged breaths. Through the all-consuming ***, I heard her groan. Despite the ***, a fading part of me wanted to watch her cum, to watch her claw at her pussy and rip at her gorgeous breasts as she enjoyed herself at my expense. But my ears began to ring and my vision started to go white. With her next ecstatic moan, she came, losing what little control she’d kept. With a testicle trapped between her teeth, she twisted her head and yanked. It was more than my battered body could stand. I cried out into the gag and let myself go, only then admitting it had never been my fantasy she’d planned to fulfill. ~~~ It was about an hour later – after she’d showered my cum from her hair, gotten dress, and thoroughly scrubbed my brutalized genitals with soap and water – that she finally took off my gag. It had been a good thing she waited. I’m pretty sure I cried out almost as much from the aftercare as when she’d put them in the condition they were in to begin with. If it hadn’t come from the same bottle of whiskey she drank from, I’d have put my *** on the belief it was acid. I still breathed hard when she tucked the Jim Beam into her purse. “I don’t think anything’s ruptured. You’ll probably need ice, though. If you stick with alcohol and a good scrubbing, but you won’t have to see a doc-in-the-box.” She glanced deliberately at her well-clawed, but otherwise perfect breasts. Her bodice just barely covered her granite stiff nipples. “Not that I have to tell you that.” Just because she said nothing was ruptured didn’t mean I believed it. I wasn’t certain I’d be able to walk. Still, as much as I ached from my belly button to my knees, and though I couldn’t focus on her chest through my tears, her not-so-subtle nod to her tits got my attention. I tried to come across as casual. “You can’t leave me like this.” My voice was so hoarse I didn’t recognize it. I cleared my throat. “Besides, you got your fantasy. It’s my turn.” She raised an eyebrow and laughed. “You think that was my fantasy, sweety? If that was my fantasy, you wouldn’t have anything left to play with. Still…” Her smile took on that evil quality again. “Are you asking for another round?” I thought back to our chat – about what her biggest rush was. I started to bristled a little at the idea she might think I was submissive, though my situation didn’t present much argument against it. “I thought this wasn’t business.” She laughed again and gave me a surprising little kiss on the cheek. Then she picked up my belt. “It’s not. I just figured I’d go to the bar while you recovered.” She looked knowingly at her breasts, popped her hand with the strap, and snapped her teeth together the same way she’d done on me. “When I get back, I’ll sit on your face for a while and decide whether I play out my fantasy, enjoy some of your tit *** dreams, or maybe do both.” The thought that she might be serious about leaving me with nothing left to play with made me nervous. Still, aching balls and mangled scrotum aside, the idea of doing the same thing to her incredible tits made my cock twitch again. If it got its way, she’d come back with a bottle of ranch dressing for my balls and some honey for her breasts. Before I could say anything, she tossed the belt onto the bed and opened the door. “Who knows? If you survive the rest of this night, Les Miserables is showing next month.”
4R**** Posted June 24, 2023 Posted June 24, 2023 I'm going to give some constructive criticism here: There are 7738 words in this post - that's approximately 12 sides of A4. I gave up reading after the first few paragraphs because I realised how tiny the scroll-bar was on my phone (I could hardly see it) and couldn't face sitting here for hours reading it. Sorry if this seems like a harsh comment but perhaps in future, make several posts and call them Part 1/2/3...... and spread them out over a few days. It will make it much less daunting to read and might even generate excitement in readers desperate for the next part.
Deleted Member Posted June 24, 2023 Posted June 24, 2023 Thank you for writing this, its good to see a longer story you can 'get your teeth into' (pun intended).
MattNicholson Posted June 24, 2023 Author Posted June 24, 2023 (edited) 9 hours ago, 4RCH said: I'm going to give some constructive criticism here: There are 7738 words in this post - that's approximately 12 sides of A4. I gave up reading after the first few paragraphs because I realised how tiny the scroll-bar was on my phone (I could hardly see it) and couldn't face sitting here for hours reading it. Sorry if this seems like a harsh comment but perhaps in future, make several posts and call them Part 1/2/3...... and spread them out over a few days. It will make it much less daunting to read and might even generate excitement in readers desperate for the next part. I don't take it as harsh at all. I'm used to people reading my stories on regular computers and hadn't considered how a long story might be problematic on a cell phone. In all the years I've posted, this is the first complaint I've had about that. I have also had many comments in other forums when I've posted in parts that they wish I'd post all at once, so it's a "can't please all the people all the time" thing, I suppose. That said, though I have no idea what "12 sides of A4" means, I'll definitely post in parts in the future. If I could edit, I'd go ahead and cut the first post down and re-post the rest in parts here. Edited June 24, 2023 by MattNicholson
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