Morning Stretch

The sweetest smile hides such cruel intentions.

After covering its cushions with a towel, she plops onto the couch to crook a finger, her smile shining with greed – candy sweet.

Eyes down, I shuffle forward to straddle her.

Using the couch’s back for balance, I kneel astride her, knees pressed to the outside of her thighs. Always impatient when I’m above her, she grasps my hips to guide my plugged ass down until it rests on the cushion between her knees. Then I’m in close, still taller yet feeling myself diminish with each moment that slips by – her warmth and strength hold me up even as her gaze presses down – all of it making me need to be smaller.

To that end, I grasp the couch’s back tighter and hunch over. Making every effort to get my head just a tad lower than hers, chin to chest and fully impaled, yet still pushing my stuffed, lube-slick ass down.

A single crooked finger under my chin nudges my gaze upwards until I’m looking her directly in the eye.

Then she’s reaching between my thighs to grasp a well-stretched section of flesh directly underneath the head of my cock. Rolling the stretched spot between thumb forefinger she begins to press it and tug.

“Who own’s this?”

“You own it, Ma’am.”

And she does. That’s her spot: the place where pain means ownership, where all hurt is devotional. Her spot, her cock, her boy.

Maintaining eye contact, she pinches and pulls the flesh away from the shaft with little effort. Her spot’s pliant and tender having been clamped and stretched for years. She’s well practiced in sliding the weighted metal clamp into place before tightening it.

“Hands behind your back, boy,” she says knowing I’m prone to involuntary movement once she begins.

I nod, locking both hands as instructed just before jaws of the clamp bite into my tenderized cockflesh. Already squirming, my gasp is involuntary. My reactions elicit warm approval, and her eyes light up as she uses her free hand to grasp my throat. A strong woman, one locked arm easily keeps me in position while a thumb and forefinger under the jaw keep my chin raised, eyes level with hers.

Once I’m properly positioned, she begins pulling and stretching the clamped flesh. Her gaze sups on my suffering, and her smile continues to sweeten as gasps become whines. I cease twisting to thrust forward instead, aching to be closer, to find shelter from the storm. When allowed to escape into her softness and strength, I can take more – much more. So I’m pressing my neck into her grasp, until the whimpers are nearly choked off. In doing so, I rise up on my knees, over her as though being lifted. She continues beaming, continues to stretch and twist the clamped flesh while I dangle at arm’s length, naked, collared, plugged, moaning, and wishing I could drown in her eyes.

“…a little longer, boy…you can take a teeny bit more for me… ”

Her voice is warmth and honey while I hurt and suffer under her hand. She’s intentionally withholding the comfort and strength she expects and enables me to seek throughout the day. For these few minutes alone, she desires my suffering at arms length, bereft of a way to cling or plead.

“…Just a few more seconds…a few more moments to stretch out your little boy clit…keep you nice and sore….”

A few moments are forever, and the whine grows in the back of my throat to match the throbbing ache in my gut as she twists and stretches her spot through three more ragged breaths.

Then – finally – she bends her arm to claim my mouth. Indulging in a moment to swallow a whimper, teeth grazing my lip before I’m allowed the shelter, strength, and scent I’m desperate for. Pressing my face into her neck, I cling until my breathing slows into deep settling breaths. The clamp’s still in place, but the hurt and soreness is now comforting, the comfort of being owned, each throb matches the beat of my heart.

She tells me I’m a good boy, that I took it good for her. And even now, it’s the pleasure of being praised and comforted that brands me with pain and feeds my need to please. It doesn’t take her long to sooth the boy she just hurt in such an intimate fashion, the same boy who clings to her to be reassured – it’s all right.

I know it is.

Everything’s as it should be.

Because I’m owned and serving in a household defined by rules and rituals. This one means the day has begun.

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6 thoughts on “Morning Stretch

  1. “So I’m pressing my neck into her grasp, until the whimpers are nearly choked off. In doing so, I rise up on my knees, over her as though being lifted. She continues beaming and continues to stretch and twist the clamped flesh while I dangle at arm’s length, naked, collared, plugged, moaning, and wishing I could drown in her eyes.” Gaaaahhhh, just can’t even…finish… sentence.. damn you, px. Tension like the pointy end of a pin.

    Liked by 1 person

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