Cold metal butt plugs, filthy fucking ideas, and ice-cream

Hands holding up two chocolate ice creams in waffle cones. Photo.
Image sourced through Pixabay.

Sometimes it feels like I am writing the same filthy story, over and over again. The fantasies that loop in my own head evolve slowly, because I linger in each torturously hot thought before it’s replaced. This makes it feel like I’ve written this story – with lots of dirty talk, strong power dynamics, and a hint of consensual non-consent. And because there have been some beautifully warm (or possibly even too hot) days recently, today version of the story is set in an ice-cream parlour. Because yes, I want a good fucking, but I also want ice cream.

It’s a ridiculously hot day, but that’s not why I’m shifting uncomfortably on the high stool in the ice-cream parlour. It’s in fact quite cool inside, but my face is still red – but due to embarrassment rather than heat. The man sitting across from me – watching my blushes with a sort of detached amusement that I find very hot – is the reason I’m in such discomfort. Or rather, his order (and the reminder that disobeying his orders will be met with swift and cruel punishment) that I wear a butt plug when I left the house to meet him today.

The butt plug is my metal one, the one he’d bought me because he wanted to watch me stand in the corner, my hands on my head, doing my best to hold the heavy plug inside me by sheer force of will. Earlier today I drizzled it with cold lube and pressed the plug’s head against my asshole. Plugging myself was a welcome, almost meditative process on such a hot day, because the plug was cold and I pressed my face into my cool sheets while I pushed it inside. And now I can feel the fullness of the plug inside me, and it would be turning me on even if he wasn’t saying things. Twisted things.

I’d been delighted when my phone had pinged with a text from him. Fucking and/or ice-cream? it read. My reply was immediate and enthusiastic. The instructions that had followed to plug my arse were a warning that he was going to be deliciously mean to me. At least today I had denim shorts that helped keep the toy in place.

The tall ice-cream parlour stool pushed it further inside me. Even though I’m expecting his casual cruelty, the things he says to me still hit me like he’s sharply slapping my face. In fact, it feels like he is fucking me with the plug and his words and that sadistic smirk that makes me wonder if he’s really going to do all these things to me later. Would he really pinch my nose and tip a pint of water down my throat? Would he cuff my ankles in a spreader bar and laugh if I asked to go to the bathroom? Would he hold a powerful vibrator against my cunt, wondering aloud if I would orgasm or piss first.

I want this. I love this. I need to squirm in my seat while he reminds me about all the things he has my consent to do to me. All the things I’ve told him I want to explore and said he can push me on. Somehow, as humiliating as it is to tell him all of the filthy things I want, it’s even worse to hear them coming from him. Partly because he gets off on my discomfort. He takes my obscene fantasies and somehow twists them into something far more shameful yet so, so hot.

He is so very good at being mean to me. Later, when I beg him not to do it, he’ll tell me that if I don’t want it, my cunt won’t be wet. It will be, of course, because my own body betrays me and admits how much I want him to do all those depraved things to me. Beating me until I bleed. Forcing me to stand on tip-toe for hours. Pushing ginger into my arse. Trying out predicament bondage that leaves me aching and cramped. Giving me a belt to bite down on so I can’t scream, and then whipping me when I drop it because I open my mouth to beg for mercy. He describes all of these things in a tone that suggests we’re talking about a topic as average as the unusually warm weather.

“I want to start fucking you now – eat up your ice-cream quickly.”

 

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Vaginal dilators: pretty, purple, and very, very painful
Ambitious

3 Comments

  1. Delicious. I love the hot threats of punishment told in detail before the event. Makes the anticipation stronger.

  2. Such a great story. You’ve really nailed the psychological joy of D/s and the feeling of inserting and wearing a butt plug is described perfectly. Parts of stories may find their way into other stories, but I think that’s just a part of storytelling. Plus, it’s probably only the particularly hot parts which get shared, quite rightly.

  3. “He is so very good at being mean to me.” Love this line!

    Also, I really want ice cream now (although I can’t eat it for very good reasons). Ah well.

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