On the fourth day of GiDmas my truelove gave to me:
Four new toys
Three leather things,
Two boxing gloves,
And blue speedos two sizes too small
I’ll spare readers the usual account of our morning routine; about the only out of the ordinary aspect was that I still had my hands cuffed in front of me so he had to shower both of us. So, I shall take up the tale from where I heard that painfully out-of-tune ‘song’ again.
“On the fourth day of Christmas my truelove gave to me four new toys, three leather things, two boxing gloves, and blue speedos to fit you snugly”.
He wasn’t as demonstrative this time as he dropped the new ‘gifts’ on the table. He had even taken the trouble of wrapping them just like real Christmas presents so that I couldn’t see what the packages contained. They were certainly of very disparate sizes.
He obviously had to help me into my newly laundered swim briefs. which initiated the usual reaction as his hands worked their sensuous way up my legs. At least nothing was left hanging out this time although the lycra material was certainly put under nearly as much stress as my arms had been the day previously. By the time all my previous presents were in position, except for the strap that was previously round my elbows, I still had no idea what the ‘four new toys’ were.
“OK, comfy, lover?” I wasn’t exactly uncomfortable – (Yet!) - so I said that things were OK as I tried to maintain my equilibrium. I was beginning to appreciate the luxurious rug that occupied most of our living room floor although, deep inside, I knew he was unlikely to let me fall in case I hit my head against the table or something. “Right then, up you get.” And he tapped the surface of the dining table.
That was going to be interesting bound as I was and he showed no sign of getting prepared to help me. OK, compared to him, I’m a bit of a short-arse but even I could turn my back on the dining table and jump up onto it although I still had a lot of shuffling to do if I wasn’t to slide off immediately. He certainly seemed to enjoy my clumsy shuffling judging by the way he made no attempt to help me unless you count saying, “Keep going,” and other similar ‘encouragements’ at frequent intervals. By the time he was satisfied, I was seated in the middle of the table with my feet pulled up towards my bum.
“I expect you’re disappointed, though.”
“What about?”
“The way I haven’t used all of your lovely presents today.” He displayed the unused leather strap.
“Oh, I reckon I can live without it.”
“No, no, this last piece is yours, it won’t be a problem”
What he meant was that it wouldn’t be a problem for him. He soon had my knees forced up between my arms along with comments about it being a good job I was so skinny. Personally, I consider myself svelte. However, by the time he had forced the thing between my knees and forearms and buckled it around my arms, I could hardly move at all. He even made me balance on the balls of my feet and timed how long it took me to topple over. That got a bit tedious by the fourth time and he wasn’t letting on about why he was timing me, only stating that I had managed 90 seconds in all.
He put his phone down and picked up one of the new ‘presents’: a small, squarish package that obviously contained something somewhat squidgy. “I reckon all presents should be surprises, don’t you?” I smelled a rat. “Well, let’s see what we have here to ensure that today’s pressies really are surprises.” He unwrapped one of the new toys. “Ta da!”
It looked like a bit of an old inner tube. He demonstrated a sort of triangular hole in it and then forced it over my head and adjusted it until my nose protruded through the hole. The only problem, as far as I was concerned was that there was no way I could see anything as the rubber pressed against my eyes.
“Oh yes, this man is good; exactly the right size. Not too tight, is it lover?” I declined to answer as Mr. Smugly Smug gloated. I began to see (or not!) how that thing would serve to make any of the other presents true surprises. The smell certainly enlivened me again as my poor tool was trapped not only by the over-tight swim-briefs but by both my thighs and my belly. At least he’d have difficulty reaching in to torment me further. Now there were still three ‘toys’ for me to ‘enjoy’ before we went to bed.
“You are an inconsiderate prisoner, you know?”
“How the fuck can I be inconsiderate? I can’t do any-bloody-thing.”
“No, you can’t and that’s the trouble. You look really good like that. Hang on a while, I’ve got to go and toss myself off. Won’t be long.”
“Twat!”
“Yeah, but that’s why you love me, init?” He pulled me over onto my shoulders wrapped a strong arm round my insteps and subjected me to a tongue-tangling of epic proportions before sitting me up again. He was, of course, right but that wasn’t the time to admit it. Obviously by then I could have done with a good seeing to but I knew there was no way he would be slipping that blue thing down or slipping anything (or, at least, anything organic) into what it was covering. “Chiao. Don’t hold your breath”
Alright, I knew that the dining table wasn’t completely open so I had to be a bit careful about rolling too far but I reckoned that, by the time he had pleasured himself, and found something to wear (perhaps), that I might as well enjoy a bit of an almost certainly futile struggle. By the time he returned, he found me lying on my side and completely unable to right myself.
“Hi, did you miss me?” He didn’t seem to like my answer. Come on, tell me why I love that bloke. “Only good boys get Christmas presents,” I had mixed feelings about that, “But since you were so good last night, let’s see what Father Christmas left you for today. How may was it? Oh yes: four new toys . . .”.
“Anything, just top that fucking catterwalling.”
There was a slight pause, “Right, here we go.” I tensed up. There was another pause, just long enough to make me relax slightly again. Then he tipped me onto my shoulders, held me tight and ran something solid firmly from my right heel to my toes. I shan’t try to describe the noise I made; just believe that I made the same noise when he repeated it on my other foot. I knew that technique: he was putting me on notice. I could even guess what he had used; sure enough, he started scrubbing my right foot vigorously. He’s getting better at that: there was no way I could shake myself loose even after he had spent several minutes on both my feet. By the time he took a break, I could hardly breathe, let alone say anything coherently. Nevertheless, he decided that my language, while he was being so kind as to make sure that my feet weren’t dirty, was enough to embarrass the cat. No, we don’t have a cat!
“Must do something about that.”
“What? Get a cat?”
“No, that noise.”
I know readers will be ahead of me here but before I could clamp my jaws shut, gift number three for the day had been shoved between my teeth and was being held forcibly in place.
“Kkhhhh! Ngghhh-mmm . . . ”
“Don’t try to thank me. I bought this specially for you last week. I’ll bet you’ve never sucked on a dick that big before, have you?” I must admit that he was right; it must have even dwarfed his own very adequate appendage and it certainly went worryingly deep into my throat even before he had buckled it. “You safe?” I made a “Dot, dot, dot” noise, left a pause and then did it again.
After the initial shock, I managed to control my gag-reaction. Long practice was obviously paying off so the safety signal was obviously in order. I almost regretted it as he removed his hand and buckled the thing securely behind my nape. By the feel of the thing in my mouth, I suspected that only one strap would have been necessary to prevent my expelling the device even if I had wanted to but once both straps were in place, there was obviously a flexible panel clamped tightly over my lips. The smell of leather made it hard for my speedos to do their work again. Christ, there was still one more present to go.
He spun me round and gave my ribs a thorough working over. I don’t think I had ever been silenced as effectively as that before. The only noise came from my nose when I wasn’t frantically trying to catch my breath. There wasn’t even much give in the penis gag and it was certainly more effective than any of the ball gags that I’m usually made to wear when we are enjoying ourselves in private. It didn’t even feel as though I was drooling down my chin.
For once in his life, he over-played his hand or, at least, his desperately delving fingers. With a heart-felt, wheezing, “Nnnggghhhh!”, my whole body tensed and I came spectacularly in my briefs for a prolonged spasm. Without them, I think we might have had quite a cleaning bill. He obviously noticed and stopped his ministrations. “Damn, boy, have you got no sense of timing? That wasn’t supposed to be your fourth present today.”
“Hnnnmm . . .” I wasn’t really sorry.
“I think I need a little break.” I felt myself being released (in another sense of the word!) and allowed to sit upright again. At least I could still hear him as he crossed to the sofa and sat down. “You just relax, lover, I hope the excitement wasn’t too much for you.”
A snort is a snort, gag or no gag.
I should be used to it by now but I had no idea how long he had left me to my own devices but those strange feelings still come over me whenever I am left in the dark and he was clever enough not to play any music during the hiatus. He is really good at timing such treatment and very patient. Only part of me at the time knew he was trying to make up for his unfortunate slip that had allowed me to follow through before he thought I had earnt it. Still, he left me for long enough to build up an unnerving sense of apprehension even though, deep down, I knew he would care for me properly. After a while, such beliefs don’t seem so comforting.
I didn’t even hear him coming. “Naughty boys don’t get to have orgasms without permission you know that.” As he tipped me onto my face leaving my arse in the air, I could guess what was coming - and it wasn’t me – - - yet!)
My attempted, “Sorry,” was both ingenuous and delivered with no expectation of mercy.
“. . . Four new toys . . .” Now that was real torture. There was the usual skilful pause before my backside burst into fire. That hurt! What was it? A crop? A strap? His cane? No, none of them; it would be something new. It certainly bit into flesh of my glutes. By now, being bound tightly into a ball must have pulled those already inadequate little speedos so far down at the back that I must have been showing enough crackage to park a bicycle. Not that one layer of thin fabric would have provided much protection in any case.
I suppose I could have rolled onto my side in an attempt to avoid whatever it was he was employing but that was hardly the point, was it? He pulled the back of my speedos down so that my buttocks were now completely exposed, and rubbed whatever it was sensuously around my exposed and already throbbing butt. My moaning surely couldn’t have been nearly loud enough to give him satisfaction. Pause. Then that sharp pain again. It felt as if there was more than one point of contact.
He adjusted my position on the table and repeated the procedure four more times. I must admit that I was (almost) glad when he stopped. At least this time he congratulated himself on not allowing me any serious release although, if he hadn’t mistimed the tickling, it would have been close.
“OK, I think that’ll do.” With that, he caressed my arse, pulled up the completely inadequate speedos, and pulled me into a sitting position. He MUST have heard me that time!
After a pause, I heard, “I’ll be leaving you now, Sir,” and I considered toppling over deliberately so that my poor, buzzing arse didn’t have to take most of my weight as I sat on a hard kitchen table. It was a question of making sure that I wouldn’t roll off onto the floor. “Oh, and about those 90-seconds. Let’s see: one hundred take away ninety leaves ten smacks; ten take away the six, that leaves -m- four lashes for later.” He could have made up any calculation but I knew he wouldn’t take things too far or, at least, he wouldn’t usually do so. There was still that frisson, though. I obviously stiffened up at the thought.
I thought it was worth a sarcastic “Mngghh!!” but it was hardly audible.
“No, don’t bother to thank me; it’s just a late Christmas present.” As he left in the direction of the living room, I knew which was the safe direction in which to fall and allowed myself to topple onto my right side. I must admit that I hoped he would soon get bored with waiting.
Once more, he entertained himself in silence while I waited regretting somewhat my decision to “Lie down on the job,” as he put it upon his return. He obviously enjoyed the spasm as he approached silently and gently stroked my arse. Bundled up as I was, I certainly put a strain on my bonds. He chuckled. “Ready?”
I can’t figure out how to write a gagged reaction that is supposed to reflect surprise and even anger along with a sense of relief so I’ll have to settle for, “Mnng!! Ngggh! Fffnngg.”
“OK then, I’ll go away,” and that’s exactly what the bastard did!
The rest of the first part of the day doesn’t take much relating and is probably quite predictable. However . . .
His next approach wasn’t silent and I strained to turn to face his approach. By the time hie lifted me wordlessly onto my toes, my needy member was already trying to occupy more that he cramped space available to it. As soon as I started to topple, I felt that sensation again. Yes, the briefs didn’t provide any protection at all. Following the lash, I toppled and was quickly uprighted gain. The last three lashes followed in quick succession. I suppose it would spoil things if I pointed out in future that he is supposed to give me some anticipation time between torments but he’s not usually that impatient so I thought I would let it ride this time.
I wonder whether he was rushing because we had not yet eaten anything. Certainly, he left me lying on the kitchen table and repaired to the sofa once more. Then it dawned on me: the worst torment yet: he left me there while he watched the European-Cup game on the telly. He didn’t put earplugs in, even worse: he adjusted the volume until I could hear more-or-less what I was missing out on as long as I strained to do so and neither of us made any noise. That was clever.
Ninety minutes, another thirty minutes extra time and the almost inevitable penalty kicks was total torment and extreme frustration. I know what I love about him: he’s good at that sort of thing and about what he did as soon as the game was over. I think readers can guess what that was.
Once he had prepared me and satisfied himself – and me – I was left bereft of some of my Christmas presents. It was a long day naked, blindfolded, in no clothing other than a tatty pair of old boxing gloves, and stretched out on the bed. Oh, and he did replace that enormous gag that I had not yet had a chance to see. He fed me with difficulty several times, gave me a bottle to piss in and complained about having to launder the bedding before he got in.
Finally, he released the handcuffs from the bed-head and the straps that were stretching me not too tightly and changed the bedding while I had to kneel in the dark with my hands cuffed behind me. He lifted me up onto the newly laundered bedding, played with me just enough to give me hope before, with his usual sense of timing, he stopped suddenly. “You know: you’re an inconsiderate lover, aren’t you?”
“Nggh?”
“Yeah, I just played with your staff for you but you’re wearing boxing gloves and I can’t even push mine into your mouth. Oh well, good job I had to launder your speedos. Roll over, lover.”
It had been a good day.
Just One More Day to Go