I once met a man who wanted to date me.
I am of medium height, a nice looking face, long dark hair, and while I am not skinny, I would say I have a very nice body. Men like me, a lot, and so I don't go out with most men that ask. But this guy seemed to really want me and expressed a willingness to do whatever it took.
I explained to him I was dominant, and would only date a man who was submissive to me and that I enjoyed causing pain to my partners. He didn't understand. He thought that by playing a game he stood a chance of being able to stick his cock inside me, which was what he really, ultimately, wanted.
I explained that if we were to play at all at this 'dating' thing, he would have to show his willingness to submit. He was to meet me at a food court in a local mall. He was to wear nipple clamps, one on each nipple, underneath his shirt. We would meet and if I was satisfied we could see about taking the next step in establishing a relationship.
He resisted at first, but finally agreed. I knew there was a significant possibility he would not take me seriously. He was overconfident, and thought that if he could just get me on that initial date, he could manage from there. I warned him I would not be happy if he attempted to jerk me around.
I arrived late, of course. He was sitting at a table in the food court, looking unhappy until I sat down in front of him. Then his face lit up like a lamp. He smiled and began offering to get me something like a sandwich or coffee. I in turn asked him where the hell his nipple clamps were (they were not in evidence beneath his shirt). He stumbled for a moment, realizing from my tone that I was serious, and said something about how he couldn't find something appropriate and that it would show under his shirt and didn't want to go into a public place and be embarrassed.
As I got up to leave, he tried to convince me to stay. I leaned in close to him and told him that while he might be playing, I was serious. If he liked what he saw (he did, obviously), he would change his attitude. Handing him two alligator nipple clamps, I told him to undo his shirt, put them on, and then button his shirt.
He looked incredulous and then ran his eyes up and down my body, stopping at my breasts (which were visible clearly under my T shirt) and then surveying my jeans. After hemming and hawing, he unbuttoned, glancing around to see who might be watching. Wincing as he put the clips on, almost to the point of tears, he rebuttoned his shirt. I leaned over and stroked his cheek with my hand, placing my face close enough so that the thought of kissing me ran through his head, but not close enough so that he could.
We had lunch. He paid. I knew the clamps were not as painful as when he first put them on, the pain would subside to a dull ache after a while. They weren't comfortable but he was getting used to it. I took my time eating the sandwich he bought and we discussed his work and his ex girlfriend. The topic invariably swung to sex, and I made it clear that sex with me was not the same as he might experience with others. His eyes continued to roam my body.
It is almost too easy at times. When men are aroused, it is almost like giving candy to a baby. Their cock leads them to do things they would normally never do. When it came time to go, I told him he could come home with me but that it would be with my rules. I could tell what was going on in his head (and his pants), as he thought that most anything would be worth a chance with me.
I brought him home, stripped him, and took the clamps off. Having never worn them before he was surprised at just how painful it was when they were removed. That wasn't the last thing he was surprised about. Standing in my bedroom he was beginning to think he was home free; his cock was standing straight out from his body and was rock hard. I stood close to him so he could almost feel my body but just far enough back that it was still a promise unfullfilled. He wanted to reach out and undress me but I batted his hand away, reminding him it was to be my rules.
He tried to lean forward and kiss me. Instead, I shoved him back onto the bed and stroked his cock a few times. Thats all it took and he allowed me to cuff his wrists behind his back. It was the implication that I might begin removing my clothes if he submitted to this restraint that pushed him over that edge, I think. He really, really wanted to see me naked.
Strapping his ankles wide apart to the edges of a bed was easy at that point. In fact, the whole thing had been sooo easy. His cock was pulsing hard and so far I hadn't even kissed him. He had gotten a 30 second hand job and my long hair had brushed his bare skin, that was it.
Stepping out of the bedroom I went to the kitchen and got a rubber band and a spoon. Innocuous objects. Little things. Nothing he need worry about.
I knelt between his spread legs, and took his scrotum in hand/ He moaned slightly. Pulling his soft lumps gently out, I doubled the rubber band and slipped it over and behind his testicles. It snapped tight, leaving his balls in a distended lump. He grunted and began to protest. Ignoring him, I spit on his cock and spread my saliva around the flesh; he stopped complaining as the pleasure offset the slight discomfort of the rubber band.
Holding the handle of the spoon in my right hand, I pulled back on the top with my left hand. Pressing forward on the handle and holding the bowl of the spoon back, I suddenly let the top slip from my hand and the flat underside of the spoon slapped forward and struck his balls. Not hard mind you, it wasn't really hard at all; but hard enough to make him sit up and take notice. A small tap like that doesn't hurt too much, it is just a little uncomfortable.
He tried to sit up and protested. I pushed him back down onto his back, straddled him and told him he was maybe as stupid as he looked. I was serious; he wanted me and I had explained to him that I didn't just have sex with men. I dominated them and made them hurt. The spoon went back again, and I let it loose. I knew it wasn't hurting much, but we had time.
Another slap of the spoon, and then another. Slowly, the pain began to build. When this male began to wriggle and really complain in earnest, I stroked his cock a few more times, encouraging him to thrust. He asked if I was going to get undressed, he wanted to see my tits, he wanted to see my pussy. He wanted me on top of him. His mouth became dirty.
Two more slaps of the spoon and he was in pain. He didn't know yet how much pain he could take and thought he was really in pain and was talking like it. But I know pain in men, and he had just begun his journey. I hadn't struck his balls more than 15 or 20 light taps.
I removed my top, leaving my black lace bra on. My jeans slipped down and were kicked aside. I slid my panties off, and his eyes got big as he saw my shaved pussy. His cock had never lost a bit of his erection, and he began shooting off his mouth again. God, he wanted me so bad I could see the panicked desire in him. Just as he was emitting another slew of filth I slipped my used panties into his mouth and his words became a muffled, incoherent protest. Seconds later a strip of duct tape sealed his fate and his eyes turned really worried.
I resumed my ministrations with the spoon. Waiting about 20 or 30 seconds between each slap, the spoon kept whacking one of his testicles, and then the other. The signs of real pain began to be evident in the way he was wriggling his hips. The ache was increasing and spreading from his testicles to his hips. Soon it would begin to effect his stomach. Seeing and feeling his reaction to the pain I was causing turned me on and I began to really enjoy myself, each new stroke arousing me more, each muffled cry making me wetter.
He begged from behind the gag. You couldn't really hear the words but I could tell what he was saying. It hurt and he wanted it to stop. Every once in a while I would stop the relentless slap of silverware against his balls and slide up to straddle him, rubbing my wet pussy lips over his engorged cock, assuring it remained hard. But that never lasted long; I always returned to the spoon and his balls and the growing pain I wanted him to feel.
Finally, he was in enough pain that I was satisfied. I began to masturbate, enjoying the tears that were seeping out from the corners of his eyes. Rubbing my clit with my left hand, I used my right to squeeze his ball sack, keeping his pain going. God, that got me off so fast. Seeing and feeling his pain, causing his agony and watching him writhe under my hands made me so hot that I finally straddled him one last time and used his cock to rub my clit hard, as I pressed a thumb into each of his testicles, hard, really hard.
His muffled sobs of pain combined with his cock rubbing on my clit as I rapidly undulated my hips back and forth brought me to a shuddering orgasm. It was glorious. He was a bastard, an animal. He deserved every bit of pain he experienced and if I got some pleasure from it then it was an extra benefit. I would have hurt him even if I hadn't gotten off on it, but as it was his pain was my pleasure and that seemed just so... right.
I left him there, tied with his wrists behind his back and his legs tied wide apart and took a shower, washing off the slime from him. There was no ejaculate from him, thank god. It would have made me sick to have that stuff on me, but there was precum on my legs and his scent and dirt on my bare skin. I cleansed myself.
When I was clean and dressed, I returned and untied him. When his gag came off he swore and accused me of some rather nasty things. I told him that I had been very clear and that he had chosen to toy with me, and paid the price. He got dressed and started to leave.
Just as he reached the door, he turned and asked if he could call me sometime. I laughed. What an idiot. I told him he was an idiot. And I told him that if he wanted to come back for more, he would have to beg and show his willingness to submit to my whims.
He considered it as he left. His cock had come so close to being inside me, he could not keep that from his mind. But he also knew I was serious.
