One more

I have to be honest: I thought I was done. For many days now, I've been planning on shutting down the blog, calling it quits, and writing other things. No more erotica. And today I almost did it. I almost wrote my last entry and shut everything down.

But then I thought, why not one last story? And I thought about Sheherezad, which someone once compared me to.

And I had an idea....

One more, at least

            “Tell me one more story. Or have you outlived your usefulness?”

            “No, no,” I said. “I have more.” I wracked my brain, trying to put something together. “Have I told you the one about the man who finally, after months of training and practice,” I bit my lip, trying to think of something, “qualified for the glory hole?”

            She leaned back in her chair and gave me a thin smile, her eyes half closing and her posture relaxing. “An aspirant to a glory hole?” she asked. “No, you haven’t told me that. What kind of training?”

            Why did I say glory hole? I could have said anything. He could have qualified for Olympic skiing, or substitute teaching, or anything. But no, I said glory hole.

            Still, I know how this works. I tell the tale, or else I’m finished. And there’s so much more I still want to do, so many ways I still want to serve her. So I take a deep breath and just start talking, hoping that some sort of story will coalesce as I do.

            “Well,” I smile. “He started out with simple training. Ways to lower his gag reflex. He read about squeezing his thumbs to help him overcome it, and so he tried that. But it wasn’t enough to stifle it a little while, and he knew he couldn’t squeeze his thumbs forever. After all, he might need his hands.”

            She steeples her fingers together and gives me that look a cat gives to a mouse, only not quite as comforting. “He may indeed.”

            I swallow, hard. “So he just used that as the first step,” I said. “Something to help him psychologically. So he could stick first his finger down his throat, then a pen, then a spoon. It wasn’t until he could put a spoon all the way in his mouth, round part first, and close his teeth around it, that he was able to move up to more fitting insertions.”

            The way she shifted in her chair told me that the rhythm of the words was starting to do its job. I desperately wracked my brain to figure out what would come next.

            “Once he was able to stick a thin rubber cock down his throat, he started practicing holding it deep inside, with longer and locker dildos. He worked the muscles of his throat to swallow them almost all the way, to keep them at the back of his throat, to tickle him without making him gag. He spent hours and hours learning to control his breathing, to get air around a cock, and to stick a cock deeper and deeper.

            “It didn’t always work, of course. He was training, and part of training is failure. So he gagged. And he gagged and gagged and gagged. She never punished him for gagging. But if he ever tried to quit, she would punish him.”

            “How?”

            “Sometimes, she would tie him down and fuck him in the ass,” I said. This part was easy; I know her favorite punishments. “Sometimes she would whip him until his skin split just a little bit. Sometimes she would hang him from his ankles and put clothes pins all up and down his body, around his cock, and on his face. Hundreds of them. She would put him through pain so exquisite that he would weep, desperate for it to stop, and would not only be willing to keep trying, but would beg for the opportunity. So he would be grateful for the chance to try again.”

            “I like that.”

            I give a weak smile, worried about what I may have just opened myself up for.

            “Eventually, he forgot to even worry about gagging. He learned to hold his breath without panicking, learned to snatch gasps of air when he could, and learned to push a dildo so far down his throat he could feel it in his stomach. He adjusted his posture and learned how to swallow cock like he was swallowing a sword.

            “A freak at a sideshow, a performer, a man of danger and mystery. He had become all these things; instead of sticking steel down his gullet, he was able to slide down double headed dildos, cocks longer than any human being would have. He could slide them down his throat and leave them there, his neck stretched, his back straight, and a perfect tube leading all the way down his chest.

            “And his mistress was proud of him. So proud that, for the first time since his training began, she let him cum. She let him cum over and over again, flushing his system with pleasure until he had to beg her to stop. Until his nerves were on fire with ecstatic harmony and he had long since lost count of his orgasms. He wept and twitched when she touched him, and he floated on a cloud of endorphins big enough to choke a city. He came so many times that she didn’t need to tell him to put his cage back on. He had so many orgasms that he asked for the cage, he put it on himself, and he begged her to take the key.

            “Oh, he thought he was finished. He thought he was done, had learned what she wanted him to learn, and their play would move on to something else. But he didn’t realize just how devious his mistress was. All those times he came, it never occurred to him to ask why she caught his cum, why she encouraged him to gush all over. He didn’t realize why, didn’t even think about it, until it was time for the next stage of his training.

            “She made him eat the cum. Every drop of it, ever stringy strand of sperm. She warmed it up so it would taste fresh, she filled a cup with it, and she made him drink it. Not a quick shot or a desperate gulping down. She made him sip, made him savor it. She made him hold the cum in his mouth for hours, to get used to the taste.

            “Once his cum was gone, she started providing other cum. She never told him where it came from, and he knew better than to ask. But he never had a bite of food that didn’t have cum on it. Never drank a glass of water that didn’t have sperm floating in it. Cum was a staple of his diet, and slowly he grew used to the taste, used to the slimy texture on his tongue.

            “Able to deep throat any cock in the world, and so used to drinking and swallowing cum that he barely noticed it anymore, she started working on his jaw. Sometimes she’d leave it spread open with a gag for hours. Sometimes she would put on a strap on and fuck his face. Sometimes she just made him chew gum, or chew cum, over and over and over again. But even as he was getting used to the taste, his jaw was getting stronger, his endurance was increasing.

            “And finally, months after his training began, she gave him his final test.”

            She sits up now, rubbing her hands together, breathing heavily and smiling with a terrifying contentment. “What was the test?”

            “She put him on his knees,” I said, “Where they both knew he belonged. And she put on the biggest strap on she owned, one so big that he feared he would dislocate his jaw. Then she gave him an order, a very simple order.

            “She told him to suck her cock. But more than that. She said ‘suck my cock.’ Then she gave him an evil smile. ‘Suck my cock until it goes soft.’ Then she laughed.

            “His eyes were wide in terror at the thought of it. There was no way he could succeed. The cock he was sucking was rubber; it would never get soft. The erection would never go away, no matter how long he sucked on it. He could spend a minute or a year with that thing down his throat, and it would never change. Not in the slightest. There was a punishment coming, and he knew it would be bad.

            “Not just bad, but probably the worst he had ever experienced. She had purchased a new whip, a flogger with dozens of strands of leather, each of them knotted at the end. She had a bucket of clothes pins, more than a thousand of them. And she had ointment to rub on his muscles, ointment that would burn and sting and freeze the nerves that would be so excited and raw after the rest of his punishment.

            “So he tried. He desperately tried to suck her cock soft. He tried to keep going for as long as he could, praying that he would somehow succeed, or at least would please her enough to get off with a lighter punishment.

            “He held out as long as he could. Long after his jaw had started to hurt. Long after his vision dimmed at the edges from not getting quite enough air. Long after the muscles in his neck grew tired and tight. Long after his tongue became so exhausted that he couldn’t even feel it. Sweat poured down his face as he fought the encroaching pain of his jaw, as he desperately tried to keep sucking long after his body demanded that he stop.

            “For what seemed like hours, he sucked and he sucked and he sucked. Not a moment of rest, not an instant of reprieve, not a drop of cum. By the time he was done, he sobbed openly, falling to the floor and trying to beg for forgiveness with a mouth that would not work. He made sounds, but could not speak, and only gasped for breath and held the pain in his jaw. He was so scared of what she would do to him, so terrified of his punishment.”

            She licked her lips. “And what did she say?”

            “She patted him on the head,” I told her. “She told him he had done well. He had pleased her. She told him that he could rest.

            “She told him that the next day, she would take him to a glory hole. That he had earned it. The next day, she told him, he would suck a real cock for the first time. And for the tenth time. He had proven that he was qualified, and she was going to make him—“ I shook my head and held up a hand “no, that she was going to let him – be a glory hole slut.”

            She smiled at me and leaned back in her chair, looking down at me, tapping her foot on the floor.

            “Very well,” she said. “You can stay.”

            I bent over and pressed my lips to the top of her bare foot. “Thank you, goddess.”

            “Tomorrow,” she said, “I’ll want a new story.”

            I knew better than to refuse.