June Gloom

[Gr****]

I thought that my favorite thing would be the cuddles. He was a big, soft, hairy cuddle slut. I probably stood at shoulder height for him, but with very little rearranging I could be “above” him in bed and snuggle him so that his head was on my chest. The opposite was much less effort, but either way it brought to mind an Anne Frank comment about holding or being held by “a darling boy”. At one point I rolled over so he became the big spoon and, with his arm around me, I felt my shoulders relax. Bliss.

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It wasn’t that he was young, commercially beautiful or ripped: he was none of those things. A few years older than me, tall, and fat: shape-wise, he looked as though someone had simply had an image of me and stretched it up and to an angle - had embiggened me. He was missing one big toe: I didn’t comment on it - why bother? It’s not like he didn’t know.
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A decade or so ago at a play party, a trans man about my height looked at my play partner of the time and asked, “You like ‘em *big*, huh?” I smiled guiltily and nodded. It’s hard to feel self-conscious around someone of a similar body shape. And finding big, mild-tempered, compatible men who were interested in a shorter, just as round, bossy sadist could be a challenge. When I found one, I got intrigued.

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With this one, my only regret is that I didn’t find the time to plot how to rig him to the bed. My ankle cuffs went missing at some point. I am still ***ved about that. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

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I remembered from last time that he liked having his nipples bitten, so I upped the intensity by adding gentle nipple clamps - the ones inspired by bobby-pins: nothing major, but a good start for a newbie. He liked that, he liked when I twisted them, and he yelped when I educated him in their removal: one slowly and gently, the other quickly while he chanted “No, no, no, no …” 

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Hey, he didn’t safeword. Stop looking at me in that tone of voice.

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I then put my mouth to his nipples, escalating from simply rubbing them between my molars to adding significant pressure. He called out and reared back a bit, but not enough for me to lose contact. When I matched my mouth around his nipple and started to suckle as though I was nursing, he didn’t exactly scream but definitely gave the impression of loving and hating it simultaneously.

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Perfect.

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When his breathing evened out I put one thumb on each nipple and pressed, somewhat as though I was attempting to invert them into his chest, eventually leaning some of my weight into it. As he moaned, I worked my thumbs slowly, making sure to distribute the pressure. When he started gasping, I slowly retreated and let them settle again.

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He was on a kink website but claimed to have never played before or, at least, to have never bottomed. I had used s-hooks and a long-neglected folding clothes drying rack to hang my toys and offered him a “tasting”: a small series of strikes or strokes from certain implements to see where his interests lie. 

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During our previous date, he’d joyously discovered that I had not been exaggerating when I told him how I liked to be kissed, or that the back of my neck, shoulders and upper-back were erogenous zones. While aesthetically I can take or leave beards depending on how they’re groomed, they make amazing abrasion toys. As he sc***d his bristled cheek across my skin I convulsed in his arms, yowling wordlessly. When he’d pause to comment, I had to wait a few beats for my brain to catch up with the concept of words. He’d never seen anyone react like that before. 

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My turn. We agreed upon both “safeword” as a general safeword and the “red, yellow, green” system.

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He teased me about how unmoved he was by my initial gentle strokes. Ah. Baiting. Fine. I put a bit of English into it and got some reactions, deciding to move up a level for two in toy intensity as well. The taunting stopped as he actually began processing the ***.

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I kept reminding myself that this was just a tasting session, more an R&D (research and development) scene than anything else, but when I found something that really worked for him it was a challenge to trade it in for another. But I did it, over and over.

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He was curious about the heaviest floggers I had, one step smaller than the largest that maker designed at the time. I was advised not to do a standard flogger swing for *** of screwing up my back, and instead swing it like a baseball bat. I gave him light strokes with it first and, when he seemed disappointed, reared back and walloped him across the ass with it. He’d been leaning over the end of my bed at that point, and wasn’t prepared to be propelled into it that hard. I moved to give his other cheek the same treatment, and then a few whacks to the back. He was no longer bored.

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He was also not done with the taunts, though, so I threw in some CBT after he turned around. Squeezing while tightening my grip wasn’t doing much, so I started flicking my fingers at his shaft and balls. He jumped a little at first, and then stilled as he processed it. Then his eyes and I glanced down: he *really* liked CBT. 

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His legs were shaking, which was a new one for me. I’ve never had a bottom’s legs shake before. He was holding himself up well, but I felt the tremors and marvelled at how responsive he was. It was all I could do not to giggle, though I did smirk. I guess we both learned something new about him simultaneously.

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We got him up on the bed, and I took a cane to his feet for a very, very light bastinado session. He said he didn’t feel much due to neuropathy, so my guess at diabetes being responsible for the missing toe seemed accurate. Unsure if bastinado or just pedicures would help his feet at all, but it was something I filed away for later (I’ve taken a class but barely consider myself a beginner).

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The final toy is what I nicknamed the carpet beater. He originally thought the coils were plastic until he got a good look at them, and then looked worried. But he was on the bed, legs somewhat splayed, so I gave him some gentle pats with them until I landed a good hit on his inner thigh. He looked mildly surprised, said that he had some nerve issues in that leg so he probably didn’t feel as much there as the other one, and then worried as I walked to the other side of the bed to aim at his “good” leg. *wham* He jumped and yelped that time. 

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A few more hits on each leg to satisfy my inner sadist and I put the toy away, concentrating on rubbing his thighs. To my delight, the carpet beater had left imprints. He had very soft skin, so stroking his thighs - and the welts - was more sensual than I was prepared for. I luxuriated in the feel of him, not quite purring but sighing as I stared into his eyes. He had a peculiar look on his face, as though he was seeing something breathtaking - almost like awe. One toppy switch I knew yearned to be looked at by a play partner as though they were a god. It’s an amazing trick of endorphins, and I can see why that person desired it.

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I kept stroking his marks until he couldn’t stand it anymore and grabbed me, pinning my arms to *his* sides. I felt his hips to see if I could grab enough flesh for a nasty bit of business called, I believe, “a Dutch rub” but couldn’t. Instead, I flicked my wrists and broke the hold, returning my hands to his thighs with a smile. He looked shocked and grabbed me again, pulling in for a kiss.

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He’s a good kisser, too, and thus distracted me. Dammit. The tasting was over. Poor me, having nothing to do except make out with someone who’d turned their body over to my tender mercies. 

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Alas. Don’t you feel sorry for me?