Dr Who, in three parts

A geeky femdom tale....

I woke up, relaxed - a state I can honestly say was foreign to me. It took me just a second to register my surroundings, though - I was cozy, a blanket up to my chin, on the couch. My first thought was "damn, I didn't realize I could sleep so soundly on the couch."

And then I felt the soreness in my groin, realized I was nude, felt a stiffness in my core that comes only from intensive pelvic thrusting and I realized why.

What I should have realized that was that my left arm was shackled to the couch . . . but the sleepy mind only picks up on those things that the sleepy mind wants to pick up on.

"Mmmmmm, morning baby," I said, yawning, as she walked into the room, still nude, a great big smile on her face.

She ripped the blanket off of me. "Jerk off for me, slut," she said, her voice stern, but not harsh; her eyes, playful.

"Oh, are we playing that way?" I asked.

She reached down and grabbed my balls, squeezing as she did so. My manhood responded, quickly, to her contact. Despite the pain, I stood at attention. "Jerk off for me, now!" she replied.

At this point, I realized who'd be in charge . . . and when I went to reach down to fondle my package, I noticed that my left arm was just, plain, not moving.

My right hand grabbed onto my favorite toy, and I started the motions that I've been using since my teenaged years. She sat across from me, on the coffee table, legs spread, and gave me a show, bringing herself to a quick orgasm.

She closed her legs and stood up, bending over me. I, immediately, started sucking on her nipples as I continued stroking my cock. She bit my earlobe.

"I didn't say you could touch me," she whispered in my ear. "And, I sense you're about to cum. You'll be sorry if you do."

I stopped stroking myself, for fear of breaking her most recent instruction. It proved to be a mistake.

"I didn't tell you to stop," she hissed and, in a single, fluid movement, stepped down on my wedding tackle.

I howled in pain, and I can honestly say that I can't remember a time that I went from hard to flaccid more quickly.

"Oh, I like my toys hard," she replied, disappointment in her voice, leaving the room. She returned with what I can only call an instrument of torture - iron rings, held together with leather, progressively getting smaller. She forced my balls into the largest of the holes and then put my cock through the other holes. Her touch was purposeful - hardly one to turn me on, yet telling my dick to not respond is as easy as telling a dog to ignore the steak that dropped on the floor.

The pain was... immaculate. Iron rings, pressing back against the tide of my erection, squeezing my manhood in a way that I've never felt before. The pain was enough to force my erection to lose itself. But, upon seeing that, she'd kiss my ear, or lick a nipple, and blood would flow back into my member. It was all I could do to not scream out in a mixture of pain & frustration.

"Now, make me cum, slut," she said, grabbing my ears and forcing my mouth onto her pussy. I licked, nibbled, and sucked her clit until her hips started rocking. She grabbed the back of my head, pressing me against her, forcing my head up & down her sex, drenching my beard in her juices.

Eventually, I must have hit a good spot, because she shrieked and let go of my head, dropping her weight on top of me. I focused on her clit as I felt her hip go rigid. She held herself still, her whole body quaking, until, with a sudden burst, she flung herself back on the couch, over my legs.

My cock, straining against the bounds of its cage, pressed against her back, and my hip thrust up to her.

"Now, that was good, slut," she explained. "What was it that you said last night, that you wanted to 'have all of me?' Well, that's just what I want from you," she said, reaching for a television remote.

After securing my free wrist along with the previously bound one, she flipped on the TV and started watching an episode of Dr. Who. My geek brain prevailed, and I realized that it was the introduction of the family of blood -- "fuck," I thought, this is in three-parts.

My cock was throbbing.

The first episode, she watched and treated me gently. She mindlessly played with my chest hair, ran her fingers down my stomach (careful to not touch my cock, which had achieved a state of full-arousal once again, despite the metal obstacles), played with my nipples. I lie, bound, trying to make contact between my sex and her fingers . . . but despite her seeming disinterest in my state, she was so very careful to not touch my cock, and to ensure that it was always hard.

The episode ended and her finger found its way to my balls. I felt a drop of pre-cum exit.

She stood up and backed her ass against my face. "I couldn't help but notice you left a mark or two from last night," she explained to me. "Kiss them, and make them feel better."

The next half hour involved her placing each ass cheek, her breasts, and her thighs in front of my face, where I kissed any spot that looked like it might have been sore, tenderly.

A knee to my bound cock told me that I had missed a spot, and we started again.

And again.

And then she had me lick her until she came yet again. And, after she came, my hips seemed to be moving of their own accord. She looked down at me, cocking her head to one side, letting a fingertip circle my exposed balls.

"Please, touch me," I begged.

"You mean like this?" as she moved closer to my sex, her mouth open.

"Yes!" I explained before a new wave of pain shot through my body, her teeth having found the spot between head and shaft.

My cock, again, grew limp.

"Pity, I really want hard toys," she explained, before pulling out her phone.

She started the next episode while texting someone . . . well, texting isn't the right word. She was sexting. She sat with a big smile on her face as she giggled, taking pictures of her nether regions.

First, it was her breasts - picture after picture. Then between her legs, showing just how wet she was. Then she took video, as the show played on, of her masturbating. She came, hard, as I looked on, my cock straining for attention.

"See, I like hard toys," she said, showing me a picture of an erect phallus. "But, oh - it looks like I have a hard toy here," and then she smacked my cock.

Like the weeble-wobble it is, it came right back up. The rest of the episode featured her holding my cock with one hand, and spanking spanking it, and then keeping it swaying like a perverse metronome.

And my cock, the traitor that it is, stayed hard for all of it.

The episode ended and she licked up from my nipple to my collarbone. Before nibbling, then biting, making me cry out.

And, abruptly, she left the room.

She returned, after several long minutes, wearing nothing but a strap-on. "You took all of me last night -- I think it only fair the I return the favor," before approaching.

She kneeled over my chest. "Suck it," she commanded, and I opened my mouth to take the length. Again, her hand found the back of my head, and she pressed, slowly, closer to my face with her hips.

I went down on the phallus, as eagerly as I could in my bound state. But she thrust the dildo deep, causing me to gag. I wanted to pull away, to grab my breath, but reminders of taking her . . . of grabbing her by the hair and forcing my cock down her throat surfaced to my brain, and I resumed my cock-sucking.

"Very, very good, slut," she explained before withdrawing the phallus.

"This, I fear, is going to hurt," she explained before, pushing the dildo deep inside of me.

As soon as it began to enter, it felt as if fire was spreading from deep inside of me. I wanted to do anything to get the invading body out of me -- but I was bound. I writhed against the invasion, but she simply maneuvered, pressing against my hips, pinning me to the corner of the couch. I bucked, I tried to kick . . . but everything I did only allowed her deeper penetration. She reached down, tweaking both nipples as I gave up my last vestiges of a fight.

And, knowing what she expected, I lifted my knees to my chest, giving her a better view of her handiwork. And she did not waste time in taking advantage. She pumped into me with a pace that, until that moment, I wouldn't have believed was in her. And she kept going until her breath, simply, wouldn't hold up.

As she paused a few moments to catch her breath, she whispered "ride it," and I, despite having my wrists bound to the couch, attempted to maneuver my hips onto the phallus.

Several times, I was too-thorough in my riding, finding the latex appendage outside my body -- and despite the fact that it had been in me, re-entry was always a bitch. Each time the dildo entered me, a new wave of pain washed over me. Yet, despite the pain, my cock, again, betrayed me, growing hard in its bonds.

She started pumping yet again, this time slapping my erect cock as she pumped into me. I closed my eyes and surrendered. I embraced the pain . . . the way I was filled, the way my orgasm was needed but denied. I embraced her (with my mind, as my arms were kind-of taken).

Seeing my eyes were closed, she reached down and grabbed my balls, twisting them . . . and my eyes shot open. I matched her gaze, looking, longingly, into her eyes. But, in her twisting, the cage came undone.

At first, I expected something new - something to make me start to grow flaccid so that she could get it back on, but no - she stroked my cock, lovingly.

Though, just as I started to think "ok, I can deal with a handjob," her hand came, swiftly, down on my member. And despite my being pinned to the corner of the couch, I made quite a jump with each strike.

But then, my cock growing as hard as it had been all day, she said "fuck it." In a brief moment, she threw the strap-on to the floor and mounted me.

I didn't last more than 10 thrusts, but wonderful thrusts they were.

Knowing that I was done, she stood over my mouth. Kneeling over my face, she presented her genitals to me. I licked. I placed my tongue deep inside her, tasting the mixture of my cum with her juices. I lapped up everything.

"Very good my slut," she said, bending over to unfasten my bonds. And, in a whisper before we both stood from the couch, she added "there may be a bruise or two on my body that I'll want a lot darker before we have to part ways.