Another H*rny Blog

The first thing they press into you is one finger coated generously with cold lube. Then two fingers. Next, they slowly press a narrow dilator in, remarking that you’re doing well so far. The next one makes your leg twitch closed. Before you can apologise they place a hand on your inner thigh to press it back to where it was before.

The third time your legs try to close they tell you that you need to relax for the test to be successful. The fifth, they jokingly offer you restraints. The sixth, you find out it wasn’t a joke as they place a spreader bar between your legs. You swear they skipped a couple sizes when they’re stretching you with the next dilator because it hurts in a way the others haven’t.

You try to say that you can’t go bigger, but they shush you and tell you that you can. You just need to relax. You say that you’re trying. They offer to help, and you accept.

You thought they’d give you a pill, but instead they start to stimulate you. No matter what you say they don’t stop until you’ve orgasmed, and as soon as you have they press the next dilator into you. They tell you that you didn’t even need lube for it, so clearly you can keep going.

Hours pass like that. By the end there’s more than a puddle of lube and cum on the table under you, and the spreader bar is holding your legs up instead of forcing them open. The doctor removes your drape and tells you to look so that you can see for yourself. You watch, partially in a daze, as they fist you with complete ease. After a moment they pull out something that looks like a display piece more than a toy and push it into you, explaining that you probably shouldn’t go larger but if you want to they can help you. They slide it out and hand it to you, telling you to try using it on yourself. It’s so heavy that you almost drop it but you push it in slowly. They take it back and start pumping it in and out while you watch, so worn out that all you can do is lay there as they fuck you with it.

I lead him through the house, laughing at how he can’t seem to walk comfortably. He’s confused when he sees something I made. It looks like a shelf with legs, almost like a ladder. It’s badly made, too. I didn’t finish the edges of the shelf and used the quickest construction method I could, leaving some screw heads sticking up on the shelf. When I set that too-big dildo on it he understands and starts to climb it to carefully lower himself. It takes a bit of time. I spent so long diligently pumping him that his hole was no longer stretched enough, and he was probably in a much more ergonomic position when he was fucking himself. I hold the dildo steady for him until it’s far enough in for his cunt to keep it. He winces with every movement, but by the end his legs are shaking too badly for him to do anything but fall on the rest. His pained moan is wonderful, but I know how to make it even better.

I start with his arms. First I fold them so that his wrists are up near his neck, then I tie them like that so that he can’t move them or use them for balance. He really starts to panic when I grab one of his legs to fold it up, his weight immediately crushing his swollen cunt on that side as his support is removed. His begging is music to my ears. I can tell he’s trying to use his other leg to compensate as much as possible. It’s an exercise in futility, since we both know that I’m going to remove that next. The unfinished edges of the wood scrape against his inner thighs.

The second leg is much more devastating, based on how he nearly screams. I take a look and it’s clear the barely-there base of the dildo is doing a wonderful job at pinching some of his labia. The exposed screws I didn’t finish putting in aren’t even visible, absorbed by the swollen mass. Once I’m finished tying that leg I fondly pinch the over sensitive tip of his clit, tugging to see if any of the nail tips are in the right spot to be poking at it. They aren’t, unfortunately, but I can fix that later. I blindfold him to add a bit more challenge to his balance.

Only after all of that is done do I start the timer for twice as long as it took him to figure out how to fit that dildo. Next time he’ll be more motivated, I’m sure. Whenever he seems to find his balance I give him a couple minutes before adding some more challenge, like tying a weight to one of his legs but not the other. Sometimes he begs for this to end, that he didn’t want this, but I remind him that he’s the one that brought up cock and ball torture and I’m going to see it through.