Repeating Myself

Hey, y’all. I’m back.

So you know I’ve got a bit of ass on the brain (some might argue it’s because I’ve had my head up my own ass lately… sorry for neglecting you).

In the past week or so I’ve had two sessions with a similar theme element. Ass-related, of course. (Mostly cause I had so much fun with it the first time, I did it again with a different client.)

The first time, after he’d expelled the dry enema, I invited him to sit down. Except there was a large butt plug planted vertically on the seat. Really large. It was kinda like predicament play because as he squatted over the plug, it put pressure on his hamstrings/quads/… legs. So the temptation is to sit down. But the plug is huge. It hurts to sit down. It hurts not to sit down. And he wanted so badly to be there with me. So he kept trying. Struggling. But I didn’t push him down. I just stood there and watched him try SO HARD. And I loved that he was trying for me. I loved feeling that energy of him wanting it, wanting to sit on that plug with every iota of his being. I literally bounced and stomped my feet and screamed and hooted and cackled.

It was electric.

The second time … much smaller, more manageable plug. Sit down, I ordered. He did. Got it in. I grabbed several hanks of my hemp rope and tied him tightly to the chair. Chest. Arms. Legs. Hands. Utterly bound, immobilized. Then I ate my dinner — Pad Thai and spicy beef noodle soup, feeding him bits from my plate with my chopsticks. Sips of water with a straw.

I forget what we talked about.

I remember chuckling though.