Plugged

I tried out my new glass butt plug last night. It surpassed all of my expectations.

But I didn't try it out on myself. No - this was a present for the boy. He was so sweet trying to guess what The Surprise was going to be. I must admit I teased him mercilessly about it, and he got very overexcited. But it wasn't until shortly before he finally received his present (it took a while to ship), that the seeds of doubt began to creep in. He began to remember that as loving as I can be, I have a sadistic streak.

'Is it a mean present, Miss?'

'Oh, it's nothing you can't handle.'

*whimper*

He's adorable when he's scared. I never know if I want to comfort him or torment him. Usually both.

But the time had come, and I'd warned him not to open his present in the crowded pub garden where we were seated. Obediently, he had trotted off to the toilets, to lock himself away and find out what I had in store for him: treat or trick. I think he got a bit of both.

The boy who returned to the table and spent the rest of the night with me was somewhat different. The lively chattering and animated cheekiness was gone. The boy who returned to the table was meek, contrite, visibly distracted, and grinning so hard it looked like someone had tried to shove a coathanger in his mouth. It made my heart swell to see it. It was as if he was suddenly under the influence of Class A drugs - tactile, happy, but strangely vulnerable and confused.

The glass plug, I am told, is very different to its silicon counterparts - it is heavy, and while beautifully smooth, it is ungiving, meaning that the spots it pressurises inside are changed with every little move of the body. I had a lot of fun experimenting with which parts of him he could move without wincing (or sighing).

As we left for our dinner venue, I noticed that he stuck closer to me than usual, speaking very quietly in my ear, as if hoping that I'd protect him from prying eyes that might immediately dicern his naughty secret. I had sympathy for his cause, of course, and reassured and coaxed him along the way. No one knew. He was safe. And I was pleased with him.

On the bus (oh joyous bus, with rutty, bumpy roads to cross) he was magnificent. Utterly tortured by every vibration and bump, clinging to my arm with desperate eyes, not helped by the filth that I occasioned to pour in his ear, he was on the brink. He clutched his bag hopelessly over his lap in an attempt to hide his shame. 

He asked me, imploringly, 'Have I ever been this evil to you?'

I smiled. What an easy question. My mind flicked over many such occasions when it was I with sweaty palms, desperately overstimulated, mind racing with a thousand escape plans that I didn't really want to execute. My mind flicked over many such occasions when he had laughed at my discomfort and then cranked it up a notch further. (Of course, this is the switch's cry: I am Tiresias. I have foresuffered all)

'Yes.'

Realisation that this wouldn't be the greatest of his torments tonight visibly passed across his face.

'Oh fuck.'

My smile widened a bit more.

'Yes.'

Payback's a bitch.