MrStefens
09-17-2003, 10:07 PM
Not sure about it, but my first try at a more gentle D/s story. All comments are welcomed.
I can remember the first time my step-dad used that small black bottom plug on me. And the second. And the third. I remember each and every time He asked me to lay on my tummy, a pillow booster tucked snugly under my hips, my bottom raised and quite bare, and the inevitable soft probing that was to follow.
The procedure was always the same, almost ritualistic in the way my step dad proceeded. I would lie on my tummy with a pillow under my hips, my pants down, not off, just pulled down, waiting, listening for my stepfather's footsteps. He liked to make me wait for a bit, He knows how impatient I am always, says the waiting is good for me. I hear his footsteps, and my step dad entering the room. Lights off, a candle burning by the bedside, its light flickering across my naked plump bottom cheeks. I knew what was coming, no matter my feelings about modesty.
My step dad would arrive with the small black butt plug in one hand, and a jar of Vaseline in the other, smiling at my submission, my willingness to obey, and let Him have His way with my bottom like this when he asked. That Vaseline jar always sent a
queer sense of unholy excitement through me.
To this day I cannot look at one without thinking of my step father and that butt plug.
The lid would be snapped off and placed on my bedside table, the plastic jar next to it, on the side, the way my head was turned, so I could see it.
He would always insert just the end of the plug in the pale grease to lubricate it, then remove it, and I would swallow hard as He carefully sat it down on the little white towel he had placed on the bedside stand. The end of the butt plug was not the only thing to be lubricated. My step father felt that my bottom needed a generous coating of Vaseline, both inside and out, in order for the probe to slide in without discomfort, and He enjoyed this ritual. He would always sit on the side of the bed, next to my hips, something that made me feel especially close to Him in this times of hushed anticipation for me. And He would very gently rub my bare bottom in little small circles, telling me to hush and that I needed to relax and just do as Daddy told me. This was done no matter how relaxed I thought I was, and no matter if I had made any bodily objections or not.
After a while He would reach over and scoop a little dollop of the Vaseline onto the little finger of His right hand. I would be transfixed by the sight of that finger, the grease resembling a small little ball rolled on to the end of His finger as it was
retracted from the depths of the jar. I knew where it was going, I knew I was powerless to prevent this gentle assault on my exposed bottom. I admit that after the first few times, when I had started to understand that this was going to happen no matter my feigned objections, in some ways, I no longer wanted to stop Him.
I started wanting, or perhaps even needed Him, to touch me this way, to give him this, to submit to having my bottom massaged and probed, my step dad working the lubricant
gently between my bottom cheeks, into my tiny pink vortex. To me, the entire procedure was a kind of act of love, my submission to His little fetish ritual...something I gave back...a small pleasure I guess...given to my step dad...for all the wonderful things he had done for me in my life.
His finger and thumb would gently slide between my bottom cheeks. The fingers would then open, pushing the cheeks of my bare bottom away from each other, the left thumb
holding the right cheek at bay, the fingers on the left cheek. To this day, it amazes me at the speed and the ease at which He always exposed my anus to His view. To my step dad it seemed as natural a thing to do as breathing, but, at first, I was ashamed
at that intimate exposure. There was never any hesitations on His part, never any reluctance, only myself feeling the cool air swirl around my bottom opening as I closed my eyes in morbid anticipation and embarrassment and excitement. It is truly electrifying, and to me, humiliating, to have my step father touch me in this way. Cast aside the embarrassment factor and my reluctance to be so intimately exposed to His eyes, and I truthfully admit that when he touched my anus and the surrounding skin...it is incredibly and intimately sensual. It is, after all, simply teeming with nerves. This fact did not seem to be lost on Him. He would reach across to lubricate my bottom, the bed creaking just a little, and at the sound of those few rusty springs I would always hold my breath and clench my eyes as tight as I could, lost in a world which is alive with physical sensation, anticipation and submission.
My step father would never talk, just simply begin to gently rub the Vaseline around the little ridges that circled my anus, being sure to also lubricate the soft skin close by, held tautly apart by His firm hand. At the first touch of the pad of His finger I would always contract, a reflex I later learned, but not knowing at the time I would always try with all my might to keep my bottom opening from shrinking and pulling away from His cool probing fingers.
I would even arch my back a bit, pushing my bottom up at Him, thinking this would compensate for my tiny opening made even smaller. After a while, I noticed that although my anus would clench at her initial touch, once my step dad began to rub the area between my cheeks more thoroughly, I would start to feel my muscles slowly relax and slip into a blissful state of total and utter relaxation while He rubbed the Vaseline lovingly. And even though my breathing was rapid and my pulse racing, my mind always went in to a blissful quietly erotic state as I surrendered to His touch.
After a bit, in a relaxed state, my bottom belonged to him...my step father...open and exposed to His intimate soft touches. It was often at this time, when I finally relaxed, that He would attempt to push some of the Vaseline into my now relaxed opening.
Using only His little finger, He would stiffen the digit and softly, so very softly, begin to tuck he grease into the folds at the very center of my opening. Each swipe seeming more wicked, each gentle push driven by more and more gentle force, my mind
acutely aware of my step dad's every touch, of his ultimate intention despite no words having been spoken, the entire universe for me reduced to the resilient pressure of
my step father's little finger now being applied to my tender opening.
I would always whimper into the pillow, and then, with the first breech of my anal ring, my whimpers turned to small raspy low gasps. This always embarrassed me, the small muffled sounds I tried to hide with a pillow pulled close to my mouth. His persistence was always rewarded with the ring of my muscle surrendering to His Vaseline-laden probe of a finger.
For a while, I would lay quiet, just deep breathing, impaled up to His second knuckle, and my step dad would simply stop and hold His finger in me. I felt so suspended, so vulnerable and utterly transported...in my own world, a whirlwind of vague humiliation and deep overwhelming physical sensations racing through me as I attempted to lay still. Then, softly, wordlessly, my step father would begin to slide His finger in and out of my bottom with a regular rhythm that left me uttering small gasps and feeling breathless with both joy and tactile pleasures.
He never ever inserted His finger harshly, or really even very quickly or too deep in any fashion. Although there were countless times when as the sensations started to build
in me I wanted to be treated more forcefully, to feel his finger full measure..to be send quickly over the edge. When I felt like that I would have given more to him.
Rather, my step dad kept up a slow steady pace of in-out, in-out, in-out. Shallow at first, then a bit deeper, and always with a firm but also a gentle pressure. I would find myself sometimes almost involuntarily swelling my hips back toward his finger, slyly
matching his gentle pushes and unable to command my body to stop this even as it humiliated me. I remember my legs used to start to twitch on their own from these sensations, and my step father always seemed amused by this.
Finally, after an eternity of this slow steady lubrication, He would withdraw his finger. He always continued to hold my bottom open and I wondered if He like to watch me like this, if he enjoyed the immense humiliation that this caused me. But I didn't care really, the feelings would overwhelm me, his gentleness and command combined to render me helpless to object. The butt plug was picked up from the night stand, its end still sticky and shining like icicle frosting in the candle light. My heart lurching in my chest as I saw my step father grasp carefully and position the small narrow end away from His palm.
Mr. Stefens
I can remember the first time my step-dad used that small black bottom plug on me. And the second. And the third. I remember each and every time He asked me to lay on my tummy, a pillow booster tucked snugly under my hips, my bottom raised and quite bare, and the inevitable soft probing that was to follow.
The procedure was always the same, almost ritualistic in the way my step dad proceeded. I would lie on my tummy with a pillow under my hips, my pants down, not off, just pulled down, waiting, listening for my stepfather's footsteps. He liked to make me wait for a bit, He knows how impatient I am always, says the waiting is good for me. I hear his footsteps, and my step dad entering the room. Lights off, a candle burning by the bedside, its light flickering across my naked plump bottom cheeks. I knew what was coming, no matter my feelings about modesty.
My step dad would arrive with the small black butt plug in one hand, and a jar of Vaseline in the other, smiling at my submission, my willingness to obey, and let Him have His way with my bottom like this when he asked. That Vaseline jar always sent a
queer sense of unholy excitement through me.
To this day I cannot look at one without thinking of my step father and that butt plug.
The lid would be snapped off and placed on my bedside table, the plastic jar next to it, on the side, the way my head was turned, so I could see it.
He would always insert just the end of the plug in the pale grease to lubricate it, then remove it, and I would swallow hard as He carefully sat it down on the little white towel he had placed on the bedside stand. The end of the butt plug was not the only thing to be lubricated. My step father felt that my bottom needed a generous coating of Vaseline, both inside and out, in order for the probe to slide in without discomfort, and He enjoyed this ritual. He would always sit on the side of the bed, next to my hips, something that made me feel especially close to Him in this times of hushed anticipation for me. And He would very gently rub my bare bottom in little small circles, telling me to hush and that I needed to relax and just do as Daddy told me. This was done no matter how relaxed I thought I was, and no matter if I had made any bodily objections or not.
After a while He would reach over and scoop a little dollop of the Vaseline onto the little finger of His right hand. I would be transfixed by the sight of that finger, the grease resembling a small little ball rolled on to the end of His finger as it was
retracted from the depths of the jar. I knew where it was going, I knew I was powerless to prevent this gentle assault on my exposed bottom. I admit that after the first few times, when I had started to understand that this was going to happen no matter my feigned objections, in some ways, I no longer wanted to stop Him.
I started wanting, or perhaps even needed Him, to touch me this way, to give him this, to submit to having my bottom massaged and probed, my step dad working the lubricant
gently between my bottom cheeks, into my tiny pink vortex. To me, the entire procedure was a kind of act of love, my submission to His little fetish ritual...something I gave back...a small pleasure I guess...given to my step dad...for all the wonderful things he had done for me in my life.
His finger and thumb would gently slide between my bottom cheeks. The fingers would then open, pushing the cheeks of my bare bottom away from each other, the left thumb
holding the right cheek at bay, the fingers on the left cheek. To this day, it amazes me at the speed and the ease at which He always exposed my anus to His view. To my step dad it seemed as natural a thing to do as breathing, but, at first, I was ashamed
at that intimate exposure. There was never any hesitations on His part, never any reluctance, only myself feeling the cool air swirl around my bottom opening as I closed my eyes in morbid anticipation and embarrassment and excitement. It is truly electrifying, and to me, humiliating, to have my step father touch me in this way. Cast aside the embarrassment factor and my reluctance to be so intimately exposed to His eyes, and I truthfully admit that when he touched my anus and the surrounding skin...it is incredibly and intimately sensual. It is, after all, simply teeming with nerves. This fact did not seem to be lost on Him. He would reach across to lubricate my bottom, the bed creaking just a little, and at the sound of those few rusty springs I would always hold my breath and clench my eyes as tight as I could, lost in a world which is alive with physical sensation, anticipation and submission.
My step father would never talk, just simply begin to gently rub the Vaseline around the little ridges that circled my anus, being sure to also lubricate the soft skin close by, held tautly apart by His firm hand. At the first touch of the pad of His finger I would always contract, a reflex I later learned, but not knowing at the time I would always try with all my might to keep my bottom opening from shrinking and pulling away from His cool probing fingers.
I would even arch my back a bit, pushing my bottom up at Him, thinking this would compensate for my tiny opening made even smaller. After a while, I noticed that although my anus would clench at her initial touch, once my step dad began to rub the area between my cheeks more thoroughly, I would start to feel my muscles slowly relax and slip into a blissful state of total and utter relaxation while He rubbed the Vaseline lovingly. And even though my breathing was rapid and my pulse racing, my mind always went in to a blissful quietly erotic state as I surrendered to His touch.
After a bit, in a relaxed state, my bottom belonged to him...my step father...open and exposed to His intimate soft touches. It was often at this time, when I finally relaxed, that He would attempt to push some of the Vaseline into my now relaxed opening.
Using only His little finger, He would stiffen the digit and softly, so very softly, begin to tuck he grease into the folds at the very center of my opening. Each swipe seeming more wicked, each gentle push driven by more and more gentle force, my mind
acutely aware of my step dad's every touch, of his ultimate intention despite no words having been spoken, the entire universe for me reduced to the resilient pressure of
my step father's little finger now being applied to my tender opening.
I would always whimper into the pillow, and then, with the first breech of my anal ring, my whimpers turned to small raspy low gasps. This always embarrassed me, the small muffled sounds I tried to hide with a pillow pulled close to my mouth. His persistence was always rewarded with the ring of my muscle surrendering to His Vaseline-laden probe of a finger.
For a while, I would lay quiet, just deep breathing, impaled up to His second knuckle, and my step dad would simply stop and hold His finger in me. I felt so suspended, so vulnerable and utterly transported...in my own world, a whirlwind of vague humiliation and deep overwhelming physical sensations racing through me as I attempted to lay still. Then, softly, wordlessly, my step father would begin to slide His finger in and out of my bottom with a regular rhythm that left me uttering small gasps and feeling breathless with both joy and tactile pleasures.
He never ever inserted His finger harshly, or really even very quickly or too deep in any fashion. Although there were countless times when as the sensations started to build
in me I wanted to be treated more forcefully, to feel his finger full measure..to be send quickly over the edge. When I felt like that I would have given more to him.
Rather, my step dad kept up a slow steady pace of in-out, in-out, in-out. Shallow at first, then a bit deeper, and always with a firm but also a gentle pressure. I would find myself sometimes almost involuntarily swelling my hips back toward his finger, slyly
matching his gentle pushes and unable to command my body to stop this even as it humiliated me. I remember my legs used to start to twitch on their own from these sensations, and my step father always seemed amused by this.
Finally, after an eternity of this slow steady lubrication, He would withdraw his finger. He always continued to hold my bottom open and I wondered if He like to watch me like this, if he enjoyed the immense humiliation that this caused me. But I didn't care really, the feelings would overwhelm me, his gentleness and command combined to render me helpless to object. The butt plug was picked up from the night stand, its end still sticky and shining like icicle frosting in the candle light. My heart lurching in my chest as I saw my step father grasp carefully and position the small narrow end away from His palm.
Mr. Stefens