Loving Torture - The Session

She is slowly sliding it in and out just the short distance that the thickness of her tongue and the small size of the opening of my urethra allow. She then starts to lick, exploring the inside of my hole just at the delicate entrance.

This is the most excruciatingly frustrating thing she has done. I am still hovering right on the ragged edge of explosion, and she continues to only provide that which will torture and frustrate me.

Being in her mouth with no movement but the soft squeezing of her cheeks and her tongue gently violating my cockhole, is not just physical torture, it is psychological torture as well.

As she continues to fuck my cockhole I realize that I am fucked too, in every sense, but the literal one.

Chapter 11

- - To some who are reading this story, it might appear that what Sara has been doing to me (and much worse is still coming) is an expression of some deep-seated dislike or even hatred of me - and most likely, of men in general. But this just isn't true.

You are only reading about one part of our life together - our world of teasing and denial. In our everyday lives, we have, in many ways, a very traditional marriage.

She is a loving, caring, kind, deferential, and even at times, submissive wife.

She cooks, cleans, does the laundry, and most of the food shopping. She also sets up our doctors' appointments and makes sure we are eating healthy food.

She never tries to manipulate, dominate, or control me, even when she could, like when she has been teasing me for a while and I would do anything to please her, driven by my desperate need. She never takes advantage of me, even in those times of weakness.

I, on the other hand, am the primary provider, and protector. I do traditional guy things that need to be done around the house like mowing the lawn, taking out the trash, taking care of our vehicles, cooking on the grill, fixing things, and doing home improvements. I always have a running list of things she wants me to do, that she adds to regularly.

At times, when she is tired and needs a break, I will pitch in with the housework on the weekends, cleaning bathrooms, doing laundry, or cooking dinner.

The work is evenly balanced across our relationship, with one of us picking up the slack when the other is sick, tired, or just needs a break.

We hardly ever fight, and when we do, we are both quick to apologize, ask for forgiveness, and move on with our lives with no lasting animosity or bitterness.

In short, we have an amazing marriage, envied by most of our friends.

But - as you have read to this point, when it comes to sex, things are very different. In the bedroom, she is a merciless, power-hungry despot, who takes her position as ruler very seriously, ruling with an iron fist.

- - A few of our friends have even come to us for marital advice in the past, but we have never been able to tell them the true secret of our happy marriage. What would they think?

What our envious friends don't know is that the alternate world into which we dive is the secret of our intense bond, and fantastic marriage. My willingness to submit to her power and control during sex is an expression of my deep, deep love for her. And the control Sara subjects me to is a tangible expression of her deep, deep love for me. It is a beautiful and passionate display of loving, consensual, power exchange, and it knits us together in an unbreakable bond, that bleeds over into our everyday lives.

- - We are who we are, and I am so grateful we found each other. Without her, I most likely would never have discovered the part of me that needs to be controlled and dominated. Together we have discovered that there is a part of me that can achieve peace, fulfillment, freedom, and wholeness through the uncompromising domination of a woman who completely loves and understands me.

- - We have also discovered many unique parts of her. There is the part that needs to exercise control over a man and demonstrate the unique power she has as a woman to inflict pleasure and suffering through his cock and balls. The part of her that needs to see a man in tortured convulsions at her hands from the devastating frustration of being denied orgasm. The part of her that needs to see a man on his knees in front of her licking her pussy in desperate need to please her and serve her, as she has her fingers tangled in his hair, guiding his mouth to where she desires. The part of her that gets more and more relaxed, happy, and stress free the more she builds frustration and stress inside of a man's balls.

As the reader can hopefully, clearly see, we are in a word - perfect -- for each other.

- - I can say all of this now, with all my faculties intact while writing this story, but if I am being honest, in that moment of intense suffering, I was feeling like she was a heartless, masochistic bitch, who didn't give a fuck about how I was feeling, or how much my mind was in tortured turmoil.

But in the end, it all just made me love her more, as she knew it would. Regardless of how I was feeling at that moment, she knew what was best for me, and for us.

Chapter 12

- - A very long time has passed and still my massively swollen cockhead is embedded in the hot, wet softness of her motionless mouth. The frustration is excruciating.

One of Sara's superpowers when it comes to teasing and denial is her endless patience and endurance. She is able to perform the same activity for very long periods of time, never deviating, and never tiring. She can relentlessly, and mercilessly, apply a particular technique without regard for the clock, using only my responses as her indicator of when to stop.

Suddenly I am once again going to cum with no more stimulation than her tongue lovingly exploring my cockhole, and the soft insides of her cheeks gently squeezing my sensitive head as she softly sucks in a slow rhythm of torment.

She of course, senses it immediately by the rapid expansive engorgement of my head. In a final farewell, she sucks softly as she slowly lifts her mouth off my cock, her lips, for a brief second, giving my head the friction it so desperately needs as it slides free, almost pushing me over the edge.

With a quiet pop, it flops back against my stomach, leaving a small wet mark, before springing back up.

She has once again timed it perfectly, my mind spiraling down into the depths of torment and despair as I am, for what seems like the 1000th time, denied orgasm.

I sink into hopelessness and despondency. Overcome by self-pity and despair I ask myself "why? Why do I agree to this abuse? This is too much. I can't take anymore".

But still... she continues. Relentless. Merciless. Sadistic.

Chapter 13

- - She has prepared me well for this next phase of her loving torture. She has come to know my body so very well. She knows that the combination of the extended time that has passed since my last orgasm, and the intensity of her teasing for these past weeks and hours, has caused my testicles to be incredibly full, swollen and aching.

I can, from VERY personal experience, put to rest once and for all any controversy over whether "blue balls" is a real condition or not. Blue balls is excruciatingly real. The pressure inside of mine is so powerfully intense that it is right on the border of pain, balanced perfectly on that erotic edge between exquisite pleasure and debilitating agony.

Testicles are uniquely capable of producing this experience in a man. There is no other part of the human anatomy, male or female, that can produce these simultaneous sensations of pleasure, pain, pressure, need, frustration, and agony.

It takes a great deal of time, patience, sensitivity, and love from a woman to get a man to this place of physical and psychological transcendence through his testicles. It is only through relentless cock teasing and orgasm denial that a man's balls, and consequently his emotions, can reach this state.

At this moment my testicles and emotions have reached this place. My balls swollen and aching. My nervous system overloaded. My heart rate - off the charts. My mind a twisted jumble of incoherent thoughts, emotions, and images.

Chapter 14

- - This time, after releasing my cock from her mouth she uncharacteristically doesn't give me any time to recover at all. While my cock still pulses and strains for orgasm, she quickly slides her slippery hands down to my aching balls, her location between my spread legs giving her perfect access to the unprotected, loosely hanging sack of skin that contains the delicate orbs of my testicles.

Using both hands, she traps each testicle in her grasp between her thumbs and fingers. I become instantly and totally aware of how vulnerable I now am - the most sensitive parts of my male anatomy one squeeze away from crushing agony.

- - As earlier described, sara is not a large woman, her petite hands, even for a woman, are small and delicate, her fingers perfectly feminine.

But the reality is, her small feminine hands might as well be a blacksmith's vice when it comes to my testicles. Her delicate fingers are 100 times more powerful than they need to be to completely debilitate me with excruciating pain.

Thinking of this is psychologically unnerving. I suck in an involuntary gasp of air as she authoritatively takes hold of my aching balls.

With each one trapped between her thumbs and fingers, she gently squeezes, rolling them around, feeling the surface texture of each testicle through the thin skin.

My balls are at the mercy of her whims, and I am quite frankly... petrified.

Chapter 15

- - What I am about to reveal is going to sound merciless and cruel (which it is in some ways), but remember, she loves me, and only does what's best for me, for her, and for us as a couple, so please don't judge.

- - Sara has never been a violent ball buster as she and I have seen on some websites. We have seen videos where women physically damage a guy's balls, causing bruising, internal damage, and pain, that lasts for days, or even weeks, afterwards. There are even men who have become sterile because of this.

Because Sara truly loves me, and cares for me, she has never battered my balls badly enough that it caused long-lasting injury, or even swelling and soreness that lasted for more than a few hours after the experience - and for that, I am extremely grateful.

But she has caused my balls considerable pain.

A slap, a rough grab, a tight squeeze, a well-placed crushing foot, have all been part of her arsenal. But her favorite thing to do to my balls is, of course, the most devastating.

No other activity establishes her complete control and domination over me as a man, as definitively as this. It is devastating enough that she can only do it while I'm tied down. Without physical restraints, I would stop her immediately, unable to lay there and take it while my hands were free.

The experience goes like this.

She wraps her hand around my scrotum at the base, just below my balls. This causes them to bulge out of the top of her fist and stretches the skin tightly around my testicles so you can see the outline of them through the skin.

Then, with merciless precision, she beats them with a rolled-up magazine.

I know! Right?!

Why a magazine? She discovered that a magazine doesn't provide enough impact to cause any real injury but does provide enough to cause some real pain. She is horrifyingly correct.

Over the years, she tried many different items around the house for my ball beatings, including, a whiffle ball bat, an empty cardboard paper towel roll, a spatula, a leather crop, a leather paddle, a leather flogger, a piece of pool noodle, her hand, her fist, a sock with a tennis ball in the toe, and a rubber mallet from my toolbox. (ouch! and OUCH!!! respectively for the last two).

The effect she was going for was that horrific sharp pain that originates in the testicles, travels up through the groin, radiates out into the gut, and becomes an unbearable and devastating ache that totally incapacitates a man, but, at the same time, causing no physical injury.

It was a tall order, but she was determined.

Some of the items, such as the wiffle ball bat, cardboard roll, spatula, and pool noddle, stung my ball sack, but didn't provide the weighted impact necessary to cause that devastating testicular pain and ache that she loves to inflict.

The other items on the list provided too much impact, causing her to have to concentrate while using them, carefully monitoring how hard she was striking, so as not to cause any damage.

She wanted to hurt me, not permanently disable me (she loves me after all). The need for concentration prevented her from being able to get lost in the moment.

But then, one night when she had me restrained, she accidentally discovered the magazine.

In the middle of a session, I said something jokingly that she thought was a bit uppity for the bedroom (neither of us can even remember what it was), so she decided to give me an unplanned ball beating to reestablish who was in charge. But, because it was unplanned, she hadn't brought anything into the bedroom for that purpose.

So, she decided to improvise, and looking around, grabbed a magazine that was on her bedside nightstand. She rolled it up, started whacking, and the rest was history.

She absolutely loved it. Especially the satisfying "THWACK" sound made with each strike, as it impacted my exposed ball sack.

It did exactly what she wanted, causing me to howl in agony from the sharp pain that it inflicted with each THWACK of the magazine, without causing lasting damage.

That magazine was almost perfect. The only problem was (from her perspective), it was just a little too flimsy, not having quite the strength of impact she wanted.

But that could easily be remedied.

For the next several months, Sara experimented with different types, thicknesses, and weights of magazines, and to my dread, sometimes came home from the grocery store with a stack of four or five mixed in with the broccoli, chicken, milk, and eggs.

Sara mentioned how much it turned her on thinking that the checkout person, handling the magazines as they moved down the conveyer belt, knew nothing of the future testicular agony they would inflict. She loved knowing that they were unwitting accomplices in her pursuit of the perfect ball beating instrument. What would they think if they knew?

Seeing Sara come through the door with new magazines, and a big grin on her face, caused me severe anxiety for the rest of the day, knowing that the evening would be filled with pain. Sara very much enjoyed being the source of my anxiety.

After repeatedly using my balls as the test subjects for multiple magazines, she finally settled on one she really liked -- a bridal magazine, thick, and heavy.

The first time she hit my balls with it we discovered immediately, and horribly, that it was too heavy and too inflexible. She hit them somewhat softly (which was always her approach when testing a new magazine), and it was immediately excruciating, which was what she was going for, but it was too much, the magazine being far too heavy and unyielding. It was obvious that a hard whack was going to cause some serious injury.

But she liked the length and the type of paper (smooth and glossy), but especially liked that it was a bridal magazine. The thought that the tool she would be using to torture my balls contained pictures of beautiful brides, smiling in their flowing white gowns, was very erotic for her. She thought of them as active participants in the beatings - a symbol of the power and supremacy of women in the marriage bed.

So, she decided to go with it, but make some modifications.

She continued experimenting, tearing out pages and testing again after each alteration, until it became exactly what she was looking for. It finally had the perfect weight, thickness, and flexibility to cause pain, but no lasting damage.

But still, there was one remaining problem. It would start to unroll after using it for a while causing her to have to stop momentarily to re-roll it, breaking her rhythm, and the "magic of the moment", as she liked to refer to it.

So, one beautiful, sunny, Saturday afternoon, while I was in the front yard doing yardwork, and neighbors were walking their dogs, mowing their lawns, and chatting across fences, Sara came to me with a big smile, her magazine, and a request.

She had been sunning naked by the pool, but before coming to talk with me, she had put on a tiny red string bikini. The red color against her brown, tanned skin, and her perfect body, made her impossible not to look at. She was incredibly sexy.

It was the first time she had ever ventured into the front-yard in a bathing suit that small, so I was surprised when I saw her, especially when I noticed the magazine. But, as it turned out, this was a special occasion.

I'm sure the neighborhood wives weren't thrilled, but the neighborhood husbands couldn't have been more pleased.

After waving, and yelling a friendly "hi Beth!", to our neighbor across the street, she handed me the magazine, looked up into my eyes, and asked demurely, "can you please fix this so it doesn't unroll while I'm beating your balls with it"?

What the fuck?! Did she really have to do this in front of the whole world, and almost naked?!

I knew no one could hear her, but still, holding that magazine and thinking about getting my balls beaten, while standing in the front yard with neighbors looking on, and my wife looking sexy as hell, was a bit psychologically unnerving.

She knew it would be and cherished every moment of my discomfort.

Thinking about my inevitable future regrets caused by knowing I had helped create the tool she would use to beat my testicles into painful submission, I almost said no, but that's not how our sexual relationship works. I of course said yes, and came up with a solution.

I wrapped the bottom 4 inches of the rolled-up magazine with tennis racket grip-tape, giving her the perfect handle for long term use.

We had, together, created the perfect tool for testicular torture. Something I would end of regretting many times in the future.

- - She now loves that magazine. She has even given it a nickname. She calls it her WTD, which stands for "Weapon of Testicular Destruction". She thought it was hilarious when she came up with it, while I, on the other hand, have fantasized many times about setting her WTD on fire in the backyard.

The perfect design of the magazine now allows her to let go completely. Not holding anything back, she can forget that I am even there, getting lost in the sheer joy of the activity, punishing my balls for as long and as hard as she likes, knowing that my testicles are safe from serious harm, but are still experiencing debilitating pain.

Over time, my balls have gotten a bit used to these beatings (as much as balls can get used to that sort of thing). I have been able to take the abuse for longer and longer periods of time, which adds tremendously to her feelings of power. The longer and harder she beats, the more powerful she feels, soaking up my pain with each loud THWACK.

These days, she sometimes hits my balls 30, 40, 50 times or more in a row, getting lost in beating a slow, steady, pounding rhythm - raising the magazine high, and bringing it down savagely, with a hard strike, every four or five seconds.

Or sometimes, like a bass drummer in a marching band, she keeps time with the music we have playing in the background, pounding my sack in time with each beat. THWACK... THWACK... THWACK... on and on -- a relentless assault, with no indication that it will ever end - my mind knowing I can't take any more pain, but her hands continuing to administer it.

Thankfully, she usually pauses after the song stops, waiting for the next one to start before she begins again with her unrelenting pounding.