Saturday, January 28, 2017

Full Service Top?

My Playroom—December, 2016

On all my hook up ads, I have called myself a Full Service Top from the very first.  Any causal reader certainly should agree that I know my way around an ass.  I have been told I’m an excellent fister.  I love all sorts of watersports—and I know how to use it for sensuous enjoyment or as a way to humiliate a sub.  I know how to flog.  I am adept at cock and ball torture having been tutored by a man who loved to have his balls beaten black and blue.  I am excellent at role playing—though I don’t get much call for it.  I have a number of things in my playroom to make nipples much more sensitive.  I am good to go if a husband takes me home to fuck his wife—or fuck him in front of her—or both. 

I know I have much to learn involving BDSM and I will be a willing student (are you reading this Derrick and Jeffrey??).  The one thing I knew I didn’t need to do was to feed scat.  I have had a number of men ask—and I thought I might go there at first.  I usually believe you need to try things to know if you like it, but I realized there was nothing sexual for me in that activity and  I was quite content to leave it alone. 

But you have something new?  Let’s talk about it.  At the top of December, I got an email…

He arrives ten minutes late.  I was on the verge of writing him off.  He rings the bell carrying an immense gym bag.

I let him in.  He is a good 10 years older than his pictures, but I merely sigh under my breath.  I could wish that it was only 10 pounds heavier than those same pictures, but no, it’s a good deal more than 10.  He starts talking and digging into the bag.

“Did you bring them?” I ask.

“I’m just getting them.  We need to sterilize the set.  You have a big pot?”

The “them” are sounds.  I have never done any urethral play but I’m more than willing.

I am picturing the short silicone ones I’ve seen for sale, that are vaguely the size of big golf tees.  So I get out a sauce pan that will hold them.  My new play partner arrives in the kitchen.  He hands me an immensely long leather kit.  I open it.  They are metal—and a good 15 inches long.

I find a jelly roll pan and we boil them on top of the stove.

I get them on a clean towel with a pair of tongs and— still too hot to touch—we go up to the playroom.

“Now,” he says.  “You want to try these up that big dick of yours?”

“I thought I was using them on you.”

“Sure, sure.  Just thought I’d offer.”  He hops in the sling. 

I put on latex gloves.  I kneel.  We start with the smallest sound.  I lube it up.  I am told to grip his cock (fairly typical in size—maybe slightly thicker) so my thumb helps push the piss slit open.    The end goes easily into his piss slit. I work it maybe and inch into him.  This is striking me as very medical…I mean, I’m the guy that looks anywhere else but at my arm when a nurse is drawing blood for my HIV test…

“Try the next one.”  I do the same thing.  He huffs poppers and is no longer telling me anything.  There is a bend to the sounds and I don’t know which side should be facing me.  So I ask.  I get no answer.  I get “Go deeper.”  I try.  Maybe two inches into him.  I am now feeling light headed.

“I don’t know if I this a good idea…”

“Skip the third one and get the fourth.  I want to feel it.”

I put the sound down and concentrate on the towel on the floor.  I stare at until I feel in control again. 
I pick up the fourth.  I lube it.  I have to really work to get this bigger tip into his small piss slit. 

“Now go deep,” he grunts.

I start down his dick.  Maybe three inches.  I stop.

“I want to feel it way lower.”

He takes it from my fingers and I watch it go in another inch or so.  I have to look away.  I get off my knees and sit down.  I don’t quite put my head between my legs, but it’s close.  I could easily pass out if I let myself.

I finally tell him I can’t do more.


We move on to my hands up his ass.  He has no interest in my dick.  And that’s likely a good thing.  He'd never have felt it.  The speculum, usually a tight fit in any man, falls out of him.  Literally, as I am reaching for a toy.

I am able to put both fists up him.  Together.

He goes home happy.

I think.

And I learn I have another limit.


  1. Wow. I generally look up to you as the man that has done it all but apparently I've done the two on your limit list. Ha! Not trying to make you revisit these at all (love a man that can tell me openly what the line is) but more trying to point to that beautiful moment where a fantasy of a man suddenly becomes more real to you. Dimensions that get fully flushed out and make you even sexier.

    I'm really surprised he was not vocal. Dangerous stuff as there are worse consequences that navigating that natural resistance like an ass. Been told early on only engage in urethral penetration with someone you have a strong communication channel with. Like, you wouldn't engage in breath play with a complete stranger... I'm like you, generally have to turn away when they are drawing blood but for some reason my curiosity overcame that and I experimented. Sterilized the ball bearing chain (you know, the chain people wear with military dog tags) and stuffed it up my urethra. That was pretty intense. But then came the pain of pissing the lube out that kinda killed it for me. That and I many years later got a urinary tract infection and they say you shouldn't engage after that due to scar tissue and stuff. But anyway, my point is that I've tried it myself as an experiment so I know how it feels but I'm still reluctant to do it on others unless we're both good communicators so it was surprising he was so silent about how far you could go...

    1. I certainly understand about fulfilling a partner’s fantasy—that is all that scat play would be about for me. Maybe if the people who approached me with the idea were long term partners wanting to try something they had been dreaming about, I would try harder to be there for them. For a casual, first time hook-up—nope.

      Communication is huge. I wanted so much more from the sounds guy. I think I would still be up for trying sounds again—with the silicone shorter ones—and a lot of verbal help.

      I like to know what I am doing to not hurt anybody. A man in a bath house sling was the first to ask for my hand. I got in four fingers and was working on my thumb. He reached down and just pulled me into him. I knew I wanted to know more—and at that point in my life I had no one to ask. I deliberately sought out a fisting weekend at a gay resort that advertised that they would be doing some master classes. I listened. I had some hands on experience. And was pronounced a natural—the leader of the group, who’s ass I had just taken, assumed I had to have been a fisting bottom needing to flip....