Because She Loves Me….

She is back behind me again. She is fiddling with my ball sack, hooking me up to something. I feel my sack being squeezed and ball separated like they were earlier by the Workmate’s vise. I feel the device she is screwing down press against my hind legs. I realize what this is. A Humbler. I don’t own one. This must have come from Mike. Sir Michael put me in one during my first BDSM experience in San Diego. If you are unaware, as I was the first time one was put on me, a humbler is a device made of two pieces of identical shaped wood that are about 15 inches long and two inches wide with two opposing sweeping curves that meet in the middle. In the middle of each piece is a portion hollowed out so that when the top and bottom come together, they create a space that can capture a man’s ball sack. The two boards are fastened together with bolts on each end and screwed down tight around the balls via butterfly nuts. When the balls are captured from behind and secured, the long boards rest on the back of the victim’s lower butt and upper legs.  When the wearer tries to walk it tugs on the balls in a painful manner. A very slow shuffle, if that, is the best one can do. A fun and effective bondage toy.

She finishes screwing down the wingnuts and I have been hobbled. She unlocks my ankle cuffs from the Workmate and locks them together with a short chain. My wrists cuffs are then released and locked together in front of me. “Meet me in the kitchen and you can eat your dinner before we start your next adventure, Toy,” she tells me. I stand up from my bent over position. A relief for my back and stomach, but there is an immediate tug on my balls. Getting to the kitchen is not going to be easy and I have been left on my own to get there. I turn and make my first few steps forward. I have to slowly slide my feet along the floor trying to have minimal movement of my hips and thighs to reduce the strain on my scrotum. It takes a few minutes just to reach the stairs. There is no way that I am going to traverse them going down forward so I spin myself around. Ever so slowly I bring one foot down the top step and then the other. With it comes a hurtful pull. I don’t see any better way to do this. So, grasping the railing with my cuffed hands for stability and leverage I dropped one foot at a time down to the next step. I take a deep breath and do the next one. I can repeat this about five times before my sack begs for a break. I begin again, repeating the process, taking a second break before reaching the bottom. It is then a slow, slow shuffle down the hallway to the stairwell down to the first floor.

I ponder if I could sit down on the top step and then glide down step to step like little kids do. I try sitting down and doing it. Big mistake. Very painful just sitting down, then sliding catches the humbler and tugs so hard I almost shout out. Getting back to the standing position is just as bad if not worse than sitting down. I’m back to my original method, doing it now with balls that are more tender from my poorly thought out and executed plan of moments ago. I am finally at the bottom, and I head to the kitchen. There I am greeted with, “That took way too long. You need to be punished. Bend over and hold onto your ankle cuffs with your hands,” she demands with a bit of glee in her voice. I comply, but the humbler is making it difficult, and my sack is straining and in pain. I am then paddled, hard, three strikes on each cheek. “I hope you enjoyed that because I am starting to like reddening your cheeks. It’s been the best part of the day for me.”

I am told to go sit at the table. I try but the humbler won’t let me. “Ma’am, can I stand, your restraint is trying to rip off my balls when I sit,” I beg.

“OK, but that doesn’t make me happy, I think you’ll have to get spanked again for your dessert,” she replies. She then sits my dinner plate down on the table in front of me. I wasn’t sure what to expect, out West my meals were minimal and at times part of the abuse regiment, even eating out of a dog bowl without hands. I’m looking at a nice plate of cheese ravioli in a red sauce with two meatballs, a piece of garlic bread and a glass of wine. Though my wrists were bound together, they were in front of me, I had my hands, so I could feed myself even though I had to stand. It was delicious. Most importantly, it changes the taste in my mouth from bad to good. Still, it would have been nice to gargle in between courses.

We both finish our salads and main course, including the wine. Thankfully she clears the table of our dishes as I am not very mobile. She fixes a cup of coffee for herself. I’m not a coffee drinker. She enjoys it with a small piece of pound cake as I stand obediently by the table, naked, hobbled and bound. She finishes, gets up and says, “Oh, that’s right, you didn’t get your dessert, bend over again please.” I am then paddled again three times on each cheek. I swear she is hitting harder each time she spanks me now. She then rubs my glowing bottom with her hand. “Rosey red, this time, nice. Good thing you are done sitting for the day.” She seems to have finally found something in my bondage play that she likes.