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“That’s a true statement,” he agreed.
“I’m going to veto the penis wand,” I said firmly.
“Excellent decision,” Seth answered, totally backtracking from what he’d just said to me.
I supposed that’s when I knew I’d probably made the wrong decision. The motherfucker was too damned pleased with himself.
He used his body to block me seeing the contents on the cart as he removed something, and when he turned back around, the fabric was back in place and he held a small black case in one hand.
“Let me show you the pleasure you denied yourself, Baker.”
Fuck, that was a small box. I should have chosen to keep that one on my list.
He opened the box and pulled out a thin piece of metal with a slight curve on each end. The toy in his hand looked to be about six inches in length.
As I studied the metal, I decided I’d made the correct decision after all. When I said, ‘thin piece of metal’, I didn’t mean that thin. Or, at least, not thin enough!
“This is a penis wand, Baker. They are officially known as sounds, but penis wand is a term which allows one to get an idea of what their purpose is. The box contains different sizes, starting with a 3mm and moving up to a 19mm. The different sizes are available so that we can gradually and gently enlarge your urethra.”
I looked at him. I looked at the piece of metal in his hand. Then I looked down at my dick. His explanation of the penis wand and its uses hadn’t done anything to soften my erection. I felt confident, though, that if he came near me with that thing, my cock would deflate faster than a jumpy house with the plug pulled. “Well…thanks for that, but I’m one hundred percent happy with my decision to toss that particular toy into the never-gonna-happen column.”
His eyes sparkled. “Never say never, Beautiful.” With a wink, he put the strip of metal back into the black box and sat it on the second shelf of his cart. Straightening back up, he rubbed his hands together with glee and said, “Crawl over here.” He motioned for me to follow him to the other side of the room. “I had this delivered this morning while we were at the gym. I’ve always wanted one but never actually put forth the effort to find one I liked.” He looked at me. “Lucky for you, I found the perfect one just in time for you to be my first victim.”
A large piece of some sort of furniture was covered with a white sheet. I gulped in trepidation. Seth owned quite an extensive selection of sex furniture in the playroom of his apartment. What could this bad boy be?
“Victim? Did I say victim? I didn’t mean victim, per se,” he said with a chuckle, causing me to return my attention to him. “I should have said my first lucky participant!”
My eyes narrowed at him. “Rah—rah. Lucky me.” Looking at the white sheet again, I added, “Oddly enough, I don’t feel lucky.”
He ripped the sheet away and tossed it aside—kinda like a magician would do on a grand stage. Still on my knees, I tilted my head from side to side to try and figure out what the contraption was. After a few seconds, I had it.
I wasn’t lucky.
It was some sort of gynecological exam chair that had obviously been the lucky contestant to win a complete overhaul on Pimp-My-Gyno, Episode 1. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Stirrups and everything. There were bondage straps everywhere. Mirrors in places where I couldn’t begin to imagine I’d want to see whatever was in that reflection. I’d told him humiliation wasn’t my thing.
I’d lied. My cock was weeping as I gazed at the cynical-looking exam chair.
He patted the black leather seat and said, “Hop aboard, Sweet Tart. I plan to be incredibly…thorough with you today and this new beauty is going to help me achieve my goal.” He patted the seat again. His eyes glittered. “Now, Baker.”
I stood up, knees trembling, and walked the two steps necessary to put me close enough to ‘hop aboard’, as he’d suggested. The construction was odd, but it didn’t take me long to figure out where my ass went. After I was appropriately situated, Seth moved in to take over. The fucker hummed a merry little tune as he tightened straps across my chest, fastened my wrists into comfortable cuffs located next to my waist, then pulled the stirrups out far enough that my legs would be spread wide. “Feet in the stirrups,” he ordered. My feet, fucking traitors, moved with a will of their own. It took him but mere seconds to have them fastened snuggly and firmly into the stirrups.
Just for the hell of it, I tugged, but the bondage fasteners held tight. Just for the fuck of it, I put some real leg muscles into making the table move, but nothing happened. Just for the fuckity fuck of it, I struggled with everything in me…and nothing budged.
